BIA Ch. 37

As the sequin jacket man disappeared into the crowd, Bran handed the money for the beer he had left to the server at their table. Isaiah only roused himself when the server departed with the empty beer bottle.

“I… I’ll go.”

“I’ll take you there.”

“No, I’ll go alone.”

Isaiah said quickly,

“Manny called me here. He’s probably still nearby. Or, perhaps Chester’s men are. Even if it’s not that, just, just…”

Isaiah backed away, stammering.

“I’ll go to my apartment first.”

“Isaiah.”

Ignoring Bran’s voice calling from behind, Isaiah fled the club.

As expected, rain was falling outside. Isaiah hailed a taxi in front of the building and headed to his apartment. During the ride home, the downpour intensified, becoming torrential.

Watching the wipers working tirelessly, Isaiah continued to ponder. Robin. Where had he heard that name? It was definitely a name he had encountered before.

Before he could find an answer, the taxi arrived at his apartment. Isaiah paid with Chester’s card and got out. The rain was so heavy that his clothes were soaked through in the short dash from the taxi to the building.

Arriving at his apartment, Isaiah opened the door and immediately recoiled from the putrid odor that assaulted his nostrils. He knew the source at once. The body in the entryway had begun to decompose. Frowning, Isaiah started to open the door again to leave but then, as if compelled, he closed it, sat down by the body and began searching its clothes.

As expected, a cell phone was in the pants pocket. It was an older, slide-style feature phone. He slid open the panel and a new, unread message was the first thing he saw.

“Robin, where are you?”

The moment Isaiah saw the message, he realized something.

Robin wasn’t a person’s name. It was robin, the bird.

“…”

Isaiah placed the phone back in the corpse’s pocket. He stumbled into the apartment and headed for the kitchen. He needed to drink some water. His throat was parched.

After quickly drinking two glasses of cold water, he sat down at the kitchen table, still holding the empty glass. Wiping his wet chin with the back of his hand, he told himself,

Calm down. Calm down and think clearly. Slowly, one by one, find the answers.

Robin is a WD agent and Isaiah Cole’s partner. That probably means they worked together on a team. Bran killed Isaiah Cole’s partner…? Why?

“…”

He had resolved to think calmly, but it was unraveling from the start. The thought that Bran had killed Robin, his partner, made his breath catch in his throat and his thoughts began to race.

Why would Bran kill Isaiah Cole’s partner? No, the killing itself makes a kind of sense. Betraying Chester and siding with Bran ultimately meant WD lost credibility with their clients. Perhaps Bran killed him to force Isaiah Cole’s hand, fearing he might back out of their cooperation if he feared WD’s retribution.

But then why… why wouldn’t he tell me? Why would he brush it off and pretend it was just some drug addict who had followed him from the club, like Chester said? And Chester? Why would Chester say that in the first place? Chester would have known that Robin was Isaiah Cole’s partner. He was the one who commissioned the job.

…No. Chester wanted to hide the fact that our relationship began with a job from the very beginning. If he had told me that the body was my partner, a colleague from WD, he would have had to explain what WD was… it would have been a hassle. So, from a purely practical standpoint, it makes sense that he would hide Robin’s identity.

Okay, Chester’s actions make sense, but what about Bran? Why would he hide it? The day before I lost my memory… what happened?

“…”

His head throbbed. His throat was dry again. He started to get up for another glass of water when he noticed a white piece of paper on the edge of the table. He stopped. On the crumpled receipt, a message was written in neat, precise handwriting.

You have a surprisingly cute sleeping face, it doesn’t suit you.

Right, Bran was here… But he wasn’t here at first. We met at Mountain Dog. He offered to buy me a drink. I don’t drink alcohol. So I, I…

— Smash!

The glass in his hand slipped, falling to the floor and shattering into pieces. Isaiah crouched down, clutching his hair with both hands.

“Ugh…”

His head throbbed as if it would split open. Even now, a torrent of memories surged, clashing with the voices trying to suppress them, making his head feel like it would explode. His vision blurred and nausea welled up.

With trembling arms, He gripped the table and pulled himself up. Immediately, that crumpled receipt caught his eye again. Should I unfold it? Should I reread the message? As soon as the thoughts formed, a voice screamed in his head.

No. Don’t try to understand. Don’t stay here. If you stay here, you will remember. Run. Now.

Terror seized him as the voice shrieked. He couldn’t let that happen. Not after he had come this far, escaped this far.

Panic rising, Isaiah frantically patted himself down. In his pants pocket. A smartphone, a pistol, a card. These… these aren’t mine. I shouldn’t have these. I have to get rid of them.

He placed the contents of his pockets on the table. After a quick glance around, he made for the entrance. Stepping over the reeking corpse, he opened the door and fled the apartment.

He hurried down the stairs and burst out of the building as if pursued. Rain lashed down but he didn’t care. Without an umbrella, he ran blindly down the alley. His jeans, soaked through, clung to his legs. His sneakers squelched with every step. Only after slipping repeatedly on the slick pavement did Isaiah slow to a limping walk.

People stared as he stumbled through the downpour, umbrella-less. Isaiah ignored them, his gaze fixed ahead. He had been walking like this for some time when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. He simply turned, his face blank.

“What are you doing here?”

The man held the umbrella over him and asked.

I… Isaiah thought. What am I doing here?

“Where are you going? Mountain Dog?”

“Mountain Dog…”

That’s right. I was going to Mountain Dog.

Isaiah nodded slowly.

“Why? Did Manny call for you?”

“Manny? No…”

Isaiah stared at the man, his eyes unfocused. Looking up at him, standing beneath the streetlight, Isaiah said dully, “To see you.”

“Me? Why?”

Bran asked gently.

Under the streetlight, his golden eyes shone brighter. Within their clear depths, something small and black…

“A bug…”

“Huh?”

“There’s a bug. In your eye.”

Bran’s pupils dilated slightly then narrowed again, almost imperceptibly.

“That’s mean.”

Mesmerized, Isaiah watched his smile. As he tracked the tiny bug within those golden depths, something streamed down his face.

“All time…”

He opened his mouth, and something – rain or tears, he didn’t know – flowed in. Isaiah swallowed, and the words tumbled out.

“All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I’ve said before, bugs in amber.”^[1]

Bran placed the umbrella in Isaiah’s hand. He removed his suit jacket and draped it over Isaiah’s shoulders.

“Slaughterhouse-Five.”

That’s right. The title of the book. The book on the nightstand in the living room. Next to the picture frame. Thick dust coated everything, but there was less on the book and the frame. So he had picked up the frame. And then…

“There was an ID card tucked in the back.”

“What kind of ID?”

“An FBI ID…”

The photo and signature had been carefully torn away.

Even so, he could tell.

And he wanted to have it.

“Why?”

Bran asked. Within the golden amber, the bug finally began to stir.

“…Because it’s.”

Isaiah said, his gaze rapt on the movement,

“…because it’s yours, Bran.”