The house had always felt too proud for three people. White pillars shouldered a porch big enough for summer parties they never got around to throwing. Crosses hung on wood-paneled walls that smelled faintly of lemon oil and Sunday starch. Darting down the stairs past black and white photos, stopping first in the kitchen to grab her lunch, Noel paused in the foyer, palms pressed to the cool curve of her gloves button, watching her own reflection blur in the bevel of the front door glass. She’d woken up early to shape her hair into a careful halo. Her shift-dress, gloves, and stockings, all her very best, seemed to glow in her aura.

  “First day,” Noel closed her eyes, taking a breath, and stepped out into the Monday air. Before the porch, a garden of petunias, zinnias, and alyssum waved in the morning breeze, its fragrance greeting hers with its own. Rows of vibrant orange and violets gave way to a lush bed of green lawn and a sprawling oak tree. Birds zipped through partially clouded springtime skies, singing cheerful melodies, accompanying her steps down the porch.

  In the driveway, under a dew-stained muslin shroud, slept her father’s pride. Noel kept walking, glancing down at her watch once to make sure she’d not missed the bus. Down the sidewalk, at the corner of Witherspoon and Jackson, was the bus stop. From a ways off, Noel could make out other women and heard them talking in the distance. As she approached, she made out the familiar punchlines of weekend escapades and casserole secrets.

  Noel took a position behind the bench, her bag under her arm, listening without entering the circle. Down the block, the bus sighed to a halt, its brakes squelched and groaned, and it wasn’t long until the cycle repeated before them, doors folding in to a driver, cap-tipped. The women climbed aboard, paid, each taking their seats. Of course, maintaining their conversations; Noel electing a seat, near the back by a window, alone.

  The bus moaned and lurched, the route curved, as it always had, past the iron gates of Saint Bartholomew’s Cemetery. Noel tried to ignore the unsettled soil and fresh flowers she envisioned, fighting back memories of steaming roasted chicken on a checkered cloth; a typical night. Words too clear fought their way to the surface: I got it! Princeton accepted me into their mechanical engineering program! Where she expected a father’s pride lay only heat and thunder. Her eyelids grew heavy for a moment, and she laid her head back, letting the bus carry her forward.

  Strolling in through the front door, Noel’s eyes scanned. Caliber Research & Development wore patriotism like a portrait gallery. Entering the lobby — reception desk to the left, chairs and tables to the right whose backdrop, the entire wall, displayed smiling executives, cabinet secretaries, field photos of men in fatigues down a sun-lit corridor, beaming with rays of sunlight to a set of stairs and double doors. On the left, a hallway dead-ended at two offices. Straight ahead: double doors stood propped to what looked like a cafeteria or large break room. She stood at the desk, taking it all in.

  A small crowd walked in with her, dispersing down the hall to the right; their cadences were quick. Before her, a woman’s voice, stern and direct, caught her attention. “You’re 15 minutes late. I presume you are Noel Stowers?” The woman took 2 steps towards Noel, looking her from head to toe.

  Noel’s head cut sharply to find a blonde chignon and charcoal suit; her eyes rested on the mouth of the woman addressing her, and she reached out her hand for an introduction. “You must be Director Sydney Billings. A pleasure to meet you!”

  No eagerness was reciprocated. “We arrive thirty minutes early here at CRD. That makes you late.” The woman looked Noel over once more. “And we arrive prepared.”

  Noel fumbled through her bag, “Yes, ma’am,” removing a manilla folder to hand over. “Here are all my documents,” sliding the folder underneath the woman’s nose.

  Sydney let her glance fall off once more. “Prepared,” she repeated. “Your outfit is… social. Your hair, Miss Stowers — “ the pause had a taste to it “— reads more ethnic than professional.” The words landed with the quiet thump of a gavel. Before Noel could place her own words anywhere, Director Billings turned on a sensible heel. “Walk with me. Let me tell you how things work around here.”

  Noel stuck close to the director’s heel while Sydney’s voice pattered the secrets of the office on a guided tour. A right turn down the hall: “Security doors to the labs; guards will only permit badged employees.” Her eyes narrowed past Noel to the portraits on the wall. “Here you can marvel at some of CRD’s history, if it interests you.” Sydney turned, climbing the stairs: “Second floor, in the ‘bullpen’. Most of the scientists, the ones without offices,” she made a quick glance back to see if Noel was paying attention. “and other members of the staff maintain a cubicle here.” Her hands now gestured, pointing, “at the end of the hall you’ll find HR, outsourced to HuSource Global, of course, down on the left. Take that folder, have them Xerox it for your personnel records.”

  The second floor was laid out nearly identical to the first, with the lobby and reception desk being roughly in the same place. Sydney’s feet took her to a leather armchair where she planted herself while Noel disappeared into the office. Two gentlemen, noses each buried in a large 3in three-ring binder, failed to notice Noel at the doorway.

  “We haven’t got all day now, let’s get a move on!” Sydney’s shout initiated the men’s interactions, whose necks cracked in unison.

