Phase 5: Office Relocation
The urgency to act propelled me forward, a feeling as unfamiliar as it was intense. An uncommon anger surged through my veins, a testament to the stakes at hand. Waiting for nightfall, a tactic of patience and caution, now seemed an impractical option given the critical misstep I had made earlier. My haste had led me to retrieve Nial’s personal laptop instead of his work laptop, a mistake that could potentially derail our efforts to protect the settlement. Arguments about the significance of business conducted online paled in comparison to the immediate need for action; the settlement's protection hinged on Paul and Nial starting to order fencing materials as soon as possible.
Taking a gamble, fuelled by the pressing need for haste, I chose to enter the Triffett residence through the Portal already activated in Nial’s office. This decision sidestepped the need for another front door entry, cutting down on the time and reducing the risk of being caught. A quick glance around the space confirmed that the office door was once again closed, presenting a window of opportunity for a swift retrieval of Nial’s work laptop. The room, quiet and undisturbed, seemed almost complicit in my mission.
Clambering through the side of the filing cabinet, the entry point from the Portal into Nial’s lost world, I navigated awkwardly and briskly toward Nial’s large desk by the window. The desk became the focus of my frantic search. Papers and notebooks shuffled in rapid succession as I sought the elusive second laptop, each movement a mix of determination and desperation.
The act of sifting through Nial’s belongings, a violation of privacy under any normal circumstances, felt justified in the context of our situation. Yet, as I moved papers aside, my actions fuelled by the ticking clock of urgency, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. This was Nial’s personal space, his sanctuary of work and thought, and here I was, disrupting it in my quest to correct a mistake.
The room, bathed in the muted light from the window, felt like a silent witness to my actions. The tension of the task at hand was palpable, a mixture of fear, anticipation, and the pressing weight of responsibility. The need to find the work laptop and ensure the settlement's safety was a burden I carried alone in that moment, navigating the fine line between right and wrong in a world that had become far more complicated than I ever anticipated.
In less than five minutes, success crowned my efforts. The laptop, snugly ensconced in its bag along with the power cable, was firmly in my grasp. As I pondered the logistics of charging the laptop in Clivilius, a realisation dawned on me, adding the task of getting electricity to the settlement involuntarily to my never-ending mental list of things to do. The complexity of life in Clivilius, already a tapestry of challenges, seemed to grow with each passing moment. With a resigned sigh, acknowledging the precarious position I found myself in, I stuffed the power cord into the bag, a small but significant action in the grand scheme of our efforts.
Activating the Portal once again on the side of the filing cabinet, the only obvious clear surface in the room, a wave of relief washed over me. The portal, a doorway between worlds, felt like a lifeline in that moment, offering an escape back to a place where the stakes were immeasurably high, but where I felt a sense of purpose and belonging. The confirmation of a swift and incident-free mission bolstered my spirits, a brief respite in the constant push and pull of my struggle to secure the settlement's future.
The silence in the office, a partner to my clandestine activities, was abruptly shattered by the ringing of the phone in my trouser pocket. Panic, swift and unforgiving, gripped me. In a rushed attempt to answer before the sound could betray my presence, my movements became clumsy, nearly resulting in the laptop bag slipping from my grasp. The phone, an innocuous object in any other circumstance, felt like a beacon of danger in that moment.
With the phone in hand, ready to reject the call and silence the immediate threat it posed, a momentary pause overcame me. “Gladys’ mum,” I mumbled under my breath, feeling a knot tightening in my stomach. Calls from Wendy were a rarity, an exception rather than the rule, and the unexpectedness of this one heightened my anxiety. My gaze flickered to the Portal, its silent swirl a tempting offer of escape. Yet, the thought of ignoring a call from Wendy, especially under such unusual circumstances, gnawed at me with an urgency that couldn't be dismissed.
