Committed Chapter 17

Hellenistic Inc.’s Headquarters was located at the very heart of downtown New Carthage.  It sat like an imposing crystalline obelisk between cement towers, rising high above the rest.  The logo, a shield behind the Inc. part of the title was gold with a lion emblazed upon it.

            Ariadne stepped out of the cab they had taken and was instantly assaulted with the sounds and smells that seemed native to these two blocks of the downtown area.  There was the salt on the air drifting off the nearby harbour water.  A fry truck was set up a dozen meters away and the smell of baking potatoes made Ariadne’s stomach grumble.  Traffic was backed up in a lunch-time frenzy and a few honks perforated the air.  Sun was glaring off of the glass sides of Hellenistic Inc. and Ariadne shielded her eyes against it.

            Along with all these usual sounds and smells was the additional sound of chants from a group of two or three hundred protestors gathered in front of Hellenistic Inc.  Ariadne recognized them as Occupy Protestors and spotted the numerous uniformed police officers standing in front of the entrance to Hellenistic Inc. to prevent anyone from going inside.  Along with this, a couple of police cars were keeping the traffic clear of the protestors, thus causing the traffic back up.

            Ariadne felt her heart seize in her chest and ushered Paris to the side as he climbed out of the cab behind her.

            “Wow, what’s going on?” Paris asked as she pushed him behind one of the numerous maple trees that were planted between the sidewalk and the road all down the street.

            “Police,” Ariadne explained, glancing around the corner of the tree.

            “Don’t you think this looks a little suspicious?” Paris asked.

            Sure enough, a couple of people walking past them were glancing at them strangely.  Ariadne took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves.  She hadn’t even been considering getting into her father’s office as a potential problem.  Normally, she would have been able to go up to the police line and explained she was Ariadne Helen come to see her father and they probably would have let her right through.  But now, with Paris’ recent arrest warrant, those officers would all no doubt know about them.  Even if they weren’t specifically on his payroll like Officer’s Seth and Antenor they would still attempt to make the arrest.

            “How are we going to get past them?” Paris asked.

            “I don’t know, those protestors don’t look like they’re going anywhere,” Ariadne bit her bottom lip as she thought.  “There has to be another way we can get in.”
            “We could try to start something, get the police distracted?” Paris offered.

            “No,” Ariadne said emphatically.  “We’re not dragging anyone else into our mess.  We don’t want anybody else getting arrested over us.”

            “Okay, okay,” Paris said, “but do you have another idea?”

            “Maybe,” Ariadne said.  “There should be an employee entrance around back.  We might be able to get in through that.”

            “Okay, let’s go.”
            Ariadne nodded and the two of them backtracked down the street and cut up to the parallel street.  Doubling back from the opposite side of the building now, Ariadne led them into the parking lot directly behind Hellenistic Inc.  The parking lot also extended below ground, and Ariadne knew her father had his own personal garage separated from employee parking.  The employee entrance was far less grand than the glass entrance flanked by pillars around the front.  It was a simple door with a keypad next to it that required an access code in order to enter.

            “Damn,” Ariadne cursed.  “I don’t know what the passcode is.”
            “Hold on,” Paris said, stepping up.  “Give me your cellphone.”
            Ariadne frowned, but handed over the cellphone.  Paris reached up to the keypad and cupped his hand over the top in order to shield the light.  Paris then bent down and looked up at the keypad at an angle, bringing the phone up towards the keys.

            “Three, six, seven, and zero,” Paris said.

            “What?”

            “Those are the keys that have been pressed the most.”

            “How do you know?”
            “Two reasons.  There’s a slight sheen on them from the sweat coming off of people’s fingers when they press the keys and they’re slightly more worn from continual pressing.”

            Ariadne cocked an eyebrow at Paris.

            “Well, I don’t know what order they’re in, but it’s something, right?”

            “You are unbelievable,” Ariadne laughed.  She couldn’t help it.  It was just too much.  “How on earth did you know that would work?”
            “I didn’t,” Paris explained.  “I just had a hunch.”
            “A hunch.”

