Cacoon

Cacoon

                      ⤝3⤞

     “Hello, Billingtor! This is the new CPT channel, whereas other channels have ditched giving updates on Billingtor’s latest news. CPT now possesses the TDA and will continue giving you report!” A man with opposite-colored eyes, green and blue, smiled as he spoke charismatically. 

     “Today,  a mysterious attack on a street where many witnesses are saying a ‘Great beast’ had started killing people before disappearing! Authorities are looking into it at the moment. Until further information, we will come back with some more… 

                      Breaking news.”

     “And CUT!” said a producer. As soon as the producer spoke, people started making their way across the room in a rush, moving objects. The room was full of soft lighting, with a black desk where a man sat in the chair behind it. 

     His charismatic smile faded in an instant as he got up from the chair and began making his way out of the room, as people continued to rush around like ants with a single-minded task. The noise slowly began to fade as he walked down a quiet hallway. It wasn’t horribly quiet; he could still hear the hum of working machines and distant chatter. It filled the space so it never felt lonely. Or more accurately, a distraction from it. 

     How many years has it been now? 7? No. It’s been 12 years since that unfateful night. The reason I’m here. 

     His thoughts continued with his hands in his pockets while his surroundings changed from a simple broadcasting room to a whole new world that could barely be understood. On each side of the hallway, there are faintly blue tinted glass walls that blurishly reflected his sides. Within the glass could be seen machines that looked as if they belong to a dystopian futuristic comic book and not contained in a building within Billingtor. It didn’t fit Billingtor, he thought. 

     Before the machines could come into full detail, he entered a grey elevator and pressed a button. His shoulders tensed, his face remained the same stoic expression, but his eyes flickered to his reflection on the elevator door. 

     He always disliked smaller rooms, but he wouldn’t call himself claustrophobic. It was more of an unease that settled into his stomach. Without fail, a small room always reminded him of that year. Too bad he had to go into the stupid elevator every day. Although, despite it all, he grew grateful for the reminder, no matter how horrid it may be. 

     A screen flickers into view inside the elevator, momentarily shrinking his unease. The screen showed an ad of a man he recognized as himself, with a charismatic smile plastered across it. The ad mentioned CPT, a small business that works towards protecting children through tech- hence the name, Children’s Protection Tech. 

     The elevator stopped before the doors opened automatically, revealing the true depths of CPT; this, for certain, was not a small business. When the doors opened, it was like a pair of eyes opened to reveal a whole new world. As he walks into this world, he watches as workers all around are working on various tech. It still awed him even if he had seen this part of CPT thousands of times. The tech was a variety of animals and creatures, while others looked like nothing recognizable in the outside world. But it all served a purpose. 

Soon after, he arrived in a room that resembled an office with a dark interior. Frames holding degrees and his other achievements hung upon the dark walls; the glass on them reflected his figure as he passed to sit in his chair. As he sat in the chair, it turned slightly, rolling to face the backside of the room where the wall was a massive water tank casting a blue surreal lighting. 

“Boden Covet?” An assistant peered in. 

“What?” He groaned. 

“Tomorrow there is a meeting with the employees about CPT’s plans going forward with TDA.” 

      Boden waved his hand dismissively, “Feature it as the possibility of further broadcasting about the weird creatures everyone is swallowing up on the internet. Now get lost.”

The assistant scurried off before he could agitate Boden further. Boden huffed, his tense shoulders dropping ever so slightly, but the stress never went away. It only rose and rose until he felt like he was drowning, gasping for air. 

     His phone dinged, a glowing notification hovering above the screen like a white hologram. Above the hologram, it showed the culprit of putting a pause to his rare moment of silence. Ruth. Boden’s annoyed stare switched into a more peaceful expression as he picked up his phone swiftly. 

      He scanned the text. His eyes widened with realization as he scanned his high-tech watch. Seeing the date, 5th- today was the fifth; how could he have forgotten? He thought, but he didn’t waste any longer in his thoughts, deciding to immediately send out a message to her. 

     ‘I’ll be there. Give me 20 minutes.’ He sent. 

Three dancing dots. 

     ‘Did you forget?’ Ruth sent. Boden typed out a response, wincing slightly at his own lie. 

     ‘Never. I practically have everything on the calendar for months memorized.’ He sent before she sent one last response, ‘Don’t be late.’ 

     He didn’t completely lie. He’d been cramped with plans for years now. Ever since he made that plan. A good reason to have forgotten the 5th, although he still felt a little annoyed at forgetting that day. It meant the same for him as the plan did. It was ironic to him how the same day he had finally landed on the stepping stone he needed for the plan was on the same day as the fifth.

Ironic. 

Or maybe, just maybe… 

It’s one of God’s Jokes. 

     He could never tell which sometimes; he stopped asking such questions years ago. 

     Putting a black tie on, he smiled in the mirror like he had won the biggest victory ever. In his mind, he did, he had finally won something after years. What made it better was that tonight he could share that victory with a friend. 

     A Shared Victory. 

     35 minutes later. Late. Very, very late. He stood in front of her door, holding a bottle of apple cider. As comical as it all may seem, everything had a reason. Everything does, doesn’t it? 

     Knock. 