  “You must be Miss Stowers?” The men were on their feet, one reaching for her folder and briskly thumbing through it. “Oh, my mistake. Doctor Stowers.” He walked over, placing the folder to the side, feeding the forms through a slot.

  Another man shoved a packet of forms before her. “Fill these out, and step over here for your ID badge, please.” Noel was hurried onto a stool, a flash forcing her to blink several times.

  She patted her pockets. “I don’t have a pen.” Noel sifted through her bag, frantically, scanning the desktop for a cup.

  “Don’t worry about it, Doctor. Bring the papers back when you can.” The men handed her back her folder and her new ID, waving her out the door.

  Up another flight: “Third floor, CalibreOne and CalibreFreight, as well as other support teams. Conference rooms, Logistics, procurement; people who never touch a circuit but insist on telling us how many we can afford.” The pair began descending back to the first floor.

  Noel broke the rhythm of their heels on the stair steps with a question, “Does…Calibre have offices here?” Her father rarely spoke of work, mostly isolating it to pillow talk with her mother. She never felt welcomed to ask about the monotony of his day-to-day affairs of work, or the tedium those encounters may have included.

  Sydney stopped two steps from the bottom, turning, still taller than Noel. She leaned in close, harshly snapping, “Stupid! Girl? You don’t know? The Calibre you’re thinking of was disbanded back in ’62. President Kennedy — the Bay of Pigs, the hearings, that whole morality play? Those were the good days. This —“ they proceeded back into the first-floor hall, she gestured at the clean lobby, the patriotic wall”—is what remains. Try to keep up.”

  Noel absorbed the sting, cheeks hot, following as ordered. At the security doors, two armed guards verified credentials and granted access. The air cooled, thickening with machine breath and a faint hum of fluorescent lighting. To the right, the windows stopped at the doors, and the walls grew ribbed with cabinets, IBM mainframes stacked like municipal monuments, DEC PDP units grumbling behind punched-metal grates. To the left, two offices — nearly identical, each with its own rectangular desk lamp atop a mahogany desk — through the darkness, Noel could make out the outline of a monitor and on the back wall another outline of a chalkboard.

  A narrow hallway divided off three more doors from the offices: Control Room 1, Control Room 2, and Lab 1. “The office on the right is yours, the one on the left belongs to Dr. Jackson. You may leave your personal effects there. The office key is in your desk. This room over here is where you will be working.”

  On the lab door, under the room name, was another placard, ‘Jackson | Stowers’. Inside, white walls gave an impression of sterility Noel had never known before. The room was alive. More chassis lined the halls with multicolored panels twinkling in rhythm to twisting taped reeled gizmos. Teletype terminals sat hunched on rolling carts, pushed by lab-coated researchers. Noel’s eyes sparkled with electricity. “Welcome!” The woman spun to see a disheveled-looking man grinning through stubble. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, placing a stack of papers on a passing teletype cart. His hand outstretched, “Mortimer Jackson, but nobody calls me that. Jax.” He clutched Noel’s folder firmly, “May I?” Then, sliding the folder from her grasp, began thumbing through it.

  “Very nice. Princeton? You’re a local girl, that’s right. So am I. Class of ’74! About a year late, but congratulations anyway! I’m a ‘Brown’ man, myself; class of ’64.” He shot her a thumbs up. “Mechanical engineering, and a minor in biotechnology! Cutting-edge stuff. Impressive! Top of your class, I had to see it for myself. It’s just what I’d expect from someone raised by—He lowered the folder and made eye contact. “— My condolences on Dr. Stowers.” Jax swallowed hard, his eyes moving between Noel’s face and the papers. “He was… …well, I worked with your father for some time. He… was good to me.” The energy was now vacant from his words.

  Sydney cleared her throat, scanning over faces and equipment as she strolled to the lab door. “Well, that’s all fine. Catch her up on research, if possible. By close of business tomorrow, I want her up to speed.”

  The close and latch of the heavy lab door snapped Noel from her spell, her shoulders uncurved. She let out a breath, turning back to Jax. “Thank you, by the way.” She took her folder back, offering her hand instead. “You can call me Noel.”

  His grasp was firm, but gentle. His face beamed, a smile bright like the sun, as his hand slid to his side, resting firmly on his hips. “Come on,” Jax’s voice was gentle. “Let me show you what we’re doing.” He led her down a side corridor to a smaller, quieter room; remote enough that the vibration of the mainframe became a memory. Within glass enclosures lay three cyan rectangles, flat and translucent, like slices of shelved tropical sea.

  “These are them. The Anomalies. Your father called them ‘gifts’ when he was feeling poetic. Research has pretty much been dead for the past five years.”He covered his mouth, eyes darting to meet Noel’s, but her eyes were on the enclosure and she waved it off, beckoning him to continue. “Every test we’ve proposed since has either gotten us laughed at or, worse, reassigned. These days, we just deliver constants. I remember when we first started our research…” there was a reverence in his tone now, as if he feared saying something that might anger the devices. “These things…I don’t know how to explain it; they did some crazy things.” His fingers now drummed the glass, rhythmically, “and they’ve never been very keen on being forthcoming.”