Convincing myself that a brief call to Wendy, simply telling her that I’d call her right back in a few minutes, would be harmless, I answered the phone. “Hello,” I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper, the fear of discovery pressing down on me with a weight that made my breaths shallow and quick.
“Oh, Luke!” Wendy's words tumbled through the phone at a frantic pace, a cascade of concern and urgency that made it impossible for me to find a moment to interject.
Several attempts to interrupt proved futile, her torrent of words sweeping away my planned reassurances until the mention of Duke seized my attention. At the sound of my dog's name, tears unexpectedly welled in my eyes, blurring the edges of my calculated composure. Duke, always the unsuspecting anchor of my emotions, now the focal point of Wendy's call, tightened the knot in my stomach into a constrictive loop.
I need to take this call, I acknowledged internally, frustration etching wrinkles across my forehead. The situation, underscored by the unexpected emotional surge at the mention of Duke, left no room for half measures. Continuing the call inside the house risked my voice alerting someone to my presence, a risk that grew with each passing second.
Glancing at the portal, I grappled with the realisation that going that way would sever the connection, cutting off this crucial lifeline to Wendy and the situation at hand. My eyes then shifted toward the office door, a sliver of hope in a plan forming rapidly in my mind – if I can sneak outside, I'll be free to talk without fear of discovery.
"Wendy," I hissed sharply, cutting through her rambling with a desperation that finally caused a pause. "I’ve got bad reception in here. Just give me a couple of secs to get to a better spot.” My words were a blend of urgency and subterfuge, a makeshift excuse that bought me the precious seconds needed to navigate this precarious situation.
“Okay,” Wendy tentatively agreed, her voice carrying a hint of confusion and concern.
Cringing as several floorboards creaked beneath my feet, betraying my movements, I opened the office door and peered into the hallway with cautious eyes. Despite the car in the driveway that I had seen from the office window, signalling someone’s presence, the house seemed eerily quiet, as if holding its breath alongside me.
Breathing a little easier but with a resolve to stay vigilant, I crept toward the front door. Each step was measured, a careful dance with the unseen eyes I feared might be upon me. The soft grunt of someone dozing in the living room on the left brought me to an abrupt halt, my heart skipping a beat. The realisation that I couldn’t reach the front door without passing the open living room directly—a gauntlet laid out before me—prompted a quick reassessment of my plan.
Pivoting on my heel, I moved stealthily in the opposite direction, my mind racing with alternatives. The need to escape unnoticed, to preserve the secrecy of my presence, was paramount. Peering into the bedroom as I approached, the darkness within served as a veil, revealing only the outlines of a small child asleep in his bed. The sight of the Dalmatian from my previous visit, resting on the floor beside him, brought an unexpected pang of warmth to my heart amidst the tension. The dog, a silent guardian in the quiet of the afternoon, seemed at peace, a stark contrast to the turmoil within me.
The presence of the child, innocent and unaware of the complexities that shadowed the adults around him, underscored the gravity of our situation in Clivilius and the risks I was willing to take. It was a reminder of what was at stake, of the lives touched by my actions, both directly and indirectly. The need to protect, to secure a future against unseen threats, was never more palpable than in that moment, a silent vow made in the darkness of a child’s bedroom doorway.
Taking another step, the floor beneath me betrayed my presence with a creak that seemed louder than thunder in the quiet house. The Dalmatian looked up at me, its eyes sharp and assessing, emitting a short growl that threatened to shatter the fragile silence. Instinctively, I motioned for the dog to be quiet, a silent plea for discretion. Remarkably, it obeyed, lowering its head back to its paws, a silent accomplice in my stealthy departure.
Suddenly, the young boy’s eyes opened wide, a startling awakening that froze me in my tracks. Half sitting, he stared directly at me, his young eyes a complex mix of fear and curiosity, a silent question hanging between us. Without a word, I pressed my finger against my lips, signalling for him to remain silent. Understanding, or perhaps just subdued by the strangeness of the situation, the child rested his head back on his pillow, a silent agreement to our unspoken pact.