Silence. 

     Knock. 

Silence. 

     The lights are on. He thought while pulling out his phone to call her, to let her know that he’s here. He thought perhaps she thought he wasn’t coming. Rude. Though I am 35 minutes late… 

The phone rang, but as he waited, he heard a faint buzzing; his eyes flickered to where it came from, and only confusion filled them. Through the window, he could see her phone on a coffee table; it wasn’t the placement that made his gut twist with unease… it was the visible crack. 

     Nothing came. He couldn’t stay patient with all the voices in his head screaming something was wrong. He busted through the door, BAM! He searched the house for her, yelling her name as his footsteps hurried, and anxiety and worry seeped in. 

     He made his way to the bathroom door, again, that twist in his gut that screamed with warning. He reached for the door knob, with a creaking turn as the door opened. The bottle in his hand slipped out of hand, shattering on the tile below. 

  “No, no, no, no, no, no no-” He repeated over and over as he ran to the red-filled bathtub. He first grabbed her face, hoping this wasn’t real. Her face was cold, and her eyes were open with no emotion behind them. He cried her name, the tears blurring the image of her as he wrapped his arms around her limp body. The sleeves of his tailored suit soaked in red as he lifted her from the tub into his arms as he slumped onto the cold tiles. The coldness of the tiles seeped through his clothes, biting his skin.

     There was a moment of silence. A few sniffles. He had covered her body with a towel, giving her a sense of privacy as he held her closer. He could hear his own raspy breath, but he did not hear hers. And that- made the tears fall even harder. Harder than they already were. 

      In the corner of his eye, he saw something clutched in her right hand tightly. It poked out slightly, twinkling when light hit the unknown object. He sniffled as his fingers traced her right arm, her tan skin that had little scars, scars that he wasn’t new to, not for this same reason, but from another. 

    When his fingers came to her wrist, his breath hitched at the gruesome wound, almost causing more tears to fall. His fingers went to her hand and gently opened them by sliding his hand in hers. The object in her hand made his eyebrows knit together. A hairpin. He held it as memories of her wearing this same hairpin; she only wore it on the fifth. 

     Everything had a reason. Everything does, doesn’t it?

     Authorities came. He watched as they took pictures, notes, whatever else they needed for these situations. He felt distraught, but before he could slip deep into despair, a detective cleared his throat to gain Boden’s attention. His eyes flickered to the detective. A man, presumably in his 50’s, rough hair, wrinkled eyes, but had a tough look in his eyes. 

     “Detective Hugo Volkov.” The detective reached a hand out to shake Boden’s hand; they shook. The detective decided to continue with what they found, “We are stating it as a suicide; it is believed she had injected herself with illegal substances before cutting her wrist with a hair clip.” Boden remained silent, Hugo could see the young man’s eyes hard with thought. He sighed, placing a hand on Boden’s shoulder, “I am sorry for your loss”, before walking past him. 

     “She didn’t do drugs,” Boden muttered to himself. He turned swiftly to the detective, “Wait, I want you to do a further investigation.”

     Hugo looked at Boden. “The case is already closed as a suicide.” Boden pulled out his wallet, placing down a large sum of money, “I will pay whatever you want, just please.” Hugo looked at Boden, then at the money before grunting, “Fine.” 

     That night, when Boden arrived at the very top floor of CPT, his personal penthouse, he didn’t take in a single detail. He went straight to the counter where he kept his whiskey, he plopped down onto his bed with a soft thud. The whiskey stung in his throat, but he took another swig of it anyway. 

     The bottle was empty not long after, he laid on his back looking at the only thing the authorities would allow him to take. The hair pin. He held it up, the hairpin turned into a silhouette as light shined straight down from the ceiling. He rolled the hairpin through his fingers. His eyes hardened onto it with a deep focus. 

     “I know you didn’t kill yourself.” He whispered with certainty, no doubt. In that very moment, he clutched the hairpin in his own hand before sitting up. That whole night he had devoted every hour to trying to solve her murder. Scattering out papers, scanning texts, sketching out the rooms, but by the time the sun peeked through the buildings of Billingtor… he had found nothing. 

     He held the hairpin in his hand as sleep finally claimed his sleep deprived mind. His head tilted at an angle as his eyes shut close. The hairpin began to slip from his hand and his eyes widened again, gripping the hairpin again. Not daring to let go. Never. 

     He stood. He went down to the 2nd floor where the CPT channel was aired, he didn’t bother changing his clothes. Perhaps that was risky, but something inside him didn’t care. Some employees tried to ask him to change into something more suitable for viewers, but he denied them all. After all, this was his show, wasn’t it? Was anything really ours? 

     The CPT channel came on, Boden had a serious expression, no longer the smiley, charismatic newsman. 

     “Hello, Billingtor. As of last night, a woman with the name of Ruth Covet has passed away. Authorities say by suicide, but as CPT has promised truth…” Ruth’s identity showed beside him as he spoke, the once-living woman, now gone. Her name was listed below the image as well; her last name wasn’t Covet. 

     “Ruth Covet was murdered. I do not know who you are, or why you killed her, but I will find who you are, why you killed her, and then I will put a bullet in your head.” 

“I will kill you.”