  Noel stood before the glass, a swelling in her chest she couldn’t explain. Their color seemed to float there, fixed. Light slid through in ways that physics refused to clarify. Suspended upright, on specially designed pedestals, they were nearly completely translucent, and yet were responsible for so much. “How long?”

  “Your old man was on this project for 20 years. Every now and then, there was a breakthrough, but we still haven’t figured out what they are. What they truly do.” The devices stared back up at Noel, captivating her. Was she hooked by the same snare that caught her father over 2 decades ago? Jax found it hard to separate her from the glass, ensuring that the only way for her to handle them was to complete the “check-in” process.

  The tour of the facility that Sydney initiated was not over. Below ground, Jax led them through three more floors, from lab to lab, making sure everyone knew who their new supervisor was. “We need to make sure you’re assigned all the right systems permissions,” and so it was back to the third floor, an excuse to show off a set of stairs available only through certain labs. “Oh! You need to meet the drafters! You know, they really are faceless heroes,” so back to the second floor bullpen, it was.

  Corralled into an impromptu lunch meeting, Noel offering greetings and receiving a mix of polite surprise, indifference, and curious inventory. Jax could only shrug, “The machines are probably friendlier,” and they’d continue bouncing about the building through the remainder of the afternoon.

  “5:15, jeez, where’d the time go?! Jax was clutching his face, “I got so caught up in introductions!” Noel saw him searching for something until they made eye contact. “You! There you are! Go ahead, I need to head back down to the labs and make sure everything’s all stowed properly, but you can get out of here and we will catch up on the anomalies first thing tomorrow.” He waved her off and she obtained her baring.

  Down the stairs, back through the lab, Noel gathered her things from her office before proceeding to the bus stop. Through the double doors, she could make out Sydney’s silhouette, down the hall, glared in the sunlight. Maybe she’s just not a morning person, a conclusion that led to an assumption their next interaction would be different than the last.

  On Noel’s approach, Sydney’s back straightened before any words could be exchanged, speaking first to the wind, “I trust tomorrow you will… …look the part? Let’s try to be better prepared.” Offering half a face and nothing more when her words were through.

  Sydney’s expression remained impassive as Noel’s eyes buckled, her nostrils flared, and her lips twisted, poised to unleash something obscene—then reconsidered. With a sharp pivot, Noel stomped through the lobby doors. Only then did Sydney’s face soften, a flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth.

  Before the doors had properly sealed, Sydney was in her office and closing hers. Her eyes followed Noel, still, down the walkway, past the parking lot to the bus stop. Sydney took her seat, placing the receiver to her ear. “Dispatch, connect me to Executive Edgar White. He’s at headquarters.”

  Sydney’s eyes grew wide. “Good evening. I wasn’t expecting—”, Her voice faltered, eyes flickering between the women heading toward the bus stop, lips curling. Stammering. “Well, it’s just the first day, I’m sure. If she’s educated the way you say she is, I can properly motivate—“, her eyes strained to find Noel in the growing crowd. “Collaborating ‘Telescope-tales’…?”

  Sydney’s pulse quickened, her face angled to the phone, brow furrowed hard. “I can account for every red cent!” Now her back was to the windows, hunched over her desk, the lashing intensified. “Patsies?! You make it sound as if I want to work with them! Listen—“, Outrage filled the office.

  “We have one week?! But it’s only been a day?! I only assumed her father’s knowledge was predicated on something he wasn’t telling us. I never—” Sydney’s face was red now, her eyes twitched and the phone trembled; her patience and the bus were gone.

  Screeching brakes and the guttural growl of the engine were the backdrop to quiet snickering and the occasional shrill squeal. Noel couldn’t help but grin at some of the stories. She took inventory of her posture, relaxing her shoulders, rolling her neck. That insufferable woman. How did daddy— no . Past the window went the Iron Gates again. No, I can’t think of him, not right now.

  Air brakes hushed. The bus crept to a halt, releasing a line of shoes into the street, their heels fading as they parted ways, exchanging pleasantries. Noel stared down the muslin from half a block. Her face twisted, replaying her encounters with Director Billings through her mind. ‘Come better prepared tomorrow’? Her feet stopped short of the fender, ripping off the automobile’s shroud, leaving it in a pile in front of the driver’s-side headlight.

  “Daddy loved this machine.” She reflected on his sweet sentiments, the care he took to its preservation. He was sure it was going to be a classic one day, opting for the ‘provincial white’, only available by purchasing the ‘Holiday Sedan’ trim.The driver’s-side door swung open just as it had the day he’d taught her to drive; of course, he’d opened it. The cabin chimed, the exact same as all those years ago, as she took the driver’s seat. His smell. The car was rich with the fragrance of rosemary and sandalwood; blanketed with lemons nestled in a field of lavender that took her back down memory road, even after all this time. She rubbed her hands across the upholstery and fixtures; leather and woodgrain slick beneath her glove. Satin gloves adjusted the rearview mirror, Noel catching first her eyes, then her hair. “…ethnic…”, she mouthed to herself.

