Gravity doesn't care.
Detective Miller hit the marble floor of the foyer with a wet, heavy crack that echoed up the stairwell. Then, silence returned.
I stood at the top of the stairs, my hand still extended into the void where his chest had been. My heart wasn't beating right. It felt like it was buzzing in my chest.
I had just pushed him.
"David?"
My mother's voice came from the darkness behind me. The beam of my tablet ---still in flashlight mode----cut through the dust in the air.
"He... he slipped," I whispered. The words burned on the way out. "When the lights went out. He panicked."
I turned the light toward her. She was pale, her eyes wide, staring down into the abyss of the foyer. She didn't look at me.
"Is he...?" She didn't finish the word.
Bzzt.
I glanced down at the screen, shielding it from her view.
TARGET STATUS: UNCONFIRMED. INSTRUCTION: CONFIRM TERMINATION. REWARD: CLEANUP PROTOCOL ALPHA.
"I have to check," I said.
I walked down the stairs. My legs felt mechanical, operated by remote control. Every step was a decision not to run.
Miller was lying on his back. His limbs were tangled in unnatural angles. His head was turned too far to the left. His eyes were open, staring up at the chandelier he couldn't see, fixed in a permanent expression of surprise.
I knelt beside him. I didn't want to touch him. The tablet vibrated again, impatient.
I pressed two fingers to his neck. His skin was warm. Damp.
Nothing.
No pulse. No life. Just a body.
"He's dead," I called up to the landing. My voice sounded calm. I didn't recognize my own voice.
My mother let out a sharp, ragged breath. She descended the stairs, clutching the banister. "We have to... we have to think. This changes everything. A dead officer on the property? We can't stage a break-in now. This is a federal investigation."
She started talking faster. She reached for her phone. "I have a number. A fixer in Zurich. He can send a team, but they're three hours out. We have to—"
Bzzt.
DETECTIVE MILLER WAS WIRED. TRANSMISSION DETECTED. SOURCE: LEFT ANKLE.
The text flashed red.
"Mom, stop," I said.
"David, don't tell me to stop! We have a body in the wine cellar and a dead cop in the foyer! We need professionals!" She was dialing.
LISTENING DEVICE ACTIVE. WARNING: OPEN LINE.
"Put the phone down!" I snapped. The command tore out of my throat, harsh and authoritative. It didn't sound like me.
She froze, phone hovering by her ear. "Excuse me?"
I ignored her. I reached down to Miller's left leg. I felt around the sock. Hard plastic. A battery pack.
I yanked up the pant leg. Taped to his ankle was a black box, a red light blinking rhythmically.
"He's recording," I said, pointing at the light. "And if you make a call, whoever is listening on the other end of this wire will hear you admitting to a cover-up."
My mother lowered her phone slowly. Her eyes moved from the bug to me. Fear replaced the panic. "How did you know that was there?"
I couldn't tell her the truth. The tablet told me. She wouldn't understand. She would take it away. And right now, this machine was the only thing keeping me out of handcuffs.
"Dad taught me to look," I lied again. It was getting easier.
I ripped the device off Miller's leg. I threw it on the floor and stomped on it. Plastic shattered. The red light died.
Bzzt.
THREAT NEUTRALIZED. ANALYSIS: MILLER WAS NOT POLICE. ID MATCH: MERCENARY. EMPLOYER: UNKNOWN. NEXT STEP: DISPOSAL.
He wasn't a cop.
The relief washed over me, cold and intoxicating. I hadn't killed a cop.That mattered more than it should have.
"He wasn't a detective," I told her, standing up. "He was a mercenary. Someone sent him to verify Dad was dead."
"Who?" she whispered.
"Does it matter?" I looked at the two bodies in my mind—my father downstairs, the fake cop here. "We need to get rid of him. And we can't use your Zurich guy."
"Then what do we do?" For the first time in my life, my mother looked small. She didn't speak.
I looked at the tablet.
ASSET UNLOCKED: "THE JANITOR" CONTACT: 555-0199 CODE: "THE MARBLE IS STAINED."
I looked at her.
"I know a guy," I said. "Dad left a contingency."
I dialed the number on the screen. It rang once.
"Yes?" A voice answered. Distorted. Artificial.
"The marble is stained," I said.
There was a pause. Then, the voice spoke, sending a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold house.
"Understood, Mr. Thorne. Do not open the door. We are already inside."
The front lock clicked.
The door swung open.
Three men in white hazmat suits stood on the porch. They didn't look at me. They didn't look at my mother.
They looked at the body.
One of them stepped forward, holding a silver case. He looked at me through the visor of his helmet.
"Timer starts now," he said. "You have five minutes to mourn. Then we burn the house."
My mother grabbed my arm. "Burn the house? David, what did you do?"
I looked at the tablet.
OBJECTIVE 3: ERASE THE PAST. NOTE: INSURANCE MONEY IS LIQUID.
"We're starting over," I said, watching the men bag the fake detective.
I felt a strange, dark smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
"And we're going to get paid for it."