"Is he really keeping you prisoner?" A voice pops up over the monitor. A childish, cute tone that leads me to believe it must be "bring your kid to work" day.
I stir from my crisis and pick up the flat matte white box, intrigued by this new development.
"Yep. Are you a princess also trapped in a tower?" I ask carefully, a smile creeping on my lips.
The voice falls to a hushed whisper, their mouth right next to some part of the monitor (but certainly not the microphone). "No, but Mommy brings me here when Frankie's sick. Frankie is my babysitter," the voice sounds on the verge of tears. "I don't like Mommy's job. Everything's boring here!"
I chuckle. This endearing creature is something right out of a family film. My experience with children is limited, but I do enjoy them. Perhaps because they act like little employees without the consequences.
"Oh no! Does Frankie have a cold?" I feign worry. "I'm sure she'll feel better soon."
"HE! Frankie's a he!" The tiny voice huffs and puffs into the device. I can't help but giggle.
"I'm sorry! I've never met Frankie, so I didn't know. Does Mommy know you're talking to a stranger right now?" I ask carefully.
"Yeah… Mean ol' Mr. White gave this to me so he and Mommy and Uncle Cirra can talk about stupid DUMB stuff," the voice is pouting immensely. "My name's Gingly, what's your name?"
"That's a cute name! My name is Vinny," I chuckle. I'm having way too much fun with this. Perhaps I should let myself get locked up more often.
"Do you wanna play a game?!" Gingly shouts over the monitor. When I nod my head, she squeals in delight. "Okay, I'm gonna come up with a game! How about… you hide and I find you?"
"Hmm, that might be a bit hard to play through a camera like this. What if we play I Spy?"
And so for two hours I play I Spy through a baby monitor with the child of my fake fiance's employee. Possibly employee? I'm not quite sure. Intermittently Gingly drops fun bits of information on me.
"Mommy says Mr. White can't do his job good."
"Mommy said yesterday that… I forgot."
"Did you know the moon is a circle?"
"You're pretty. I think Mr. White should let you and you can get married to a prince! I'm a princess and I'm gonna marry a prince too. I have ten prince dolls, but they're just dolls, they're not real."
"Uncle Cirra is calling Mr. White some bad names right now. I don't think they like each other."
I listen in amusement. When she says her goodbyes I'm genuinely disappointed. Ledge doesn't chime in either, so I'm left bored once more. The only cure for my ailment now is to snoop around the man's house and see what I can find.
I start with the lower floor. It's one big open space, with a kitchen and living room. He has bookshelves lined with auto-biographies and history books, financial success guides and foreign language references. There's a plethora of tiny collectibles, statuettes I suppose to be from other cities. I had no idea he had any interest in travel, but the evidence seems to indicate he does.
Upstairs is a loft office space. Papers are scattered everywhere, crude diagrams line whiteboards, motivational phrases fill any dead gaps. I suppose this must be his sanctuary, if I had to guess. To my confusion there's a second bed set up here. Perhaps he exhausts himself with work to such an extent that he needs to collapse immediately? I inspect the nearby wardrobe on a whim and– Oh god.
I can feel the heat in my face rising as I find something I did not want to see. No one would want to see this. I quickly slam the door shut, taking a moment to gather myself. I check nightstands: more horrors. There's no way I can snoop anymore. I flee back downstairs and collapse in bed. Any aches and pains are cast aside and my brain makes room to permanently stain my memories with what I just saw.
I only need ten minutes to decompress and I'm right back to snooping. I sit in his chair upstairs, doing a few spins for good measure, then begin to look over his whiteboard of chaos more closely.
12 DEAD 23 MISSING IN TRAIN CRASH
IS THIS END OF CLEARTRACK RAILWAY COMPANY?
BRUISER BLACKWATER TELL ALL
WHAT IT TAKES TO BE CEO: KILLER MEDIA'S DARK HISTORY
There are dozens of news articles, some of which have been layered atop each other to converse on space. When I check the desk it's some more of the same contents, mixed with documents I'd never be able to guess the connection of. Upon spotting a black folder labeled Vignette, I'm unable to help myself from cracking it open. It's a full profile on me, handwritten presumably by Ledger.
Name: Vignette Blackwater
Age: 24 Years Old (Real Age ??)
Gender: Female
Height: 5'7"
Species: Orca
Eye Color: Red
Hair Color: Black, White
DOB: July 14th, XXXX
Threat: 8
Hobbies: Movies
Routine Keypoints: Work start 6 AM, Lunch 12 PM, Dinner 6 PM. Movie theater trips after work frequent (Shrimp Cinema).
Access Points:
Lutra Damian, closeAlicia Stenella, not as close (Former Sec)Alexio Alexander, childhood friend, mineBruiser Blackwater, bad info potentially
Scandals: Minor workplace moments, nothing useful
Weak: Naive, lightweight drinker, lonely, neurotic.
Caution: Manipulative, smart, cold, Bruiser
Notes:
Powerful asset. Desire for companionship is an easy access point. Would be big FUCK YOU to Bruiser. Trophy wife? Hot. Birth parents still alive and could be useful to knock down few pegs. Bruiser's second best asset, basically his dog.
I feel an uncomfortable twisting in my gut. It could be hunger, it could be guilt, it could be anxiety. Somehow it feels like all of the above. Perhaps it's the fact I was starting to hope that, deep somewhere in me, our relationship didn't have to boil down to be used against my Papa. I think it's more likely the issue setting me off is the fact that he found my birth parents somehow.
It's something between an open secret and a harshly guarded truth that I'm not Bruiser's blood relation. If you bring it up he'll brush it off, perhaps like a good father would. I flip through to the next page, finding a collection of photos that had been taken both off the internet and in person. Some were obviously taken while we were together. Interesting.
I drop the file back on the desk and move to check what he has on Papa.
Name: Bruiser Blackwater
Age: 58 Years Old
Gender: Male
Height: 6'7"
Species: Orca (Goliath)
Eye Color: Red
Hair Color: Black, White
DOB: June 19th, XXXX
Threat: 10
Hobbies: Darts, gambling (See Casino List), women, industry, mixers
Routine Keypoints: See Routine List
Access Points: See Access Points List
Scandals: See Scandals List
Weak: Daughter? Killer Media? Girlfriends?
Caution: Violent, vindictive, psycho, smart, manipulative
Notes:
KILL THIS FUCKER!
I spin in the chair as I read, disappointed by the first page. The folder is quite thick, so I have plenty to go through. It's only when I catch the glimpse of a figure that shouldn't be there that I look up and make an attempt to stop. This lingering specter has been watching me. A set of hands slam down on the arms of the chair and a face draws near suddenly.
"I knew you'd go snooping~" Ledger smiles, plucking the document from me. "The good stuff stays locked up, sorry babe."
My eyes widen and I gasp, unsure if I should apologize or yell at him. "Do you really want to kill Papa?" I ask, my tone dropped free of its usual life. Everything feels slightly too real now.
"Fuck yes I do." He slaps the file down on his desk, loud enough to make me flinch. For a moment he just stands there, searching for something in his mind as his breathing begins to quicken. Both of his hands slam down onto the desk, water drips from the ceiling. He turns to me suddenly, his tail thrashing documents all over the place.
I instinctively push my chair back slightly, frightened at his sudden demeanor shift.
Then, he speaks: "Funny enough, it's all your fault."