Exsanguination and Other Love Stories

V. Fight! Fight! Fight!

The elevator opened into blinding sunlight. Mr. Blue stepped out, and set me down on my own two feet.

We were on the roof of the complex, and beneath us lay only glass. I looked down once and paled. I could see the entire atrium below, empty, and from here the tops of the carefully trained ficus trees looked like bonsai.

Mr. Blue was watching me with his fixed and unblinking stare. Was that a sliver of a smile on his sculpted mouth? I couldn't tell.

"Look ahead, Sabilla," he said. "Never back."

Then he took me by the arm and led me to the edge of the roof, which was railed with waist-high iron spikes.

The entire city stretched beneath us. It was a spectacular view. Right before the edge sat a little twisted table and chairs, with a centerpiece full of blue thistles and a full breakfast spread out for two.

"That's.... nice." I said, after a long and expectant silence.

"So I've been told," said Mr. Blue. "Sit down."

He pulled out a precarious spiky chair for me, and I sat, after casting a surreptitious glance back at the elevator doors, which had closed since we came out. There were no visible buttons on the outside.

I examined breakfast, hoping to find some consolation there. Coffee in tiny cups: a sleek, asymmetrical teapot, scones and other baked goods, the sort of thing you usually see only behind glass, in places which charge you more for your first bite of breakfast than you can earn in an hour.

In a fit of bitter irony, though, I was starting to feel nauseous in addition to faint and stunned. Looking out at the city as I had been commanded didn't exactly help, either. It just reminded me how very high up we were, and that, unlike Florian, I was not physically capable of making multi-story exits and surviving.

"Is there a fire escape anywhere?" I asked, picking up a solid-looking scone. It had some heft to it. The coffee pot seemed hot. Maybe if it were hurled.... But what then?

"Why would there be?" asked Mr. Blue.

"Isn't that against the fire code?"

"Fire code?" said Mr. Blue. And he laughed again, as though that sort of thing really didn't apply to people like him. "Sabilla," he said, taking a bite of a breakfast roll and a gulp of black coffee (he did not bother with a napkin) "I've heard from Omri that you've expressed some concerns about your role at Azure Tech."

"Yes," I said, "There doesn't seem to be anything for me to do."

"Well," said Mr. Blue, "I'm a big fan of self-determination in my employees. And frankly, I'm disappointed by your lack of confidence, Bill, in person. I'd expected more, given the boldness of your one-paragraph application. What do you think you should be doing here?"

"I don't mind ordering coffee for anyone," I answered. I didn't want to seem unreasonable. "But I'd like to have something to do besides that. I have to put something on my resume when I leave. "

"I see," said Mr. Blue. "I suppose, if you want more direction while you're here –I can come up with something."

"Thank you." I said. "Also," I added, after a moment – since he was being so obliging – "I'd like to be able to leave the building weekly if that's not too much to ask."

"You may have that as well," said Mr. Blue. "Would tonight at 7PM suit you?"

"Ah – ok." I said.

"Wonderful. We'll make it a date. Drink your juice."

I reached for the juice, as dubious as it looked. But no sooner had I raised it to my lips, than a shadow surged up over the railing and onto the roof, and a long-fingered, black-gloved hand snatched glass and contents neatly from my fingers.