            “A theory.  A feeling, guess, instinct, intuition, idea, hypothes-“

            “I get it,” Ariadne cried.  She slapped Paris’ arm playfully.  “Knock it off.”
            Paris grinned, looking into her eyes, and they stood like that for a moment.  Ariadne suddenly realized that she hadn’t taken her hand off of Paris’ arm.  Her hand was cupping his right triceps and it was firm and strong beneath her fingers.

            She suddenly imagined Paris leaning forward, his hand cupping her face, pulling her face towards his.  Their lips inched together.  His lips parted, whispering her name.

            With a start, as if she’d been shocked, Ariadne was back in the present and dropped her hand from Paris’ side.  She saw the disappointment in his eyes and she quickly turned to the keypad so that he wouldn’t see the same disappointment in her own eyes.

            “Okay.  Three, six, seven, and zero.  That’s a lot of different combinations,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.  What was wrong with her?

            “It’ll probably lock us out and alert security if we get it wrong one too many times.  I’d say we probably have three guesses.  Four if we’re lucky.”

            “We definitely have more than four combinations,” Ariadne pointed out.

            “Well, we might as well give it a shot,” Paris said.  He reached past Ariadne and punched in 3670 on the pad.  The screen at the top blinked ERROR.

            “One shot down,” Ariadne said.  She found her eyes dancing up Paris’ outstretched arm and gazing at his face in profile.  His face was marked with thought as he considered another possible combination.  He turned to her and she darted her eyes away.  But it was a second too late.  She knew he’d seen.

            “You want to give it a shot?” he asked.

            “Sure,” Ariadne nodded.  She reached forward and punched in the reverse of Paris’ try: 0763.  Again, ERROR was her response.

            As she pulled back she felt Paris’ eyes on her.  She felt as though her skin grew warm where his eyes fell.  His eyes drifted over her neck and across her cheek.  She shivered involuntarily.

            “You go.”

            “Sure,” Paris replied, his voice musky.

            Ariadne closed her eyes and hated herself.  She hated how much she liked Paris’ eyes on her.  She hated how much she wanted to reach out and pull him towards her.  She hated how warm his smile made her and how much she wanted to look into his eyes and know he was looking back at her, really looking back at her.

What was wrong with her?  She was running from a maniac who was after both of them.  It was just the adrenaline, right?  It wasn’t real, was it?

            But she knew that was wrong.  Everything that had been happening in the last twenty-four hours might have brought it all to the surface but she knew damn well that all of this had been just below the surface.  All the adrenaline and fear of the last few hours had just brought down the walls she’d built around those feelings.

            “Got it!”

            Ariadne snapped her eyes open and caught the tail end of ACCEPTED on the keypad before a buzzer sound and Paris grabbed the door handle.

            “After you, m’lady,” Paris said, making a sweeping gesture as he pulled the door open.

            Ariadne smiled at him and quickly drew her eyes away, afraid to let him hold her gaze too long.  She felt vulnerable with his gaze on her.  She hated that her feelings were not under her control.  She needed to regain that control and fast.

            The employee entrance put them into a stairwell.  The stairs extended far up above them, as well as down below them to the parking garage.  Ariadne hurried over to the door opposite the entrance and peered into the lobby.  Her father’s office was on the top floor and taking the stairs would waste energy and time.  She glanced either way and saw that nobody was immediately around.

            “Come on,” she urged.  She opened the door and stepped into the lobby.  She had seen the lobby a thousand times.  Black walls and scattered pillars struck against the white tiled floor.  There was a secretary’s booth with three secretaries almost immediately in front of the entrance, separated from the glass doors by a large green rug.  There were various potted plants and other elements of visual appeal which gave the entire lobby the sophisticated appearance of entering into an office building where money was readily available and lavishly spent.

            The three secretaries were all focused on the front entrance where the Occupy Protestors were continuing to draw their attention.   Ariadne beckoned Paris over to the elevator, just to the left of the stairwell door.

            She called the elevator and luckily it was only a couple of floors above them so they didn’t have to wait long.  They hurried inside and Ariadne hit the button for the top floor.

            “I feel like the Mission Impossible music should be playing,” Paris said, grinning as the elevator rose.