  From the porch, floral fragrance swirled in the evening breeze. Through bezeled doors, lemon-oiled walls coalesced with a tapestry of savory blends from the kitchen and a familiar clattering of flatware, the slamming of cupboards and cabinets. The smell of wafting onions and butter guided Noel to the table, already set. She stood there long enough for the kitchen rhythm to stop.

  “Almost about the same time as your father. Come. Sit, child. Dinner will be ready shortly.” A prompt prediction, as plates of turnip greens, ham, and macaroni and cheese were sat atop a checkered tablecloth. Rolls and cookies straddled a pitcher of sweet tea, and across the table, Momma took her seat. “Tell me about your first day!”

  Not much exposition was needed to deduce what the problem was. Noel picked through her plate, choosing precise words to describe her interactions, only ever so often taking a bite of her food when she would ask her mother, “So, what do you think?”

  In the center of the table sat a container of toothpicks next to a pack of cigarettes. In the coming moments, Mrs. Stowers would reach for each before finally providing clarity. “I’m sure the woman doesn’t worship satan. That’s a bit much, but she’s always been hell, that’s for damn sure.” She took a drag, picked at her mouth for a moment before continuing. “Your father never had too many kind words for her, neither. She used to get him so out of pocket. He’d come home so flustered,” her arms now crossed, she relaxed as she reminisced.

  “I’m sure you can find better dresses down on Jackson, but I don’t know what you’re going to do about your hair on such short notice, though. I can call around.”

  Noel’s fingers were back in her hair. “How’d he do it?”

  “Do what?” She exhaled smoke over her shoulder.

  “Deal with her? There must have been something he learned after all that time. Did he ever tell you anything?”

  Momma took another long, deep drag from her cigarette, then paused for a moment. “No.” Trapped smoke dissipated. “No, no, he just… …did his job.” Back on her feet, she began clearing the table.

  Noel, with a glass bin filled with leftovers, slammed the fridge closed, grabbed a cookie from the table, and snatched the keys from the hook. “Be back soon,” she said, closing the door behind her. Back in the old car, most of the cookie devoured, she backed out of the driveway. Headed towards Jackson.

  The sun was nothing more than a sliver by the time Noel burst back through the door. Paper bags ruffled, while she stumbled upstairs. “I went down to Jackson, but they didn’t have anything. Then I went over to Kingston. Before I knew it, I was almost to Trenton, but I found them! Oh, wait till you see them — where you at, Momma?”

  “I’m here. Been waiting for you. Come on.” On the bed, everything in the house conclusive to styling hair was laid out. “We probably better start now. Probably gonna be up all night,” Momma popped her knuckles and cleared her throat.

  Tinder headed, eyes heavy, Noel stumbled to bed, searching for her bonnet in the dark. Fingers crawled across her pillow, its typical resting place, and soon the satin was firmly fixed atop her crown. It didn’t take moments for her to drift off to sleep.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Noel's cry reverberated through the void, a desperate plea swallowed by the cosmic maw. The blinding light intensified, searing her closed eyelids, while the shriek — otherworldly, primal—pierced her very soul. And then she was up. She remembered this dream, from the funeral. Her perceived anguish; her father’s cryptic words; 5 years, and now this dream again? Why? Several dozen questions danced through her mind until she realized she was asleep.

  #

  Tuesday, Noel arrived thirty minutes early in a suit with seams that meant business and shoes that could not be accused of play. Her hair lay ironed flat, like ‘Sydney’s sense of humor,’ Momma joked. Sydney held court at the reception desk, greeting each face by name as they passed. For Noel, however, the inventory returned, slow and precise, toe to crown.

  “That suit was all the rage two seasons ago,” Sydney said, bored. “Your shoes are…dull. And whatever you think you’ve done to your hair—“ she allowed herself a scoff “—don’t.”

  Noel made it through security without showing the heat that climbed her throat. From behind her, Jax materialized, first as voice, then his person. “Your suit is very smart, if I do say so myself, Dr. Stowers,” his grin managed tenderness without pity, but it wasn’t enough for a response.

  In the lab, he gathered the assistants, a half-dozen faces, or so, pretending not to be annoyed. “In case you were out yesterday, everyone, this is Dr. Stowers. A few of you that have remained here for a few years may recall working with her father. She’ll be taking over his work as the head scientist. Of course, I’ll still be here. She just inherits the mess, the miracles…. Oh, and my worst jokes! Uh. Yes, we’ll start with the basics.”

  They briefed her on what was essentially her legacy. They talked about the macro until understanding was lost, then discussed the micro until it all made sense again, but Noel was only partially there. She heard the clouds of it, occasionally a little thunder; but no rain, and certainly no lightning. Anomalies. Constants. Tests re-run so often that rewards were given for reciting their results from memory. She watched fingers on keycaps and thought of her father’s hand on the steering wheel, on a pencil, on his chest.

  “Doctor?”

  “Please.” Jax’s voice brought the room into focus. “Call me Noel.” Six faces formed an audience nearby as Jax rolled up a seat. “Did he?” His words landed with an implicating cadence of repetition.