With my heart thundering in my chest, a cacophony of beats that felt loud enough to betray me, I decided it was time to move faster. Much faster! The urgency of the situation, compounded by the young witness to my clandestine activity, spurred me into action. Hoping that the toddler would keep our secret, I made haste toward the back door, every step a calculated risk.
With a small amount of luck that seemed to be on my side, I quickly unlocked the door, a small victory in the escalating tension. Stepping out into the chilly late afternoon air, a welcome escape, I closed the door softly behind me, a silent farewell to the scene of my covert operation.
Bringing the phone to my ear as I began to walk into the backyard, the open space a brief respite, I spoke, “Wendy, I can’t talk for long,” my voice quivered, betraying the adrenaline and anxiety that coursed through me. “What’s wrong?”
“Why the hell is Duke wrapped in a bloody towel in Beatrix’s bathroom!?” Wendy’s voice, a mixture of screech and sob, pierced my eardrum, a shocking revelation that jolted me to my core.
My back stiffened, a reflexive reaction to the unexpected and alarming news. Every hair on the back of my neck tingled eerily, a physical manifestation of the shock and urgency that Wendy’s words invoked.
“I’ll be right there,” I promised Wendy, promptly ending the call.
With burning eyes, the urgency of the situation igniting a fire within me, I turned on the spot in the backyard, desperately searching for a suitable place to activate the Portal. The garden, full of trees and enclosed by a wood-paling fence, offered little in the way of clear space, making my options for escape look bleak. The limitations of my surroundings, once an inconsequential detail of Nial’s home, had become critical barriers in my quest for a swift departure.
The sudden opening of the back door gripped me with a terror so profound it felt as though it could swallow me whole. Spinning around, my heart sank as I found the little boy standing in the doorway, the protective Dalmatian by his side. The sight, so innocent yet so daunting, underscored the complexity of my predicament.
With each warning bark from the Dalmatian, I winced as though each sound physically penetrated my skin, a reminder that my presence was neither welcome nor unnoticed. The realisation that my borrowed time was about to expire sent a chill down my spine, the stakes of my mission suddenly framed in stark relief against the domestic backdrop of the Triffett home.
Launching itself from the steps, the dog barked furiously as it bounded in my direction, a blur of motion and sound that seemed to close the distance between us with terrifying speed. Caught in the firm clutches of panic, my instincts took over. I turned and I ran, desperation lending speed to my legs as I sought refuge.
Approaching the small shed at the back of the yard, my heart pounding in my ears, I finally caught a glimpse of my escape. Casting a glance over my shoulder as I activated the Portal, the sight of the Dalmatian almost upon me, its teeth bared in a primal display of protection, and the toddler not too far behind, painted a scene straight out of a surreal chase.
With the only other choice being to remain and face the consequences of my intrusion—a scenario that could only end in disaster—I darted through the Portal. The decision, made in a fraction of a second, was a leap of faith, driven by the primal urge to survive. I’d barely commanded it closed before the collision of human flesh and dog fur ensued, sharp yips of pain filling the air as we both tumbled through the dust on the other side.
"Fuck!" The exclamation escaped my lips, an embodiment of frustration and self-condemnation echoing through the air, reverberating with each syllable as if to underscore the seriousness of my mistake. Each word pounded into the ground like a personal rebuke, mirroring the turmoil inside me.
The Dalmatian, now with a limp and a final growl of resentment, distanced herself from me. Her injured leg demanded attention, and she sat, licking it with a mixture of pain and defiance. The sight of her injury, a consequence of my actions, weighed heavily on my conscience, a disappointing reminder of the unintended harm my presence had caused.
"Buffy!" A surprised voice called from a distance, breaking through my introspection.
I took several deep breaths, attempting to rein in the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. Nial and Paul approached from the Drop Zone, their expressions a mix of confusion and irritation.