            “Hardly,” Ariadne replied.  “This is simple.  If my dad doesn’t help us…” she couldn’t finish the thought.  Paris reached out and took her hand, squeezing it lightly.

            At first, Ariadne wanted to pull away, but she found she couldn’t muster the strength to do it, and squeezed him back.

            Their ears popped once on the way up and Ariadne grimaced slightly.  The floors clicked by on the red LED lights above the door.  By some stroke of luck, nobody else seemed to need the use of the elevator that day so nobody joined them on their ascent.

            “I feel like I’m rising up to the top of Mount Olympus,” Paris laughed.  He sounded nervous.

            At last, there was a near silent ding and the elevator doors slid open.  Directly in front of them was an L shaped secretaries desk, the stem of which receeded into the wall opposite them.  Beside that desk was a double set of opaque glass doors.  A secretary was seated at the desk.  She was young with strawberry blonde hair tied up in a bun at the crown of her head.  She looked up at them casually and smiled.

            “He’s expecting you,” she said pleasantly, and returned to her computer which she had continued to type at without missing a key stroke.

            Ariadne and Paris exchanged a confused glance before walking over to the double doors.  Ariadne reached out and took hold of the C-shaped door handles.  Hesitating a moment longer, she pushed it forward.

Arthur Helen stood in the center of his office, the entirety of which – couches, desk, windows, curtains, and walls – was a deep aquamarine.  There was a pair of window washers outside of the window, one on either end of a platform hooked up to the roof of the building.  The window was obscured by cleaning solution and as the Ariadne pushed the doors open they wiped the solution away to render the glass crystal clear.  Arthur Helen was on his cellphone at the tail end of the conversation.

            “…just give me 20 minutes,” he finished saying.  He hung up and turned to Ariadne and Paris.  He registered no surprise at seeing the two of them there.

            “Dad?” Ariadne asked.  She took a tentative step forward but paused with one foot on either side of the threshold.

            “Come in, Ariadne,” Arthur Helen said, his voice heavy.  “We have a lot to talk about.”

Big Fat Future Publication!

This is a special post to let people know that my short story "Those Who Move All Things" was just published through Big Fat Future (an online sci-fi magazine).  This short story is published in no other place so check it out here! (Also, while you're at it, check out the rest of the magazine.  The people behind this project put a lot of work into this!) http://www.bigfatfuture.com/2012/05/those-who-move-all-things/

Committed Chapter 16

The man’s first thought on entering the entrance hall of the Menelaus Manor in New Carthage was a single word.  Excessive.

            Tired from a two hour flight on a private jet out of Toronto, the man ran his hand lightly over his forehead and glanced at the chauffeur who had driven him in from the New Carthage airport.  The man had the air of someone who had seen enough to know when to speak and when to keep quiet.  They had exchanged less than a dozen monosyllables in the course of the drive to the manor.

            The man adjusted his leather jacket and crossed his arms, feeling the gun in his shoulder holster press against his ribs.  It might seem uncomfortable, but he liked to encourage in himself to habit of not acting as though he were carrying a weapon.  One way to do that was to pretend like the discomfort it caused didn’t really exist.

            The chauffeur, who was also apparently the manor’s butler, had told him to wait in the entrance hall for his client.  The man let out a slow breath and examined the hall more closely.

            There were two deep brown wooden staircases curving up the slightly rounded walls to a mezzanine.  Beneath that mezzanine was a set of double doors that presumably led into the deeper regions of the house.  To the left and right were single doors also leading into other rooms.  All the doors were closed.  The walls were decorated with a sharp pattern of red with golden bands twisting and curving into various repetitive shapes.  There were several pieces of furniture situated about the room for aesthetic value.  These were of little interest to the man.

            There were also four mirrors, two on either side of the single doors to his left and right, each the length of the doors themselves.  The effect of looking into these mirrors was to create an endless replication of the viewer and the hall in which he or she stood.

            The man looked at his reflection and even with the physical proof caught in the image he saw he couldn’t really see himself ever living in a place like this.

