QUICKSAND

P3. Brain Teaser

He sat in the back of the taxi cab, occasionally checking the time on his phone. The blue sky appeared mesmerizingly saturated, the sun bright and intense. It was a typical, sunny morning in central Florida. He was eager to leave and return home. The cost of his eagerness was the quality of his sleep. The neural activity never shut off where it should have, and he could not stop thinking about what this woman could possibly have to say. She was clearly young, freshly graduated from college, MIT specifically. She had suddenly appeared at his best friend's wedding, completely uninvited in search of someone who must have been on that invite list. There were many details about this that triggered the switch in his brain, amping the activity in the organ to the point where it avoided rest.

That night he drank more whiskey in his hotel room after bidding Ray and Anita goodbye as they left for their honeymoon. The wedding was fun, it was definitely memorable. There wasn't a doubt in his mind there would be a few videos and photographs from the events that he'd cringe looking at. But he couldn't help but smile, relieved that it went well. Ray and Anita surely deserved for it to go perfectly, and perfectly it went. He was just disturbed that he found Kiani there and she was armed, as horrible as she was with that knife, that did happen. He couldn't forget it. Not only was he alarmed by her presence, but what led her there was equally if not more burdensome.

The light from the sun strikes his green irises, warming them as he squints out the taxi window, searching the nearing area for her. Yesterday, before he walked her out and she had taken off in a car that was incredibly expensive and clearly not hers, they agreed to meet. He thought they would talk about what led her to bring a knife to a wedding, specifically his best friend's wedding. They would talk about the secrets she seems to be guarding and silently carrying with her life. There would be several things they would discuss, but he knew there was one they wouldn't dare to bring up, much less pick it apart, touch by touch, breath by breath. He barely remembers the night but the sentiment that it was a good one hasn't disappeared.

Harry exits the taxi after handing the driver a folded bill for the ride, now standing exactly where she had texted him to meet her. He pulls down the sunglasses that had been resting over his hair, and shields the bright sun from piercing into his tired, sensitive eyes. He looks at his phone a few times, seeing the minutes change, the time painfully slow. He was neither late, nor early. Harry was right on time, which made him slightly aggravated with her. He liked punctuality in people, and one of his biggest pet peeves was people who were not ten or fifteen minutes late, but forty minutes late. As he sighs to himself, he figures she wasn't going to show up. He leans off the brick wall on the side of the art history museum she led him to. He had wasted his last hour in Florida waiting for Kiani, who never even bothered to show up. In reality, he was a little more angry with himself for thinking someone as sly and cunning as her, daring as her, would comply as easily as she did. She figured if she said yes, he'd take the bait, stupidly. She hung a carrot in front of him and distracted him while she went the other way. That wasn't a clever move persay, he was just...an idiot, because he wanted to bite into the carrot so damn bad.

And so the hour turns into the next. Where are you? he texted thirty minutes ago. It comes time for him to head to the airport and get on his flight back home. Without any other information on her, without another number or an associate, he had no choice but to drop the urge to know what she did. A puzzle sometimes requires...patience. He had run out of that for now, and so he called another taxi.

On the 8th of April, Harry's phone blares out a ringtone from the end table of his king-sized hotel bed. His heavy, long arm outstretched, his hand slamming over the thin device as he groggily clutches it. He was lying on his stomach, his bare back facing the sun that peeked from the large windows of the suite. Half asleep, he held the phone to his face to turn off the nauseating alarm. A thick groan in his throat, he slowly rolls over on his back, raising his arms and stretching them over his head. Beside him, a body shifts and a soft breath passes the lips of a thick, jet-black haired Italian girl he met at a cafe two weeks ago. Her name was Aria, and she was pretty. Big, green eyes and doll-like lips. She likes nature and books, and she wants to be a professional chef. Her slender hand reaches for his chest, and he can feel the warmth of her body, the feel of her naked, large breasts against him. He liked those, especially. But that was it. She seemed nice but they didn't have much to talk about.