"What the hell!?" Paul exclaimed, exasperation littering his tone. "Duke hasn’t even been dead for a day, and you’re already bringing another dog here!?" His words, sharp and accusatory, struck a nerve, igniting a fury within me that I couldn't contain.
"How dare you bring Duke into this!" I yelled, my anger manifesting in a hard shove against Paul. The mention of Duke, a sore and fresh wound, felt like a low blow.
"Let me guess, it was another ‘accident’," Paul slurred the insult at me, his arms preventing a second assault. His words, dripping with scorn, were designed to wound, to cast blame and stir guilt within me.
"As a matter of fact-," I began, my voice tight with anger, ready to defend my actions before cutting myself short. Swiftly changing tact, I realised that trying to defend Paul’s accusation would get me nowhere. "Where is Duke?" I asked, accusation laced in my tone, reminding Paul of his own ‘accident.’ The question, though simple, carried with it a weight of implications, a challenge that sought to redirect the focus of our confrontation.
Paul's face dropped, his mouth working in silent overtime, searching for words that seemed to elude him in the moment. The tension between us was palpable, a tangible force that filled the air with an electric charge of expectation.
“Was there an ‘accident’?” I sneered, unable to hide the bitterness and suspicion that laced my voice. The word 'accident' felt like a barb, a pointed reminder of the fragility of trust and the consequences of actions left unexplained.
Shrugging in defeat, a gesture that seemed to carry the weight of resignation, Paul admitted, “Beatrix took him.”
“I know,” I replied, my voice steady, masking the turmoil of emotions that churned within me. My affirmation, a declaration of my awareness, seemed to catch Paul off guard.
“Oh,” said Paul, life springing back into his face as if the acknowledgment had rekindled some spark of connection between us. “So you’ve spoken to Beatrix?”
“No,” I said bluntly, cutting off any assumption of direct communication. My denial, sharp and to the point, seemed to puzzle him further.
“Then how-?” Paul questioned, a curious brow furrowed.
I sighed, the weight of the confrontation beginning to exhaust me, each breath feeling heavier than the last. “It would seem that Wendy has found him.” My admission, a revelation of the chain of events that had unfolded outside of our immediate circle, introduced a new player to the complex game we found ourselves in.
“Who’s Wendy?” Paul asked, his question highlighting the widening gap of misunderstanding and miscommunication that lay between us.
“Beatrix’s mother,” I answered.
“Oh,” Paul replied sheepishly, the realisation dawning on him. “That might be a little awkward.” His understatement, an attempt to grasp the nuances of the situation, barely scratched the surface of the potential complications that lay ahead.
“You don’t say,” I sighed again, the redundancy of our exchange mirroring the cyclical nature of our challenges. “Anyway,” I continued quickly, gesturing towards Nial who crouched, comforting his injured dog. “That really was an accident. I’ll tell you about it later.” My promise, a deferral of explanation, felt hollow even to my own ears.
“We’ve got time now,” Paul remarked, his eagerness to delve deeper into the narrative clear. Yet, his interest, though genuine, seemed incongruent with the urgency of my own priorities.
My lips pursed in frustration. “You might have time, but I don’t,” I snapped more harshly than intended, the stress and pressure of the moment fraying the edges of my patience.
Paul’s head tilted, and he sighed unreassuringly, a nonverbal acknowledgment of the divide that had formed between us. “Guess I’ll talk to you later, then.” His resignation, though tinged with disappointment, was a necessary concession to the unfolding crisis.
For a long moment, we stood in silence, our gaze locked in a silent exchange that seemed to acknowledge the chaos I had thrown us into. With my eyes, I tried to convey a message of hope, a silent plea that it’ll get better. For my own sake, it has to!
“I guess,” I echoed Paul’s sentiments, handing him Nial’s laptop bag. The act, simple yet significant, was a tangible representation of the complexities of our intertwined lives. With a heavy heart and a mind burdened by the weight of what lay ahead, I walked away.