  “Did who what?” Noel’s face twisted.

  “Well, some of us worked with him for a while, others since the beginning. He always seemed to come up with, well, something new just when we needed him the most.”

  Her face twisted further, and her shoulder shrugged. “Okay?”

  “Well, we thought, well—” he rubbed his forehead “—you lived with him; did he… …leave anything? Like, for us?” His arms insisted he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

  “Leave you something…?”

  “A clue? Even a hunch? Something we could test? Something new.” The words hung and faded into the hum of machines and luminescent lighting.

  There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, and another racing of her mind. Five years, and she still hadn’t been down to his lab. It’s too soon, she’d been telling herself. Maybe this was too soon too. The grief she’d been holding at arm’s length took a step, and the room began to sway. She pushed back from her terminal, excusing herself into the hall; hands burying her face until it was clear she was under control.

  Sydney’s heels announced themselves, then stopped. There was a small throat-clearing.

  Noel knew of one other woman that had access to the labs. “Yes, ma’am?” Noel straightened, turning about.

  “It’s barely day two and you’re breaking down?”

  “Allergies,” Noel said crisply. “Something in the labs, I think.”

  “Right. I thought I would tell you, personally. CRD Executives expect an update no later than 8 a.m. Monday. That’s Greenwich Mean Time, BTW. Deliverables. Not sentiment. I’m recommending your team come in over the weekend.” Sydney stepped in closer, “Get it together, Stowers!” Heels disappeared down the hall, echoing in the distance.

  Noel’s heart fluttered, reaching for the curved handle. “There’s no better time to become acquainted with my office.” The fluorescent light slowly flickered on when the door opened. Her desk and teletype terminal made an L in the middle of the room, tied to the same login credentials as the lab. A kit from her purse helped to repair her face before any more damage could be done. Then she attempted to grow more acquainted with the file system.

  The office spaces had refrigeration but no microwaves, forcing Noel to warm up leftovers in the break room. As she made her way there, she kept her eyes low to avoid drawing attention. Her goal was to sit alone. Jax, oblivious to her intentions, sat down across from her, revealing a sandwich from a brown paper bag.

  Noel knew in her gut that he had more questions, but they never came. He disposed of their trash and escorted her back to her office, disappearing into their lab, reemerging only when it was time for them to leave for the day.

  At the door, Sydney greeted each employee, offering parting words of wisdom. From a distance, Sydney sensed Noel; maybe it was her shame, or fear, but whatever it was caught her attention. Sydney suggested, “Let’s try to have a better day tomorrow, shall we? Your father was here a month before I broke him,” calling out, in front of everyone leaving the building at that moment.

  A flair swelled inside her as she pushed through the doors, fuming to her car. She was gassed right up to the dinner table where her mother let her vent, uninterrupted, before lighting a cigarette and repeating her previous advice: “Do your job.”

  When Noel pretended confusion, there was never a shortage of stories of a young man with an overabundance of patience. “He did his job. He did it all. Built everything. That’s all I can tell you, child. He built what they told him to build, and he never brought that woman home with him.” Plates began to make their way to the sink. “I noticed you haven’t been down to the lab.”

  This was another one of those sore topics. From the table, Noel gathered utensils, bowls, cups — all placed in the sink to soak. Then there was Momma’s pack of cigarettes left. “Daddy said ‘no smoking in the house’.”

  “Well, he ain’t here. It’s my house now.” Momma cleared her throat. “You were saying something about going down to the lab?” She leaned in close. “Don’t you think it’s about time?” She was reorganizing things in the fridge, making room for today’s supper.

  “It’s too soon.” Noel placed her hands flat on the counter to brace; she knew exactly what kind of reaction her response would elicit.

  “Too soon?” She sucked her teeth. “It’s not too soon for you to drive his car,” a pause for effect, “work at his job, or”, Noel heard the emotion building in her voice, “walk in his shoes. He left that there for you. All of it, and you’ve been dragging your feet.” The kitchen clock announced each moment of silence between them.

  Once the kitchen was clean, Noel’s first stop was past the lab, up the stairs, to tend to her hair in the bathroom mirror; laying tomorrow’s attire out in preparation for judgement, finally laying herself down to briefly relive that dream and the following contemplations.

  #

  Polished to a standard she hoped would be beyond remark, Wednesday saw Noel forty-five minutes early. Sydney found the remarks anyway — brows, lashes, nails— with the thoroughness of a customs inspector. Still, Noel kept her spine straight and her mouth shut, stomping through security to her office. As she emerged from the suite, she faced Jax’s familiar grin. “I don’t see how you can smile dealing with that every day.”

  Two days was enough time for Noel to formulate an entire backstory for Director Billings, sparing no thoughts that might sound better as words. “I can’t imagine having to see her all weekend, too. She’d probably come into the lab.” They dropped their lab coats in the offices, grabbing their food for lunchtime.

  Brown bag lunches seemed to be Jax’s preference. “You can’t impress her,” he said through his sandwich. “Wouldn’t even try.” He offered his usual shrug. “Besides, she doesn’t even dress that fancy…”

  Noel stuffed her mouth with a forkful, avoiding responding. She needed to get Sydney off her back; all this tension was going to turn her gray.