            The man’s skin was almost charcoal black, something he had proudly received from his Nigerian mother.  In contrast against his skin was his muted gray hair, buzzed close to his scalp.  His eye brows and goatee were also gray and his eyes were a passionless pale blue.  He was short and stocky with broad shoulders and thick, meaty hands.  Some might find his appearance startling, but it was hard to still care after nearly forty-years of living with people’s reactions.  It had always been best to just try and ignore them.  Eventually, he had perfected the art so that he didn’t even realize he did it anymore.

            “Achilles.  That can’t possibly be your real name, now can it?”

            He turned towards the owner of the voice and barely registered surprise at his client’s age.  The owner of the voice couldn’t be younger than seventeen.  And yet, he spoke with a confidence and a suave that the man usually associated with clients who were far more advanced in years.  This puzzled the man, but only in a scholarly sense.  It did not colour his opinion of a paying client.

            “It is good to meet you, Mr. Menelaus,” the man said, stepping forward and extending a hand.

            Janus did not accept the hand.  He barely even seemed to notice it.  He was still shaking his head as he surveyed the man.

            “I must say this, if it is your real name than that is an impressive coincidence but if it is simply a title you have appointed itself it certainly promotes a certain kind of association that is no doubt beneficial for a man of your line of work.  Very well, I can accept calling you Achilles.  Frankly, if you produce results, I’d be more than happy to call you Zeus if that was the name I signed the cheque out to.”

            “I accept cash only,” the man who went by Achilles replied.  He let his rejected hand drop.

            “Of course, of course,” Janus said, waving his hand as if batting away a particularly irksome fly.  “All of that is really irrelevant.  All I care about is results.”

            “Whom do you wish me to find, sir?” Achilles asked, getting straight to the point, as he often did.

            “My girlfriend has been kidnapped,” Janus explained, cupping his hands behind his back and pacing in front of Achilles.  “A schoolmate of hers, Paris Montague, kidnapped her from our school yesterday and despite the police forces best efforts they’ve been unable to track him.  I had you flown in here from Toronto because I was told that you were one of the best in this business.  You hunt bounties, Mr. Achilles.  I’ve placed one on the heads of Paris Montague and Ariadne Helen.  Bring me either one and I will pay you $5000 dollars.  Bring me them both together and I will pay you $$15 000 dollars.  I will pay $2500 up front and the rest depending on the completion of the task.  Do you feel up for it?”

            “Where were they last seen?” Achilles asked.

            “Heading into the downtown area of New Carthage.  Ariadne’s father has a business down there.  It’s entirely possible that they might go to him.”

            “Why would they do that?” Achilles asked.

            “I beg your pardon?” Janus asked, halting mid-stride and giving Achilles a curious look.

            Achilles felt the same twitch of anger he’d felt when Janus refused his offered hand as he met that gaze.  There was something in that gaze.  Not outright disrespect, but certainly a lack of respect.  Achilles tried to repress his anger as he posed his question again.

“Why would they go to Mr. Helen’s place of business?”

“Are you familiar with Mr. Helen?”

            “I did my research on the plane,” Achilles offered by way of an answer.

            “Then you know that Ariadne Helen is the daughter of Arthur Helen, the CEO of Hellenistic Inc.  So I shouldn’t have to tell you that Paris will no doubt contact him in order to pose blackmail for his daughter’s safe return.  Does that satisfy your inquiring mind?”

            Achilles nodded.  He had a dozen more questions.  Why was Janus Menelaus contacting him to retrieve Ariadne and not Ariadne’s father?  Why was he bringing in outside help instead of allowing the police to handle this?  What details was Janus Menelaus intentionally withholding from him?

            Janus had made reference to Achilles’ success as a bounty hunter.  Part of that success came from Achilles’ understanding of what exactly he was being hired to do.  It was clear that Janus was feeding him a story to explain his presence there but it was not the truth.  There were details that were being left out.  Eventually, Achilles would uncover them.  But until the picture was perfectly clear to him he would accept the money, as was his lot in life, and do the assignment that he had been given.

            “I will head to Hellenistic Inc. HQ immediately,” Achilles assured his new client.

            “You will be taking these gentlemen with you.”