  “Have you had any ideas?”

  Washed-out Teletype chatter and the droning Xerox machines accentuated Jax’s question, but all Noel could regurgitate was “What…?”

  “About the anomalies? We have a pretty big deadline coming up. I know you needed to learn how to navigate the filesystems. How’d that go?” The two vanished into their separate offices, quickly reemerging in their lab coats.

  “It’s happening,” her expression tightened as she shook her head, seeing Jax out of the corner of her eye.

  “What…?” His face was now the twisted one.

  Noel’s mind was out the building for the rest of the afternoon. By close of business, her focus was past the watcher, through the office doors; back seat in daddy’s old Oldsmobile, and at the salon. An undertaking as swift as its expression.

  Momma didn’t seem to understand why Noel came strolling in so late. “What does all that mess on your face have to do with your job?” Leading to a barrage of questions: “Are you going to appreciate my meals again?”, “Does that woman come to work painted up, too?” Dinner was properly stowed, giving Noel time to think while she warmed it up. “Momma was never a businesswoman, what does she know…?”

  With her head on the pillow, her mind thought of the lab and of Sydney, and Momma’s question circulated once more, but Noel didn’t dismiss it this time. “Does she….”, closing her eyes to find the flash of the dreamscape that’s plagued her for the week.

  #

  The lobby was vacant, mostly, when Noel carried her finery through it, verified with security, tucked her personal items in her office, and slipped into the lab. Fluorescent lights woke while she powered the systems. She granted herself much-needed alone time with the systems, finally catching up on the basics. The last noteworthy entries all came from him. What did he know that nobody else could determine? Team members trickled in, eager to greet Thursday’s Noel.

  At noon, Sydney was back in her spot, up to her tricks. “Good afternoon, Director Billings,” Noel announced her approach to a pivot.

  Today’s assessment was careful, “Made up like a French Harlot,” almost in a grin, too pleased with her impulses to whisper them. “You’re dancing on a fine line, Miss Stowers! The patience of the executives, subsequently mine too, has been exhausted! Reprioritize your endeavors, madame.” Sydney excused herself from the lobby.

  Noel ate with his shoulders rounded, eyes on her Pyrex dish of food. He’d watched as she warmed her meal up and took a seat, but it wasn’t until he ate his sandwich and disposed of his trash did he finally offer his opinion. “Brutal.”

  “I don’t know what her problem is,” Noel sighed, flashing her badge as they strolled through the security checkpoint. The pair vanished into their offices and emerged in unison.

  “She doesn’t need a reason,” Jax needed little context for this conclusion. “That’s not to say she doesn’t have one.” By now he was rubbing his chin.

  The words lingered while Noel logged into her lab terminal, but she drew a blank on reasoning and motivations. “I can’t see a need to get underneath my skin—“

  “He really didn't leave us anything? The lab, I mean,” his chair was now at her ear. “Listen, I’m not supposed to know this, so you’re damn sure not supposed to know it, but we’re in a deep mess here. I’ve got friends at the top; well, top adjacent. A friend, okay.”

  “Jax—”

  “I know, I know.” He held up his palms. “I’m just… look, I’m a messenger. Now, I get it, you’re sworn to secrecy, or whatever it is, the act is working too well, and seeing as how the old man had a sense of showmanship about him—“

  “I told you, I don’t know.” Her voice was a low whisper, “it’s been a long time, but I remember he never brought work home.” Noel’s eyes trained on the keyboard, and her fingers froze.

  Jax’s fingers dispersed through his hair, and he let out a breath. He looked around the room to see who else was listening. “The executives, you know, they run the show. I don’t know if you know, I’m telling you, though.” He leaned in close. “This is one of the most secret black budget projects… ever.”

  Noel cut a glance at him.

  “I don’t know, it’s what I’ve been told.” He put his palms up again.

  “And the results we’re submitting now, what are those?”

  “Repeats,” a scoff. “We restarted running consistency checks the day you arrived. You were supposed to show up, I don’t know, with something. Anything.” His words led to a distance which spanned the afternoon.

  Jax’s words, now, haunted late into the evening. Laughter helped; Momma and Noel were a little too loud, cackling about Sydney’s plain face, the gray in her hair, and the hollowness around her eyes. Noel felt it was small, mean, and necessary. Momma agreed. Then came the tough question.

  “What are you going to do about Monday?”

  Monday was a quandary, a mystery Noel forced to the back of her mind, with other stressors that developed over the week. Isolation at the kitchen table gave her much-needed time to think, but did little to settle the mind. Once her plate was dried and stowed, her feet took her to the lab’s door, and her hands pushed it open with a slow creak.

  Darkness descended the stairs, beckoning Noel to walk through the shadow, but she knew better. A flick woke the lab on a single switch, a layered hum rising from the walls of equipment that made CRD feel suddenly behind. Arrays blinked like small cities at night. The smell was dust, paper, and warm plastic, and of course, that cologne. Collages of pictures, time-lapses of a life shed forgotten, were tacked to the walls.

  Her feet followed the rehearsed path down the stairs, past a gauntlet of accomplishments, to the furthest corner of the room, where a familiar desk configuration called; adjacent to a teletype. Across the room, chattering keys printed off automated clues for a later time.

  She knew enough now to access the login screen but still found denial. “A buzzer, Dad? That’s new.” She ran down the usual list of birthdays and locations, and several new combinations she discovered. The desk drawers denied her access, too, sticking with a loud thunk. So far, this was no fun. Her hands pulled every cabinet and hutch door until her fingers gripped the printout, still warm. To my darling Noel, began the first line in her father’s thin rectangle of a typeface.

  The document opened with apologies for time served enabling the greed of others, and a promise of resignation. Warnings regarding subjects such as ‘how to deal with people like Sydney Billings’ and a couple of secrets about Caliber manifested. Questions manifested. How did he know she’d be working with CRD?

  Jax and his lunches received an honorable mention, the brown bags being deemed “a true crime”. Father wasn’t too keen on many other people, evidently, pivoting to the home lab. Keys, most of which seemed to have purpose; notebooks, logs and journals; years of vivid detail, mirrors of the inner workings of his mind, now became available to her. It was here, all of it. Lab schematics and diagrams, detailed lists of parts and requirements, even the things that Jax and the others were asking about, for ‘them’. Here, forgotten for 5 years, waiting for her.

  She located his desk and chair, stabling herself as she turned to sit. Her eyes, fixed on the words, welled tears uncontainable. She cried ugly, with her whole face. Noiseless at first, gasping until her wail drowned out the hum of the machines, then loud, until the room swam back into steadiness.

  The keys and locks were labeled. From the desk, she pulled his journals from where access to the terminal would be granted. She had questions. The letter hinted at another secret; something elusions made seem more valuable than 5 years of back-dated research. The terminal provided more questions than answers.

  “Where—?” Research, rows and columns of spreadsheets and datasets she’d never glimpsed. “Where did you get all of this from? This wasn’t on any of the systems at work...” Folders upon folders stirred new questions, but nonetheless, here was the data, computed from this lab. It was starting to make sense, but something still remained.

  Noel pulled cabinets and machinery from the wall, finding no outside lines. Files and paper sprawled across the floor and equipment, but none of it had the answers. She would know it when she saw it. Her feet carried her up the stairs, but her eyes swept the lab, looking for anything. Something out of the ordinary.

  Muscle memory reached for the switch, but intuition stayed her hand. It was a long shot, and as she stepped down the steps, a multitude of reasons ran through her mind, but this one detail still remained out of place, as inexplicable. She pondered for a moment the explanations for everything in the room — and there was one, neatly outlined for everything in the room in one journal or another, but none of them explained the need for two chords suspended from the light in the center of the lab.

  “Could it really be this easy?” Randomly finding one chord between her index and thumb, the ball chain offered resistance, but no reward. She reached for the second, receiving instant gratification.

  It was hard to miss, once it was fully ejected from the floor, but it answered every question. There was no doubt what was in this glass enclosure, as she closed in on the box. “It’s been here the whole time….?” The lids parting open, Noel now grasped in her fingertips a cyan chip. A gift. The last gift, from her father.

  Admiration was short. The device was back in its glass and wired for testing, the way she remembered from work. Nobody else could do it, and before a few moments ago, not even she was capable of pulling it off, but now they had a fighting chance, and the possibility of her weekend back. For hours, she darted around the lab, rolling in her chair when her feet grew too tired.

  #

  Keyboard creased, with a trace of drool, was how Noel found her face Friday morning. Her eyes found the clock, not urgency, gathering printouts of tests and computations into an accordion folder. Face washed, Noel had one more new dress to wear. Haired pulled back into Monday’s manicured halo, she stepped up to the bus stop with a smile and a story to tell.

  Through CRD’s lobby, Sydney stood watch, but was unprepared for a new Noel. Disarmed by a wink and smile, “Good morning, Director Billings,” landed before a response could be formulated. Noel didn’t need to turn to know she had Sydney’s full attention.

  Gliding down the hall, chest out, back straight, she stepped into the lab in time for Jax’s briefing. “Reports day!” He clapped his hands, but drummed up no support from the assistants, mustering only the bleak reality, “We’re back on the release schedule! Typically I’d have you file under Constants. If you had nothing new, but we are coming in over the weekend so I want all the seismic equipment brought out. It’s been a while since we reported those findings. Maybe we can trick them. And if not, brace for a lashing.”

  Noel gripped her chair, pulling it out to take a seat, but could not. Her body was amped, wired on her father’s letter and the contents of the accordion folder, now lying on her desk as she stood behind her terminal, stuck.

  Jax took the seat. “Imagine: Surviving the first week with that woman, walking in your father’s shoes, only to be let go or reassigned the second week because of politics,” Jax laughed nervously, swiveling about. “Nah, I would like to think they know what they’re doing. They wouldn’t have brought you on to terminate you.” Jax’s fingers laced behind his head. “Next week will be better, I’m sure of it,” finally taking a moment to study her face.

  She wore no expression, hoping her silence would trigger more words from him. She was right.

  “I bet she let you have it this morning, phew. I can’t even imagine — I don’t want to imagine!” He threw his head back and snickered, again nervously. “You ready for this weekend?”

  Noel took a seat on her desk, her voice low. “You bet I am.” Her eyes locked onto his, and she couldn’t fight back a smile, nodding at the folder. “Read that.”

  His eye narrowed as he handled the documents with a wash of hope and hesitation. “What is this…?”

  Noel was coy now, “I think I want to drive out to the countryside with Momma. It’s been a long time since we did that.” Her smile grew larger as she saw the excitement on Jax’s face.

  Pages riffled, Jax’s jaw slacked. “No…” then finally settling on belief. “This. This can’t be, but it is, isn’t it?” Jax was big on eye contact. “Five years. A little suspicious, but way to make a mark!” He played with his hair for a minute, scratching his head. “You said…”

  “You don’t have time to dwell on things I’ve said, Doctor. Validate that data, please. All of it. We need it in the system before anyone can go to lunch.”

  “I think I’m entitled to an answer to at least one question. I mean, come on! Yesterday you were cursing the filesystems. What, now you own them?”

  Yesterday, Noel was cursing the file systems. Her mind drifted back to her father’s tree of secret knowledge and his secret anomaly. How long had her father been working on the anomalies, really? Should anyone from the CRD search their home, her and Momma might never see the light of day again, or worse. This question took on a new form now. How long had he kept this secret, and who else knew? “Maybe I do own the systems. Maybe I was playing you all along. You’ll just have to figure it out. Now, validate that.”

  The lab now shared her energy and beamed, their faces glowing with questions she wouldn’t answer. The sensible conclusion, Noel drew, would be to distance herself for the rest of the afternoon. Even Jax was too preoccupied to see her sneak out of the lab.

  She’d not taken a moment to really analyze the space, but there was no doubt whose office this was prior. His notes still stuck to the walls and desk; he had terrible handwriting. She appreciated them, now more than ever, logging in to prepare her portion of the report for summation.

  Through her office door, Jax popped his head. “OK. Spill it.” Behind him, her staff filed off to lunch. Trickling through the double security doors.

  From the fridge, Noel pulled her bag, walking to the door. “Oh! Let’s eat first, shall we?” It wasn’t like either of them to lose track of their break, their pace making up for lost time, but they would need to be just a little bit later. “Jax, do you think you can show me where the preliminary results are, real quick?”

  She’d seen documents cascaded together, and Noel swooped them into a folder. “Now I’m ready.” Through security, the pair glided to the lobby, in step.

  “Typical”, Jax motioned down the hall. “She would be there, taunting us. You want me to—?”

  Noel was already striding. “Director Billings?” she said, stopping just close enough. Sydney turned the inventory gaze on, readying a remark. Noel cut it off by placing the folder in her hands. “Our preliminaries. Hand-delivered.” Noel leaned in closer, “From where I’m standing, you and I are the only women here. We don’t need to be enemies.”

  Sydney maintained eye contact with Noel until Noel turned away, gripping the weight of results within her palms.

  At the table, Jax pulled the same brown bag. Noel reached into her larger purse and set two warm Pyrex dishes down. “I can’t watch you eat another paper-bag special,” she said, sliding one toward him.

  He laughed—big and unguarded, relief turning into appetite. “You’re your father today. What gives?” He recognized the dish, immediately “Broccoli casserole? Oh, yes! How I've missed your mother's meals!”

  In the afternoon, finalized and conclusive new results were ready, and Jax walked them to Sydney’s office. Noel filed notes and updates until the lab clock nudged end-of-week. One by one, the lab emptied of personnel until Noel was all that remained.

  Out the lab door, into her office to drop her lab coat and grab her purse, then through the double security door, down the hall. She passed the reception desk with the lightness of a thief who stole a feather. “Have a good weekend, Director Billings,” she said, pushing through the glass-paned door.

  Sydney’s mouth considered a dozen shapes and settled on the smallest one. “Have a good weekend, Dr. Stowers.”

  On the bus home, Noel laughed with the women whose days began in other people’s kitchens. At the stop, she said her goodbyes and walked the familiar block with the Oldsmobile sleeping exactly where it always had. Inside, Mama called from the kitchen that dinner was almost ready. Noel set the table with a practiced rhythm and told her mother about a note from a dead man who still knew how to give orders without raising his voice.

  “Girl,” Mama said, smiling at her cigarette, “I’ve been told you that. You just listen better when it comes in his typeface. No plans tonight?” she added.

  Noel’s mind was elsewhere, driving green beans about her plate. It was true, Sunday would be a great day to go on a drive with Momma after church, since they would already be out, but there were new questions forming in Noel’s mind. Questions whose answers were found in only one place. “No, ma’am,” eyes already turned toward the basement door. “I’m actually planning to spend most of the weekend down in the lab.”