            Two police officers in uniform stepped down the stairs, eyeing Achilles with dislike.  One had veiny arms, sandy blonde hair, a fat nose, and a wiry frame.  The other was slightly taller with a crew-cut of black hair, a thick jaw, and wrinkly eyes.  Achilles instantly saw them for what they were, bought hands.  Janus Menelaus had apparently spared no expense in his attempt to retrieve Ariadne Helen.

            “Officers Seth and Antenor,” Janus explained, gesturing to the thick jawed one and then the veiny armed one.

            Achilles began to reassess the situation.  Something told him that he was now too far into the game to be pulled out.  The son of a multi-billion dollar business giant, even one under CRA investigation, didn’t fly you all the way from Toronto just to have you reject a job offering because of a couple of cops happened to also be on his payroll.

            One look at his young client told him everything.  Janus Menelaus had paid for Achilles services, had brought him here to New Carthage in order to perform a desired task.  This was a man who had never heard a ‘no’ he couldn’t make into a ‘yes’.  In Janus Menelaus’ world, by paying for Achilles’ services he owned Achilles.

            But nobody owned Achilles.

            “Here is your money.  The $2500 up front,” Janus said, producing the wad of one-hundred dollar bills, held together by a rubber band, from the inside of his sports jacket.  When he made the move, Achilles noticed the leather of a shoulder holster.  The sports jacket had been tailored specifically to accommodate the addition size presented by the presence of the holster.

            A new question popped into Achilles mind.  Why did his new client feel the need to carry a weapon around on his person even in his own home?  Is it Paris Montague who frightens this boy?  Or does Paris Montague represent someone else?

            Achilles took a closer look at Janus’ face.  He noticed the slight hint of bruising on his chin where someone had struck him recently.

            As always seemed to be the case, the client had given him more information about the bounty Achilles was being paid to catch.  What all of that information meant exactly, Achilles wasn’t sure.  Perhaps he would need to pose questions to Ariadne and Paris when he found them.

            But then, that was why Janus’ hired goons were accompanying him, Achilles realized.  So that when he found Paris and Ariadne he would have no moment to ask them the questions that Janus didn’t want him knowing the answers to.

            “I will need my own car,” Achilles requested.  The very least he could do is give himself some independence from the police officers on Janus’ payroll.  Even though Achilles felt could see no easy way out of his current employment, and did not yet know why exactly he would want to give up the possibility of $15000, it was never a good idea to let the client dictate every facet of how he conducted his hunt.

            “Select any of the cars from the garage,” Janus grinned.  “I have a fair collection brought with me when I moved here.  I rarely get to enjoy them.  Perhaps you will find one that suits your needs.”

            Achilles tried to imagine himself in a position where he would ever refer to a collection of cars he owned but never used.  He couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t see himself as that person.  Even with the money to do it, he couldn’t see himself doing that.  He could only see someone else, even if that someone else did have his face.

            “Keep me updated,” Janus ordered one of the two officers.

            “Sure thing boss,” the veiny armed one nodded.  Achilles took an instant disliking to that one.  He was too eager to please.  He was a bought and paid for man.  Achilles had no respect for a man who could allow himself to be owned like that.  The other one…Achilles wasn’t so sure.  Something about his posture was different.  He seemed more cautious in Janus’ presence.  Perhaps there was something to be learned from that as well.

            “Do what I pay you for, Mr. Achilles,” Janus said.

            Achilles nodded and turned to leave the manor, feeling the presence of his babysitters hovering over each shoulder.

Committed Chapter 15

The New Carthage Library, located on Summerset Street, just a few blocks south of City Hall, could easily be mistaken for a prison complex set in the middle of the downtown area judging it solely by its external appearance.  It was a large, gray-brown, cube shaped cement structure with the only colour a Canadian flag flapping in the breeze on the front lawn.

            However, once you were inside the library it was a very different story.  When you walked in through the front doors you entered a kind of glass cage set within the structure allowing you to look up into the square halls of all four floors of the building.  Within this area was a food court containing a pizza place, a Starbucks, as well as a Subway.  Through a set of glass doors one entered the area where books were checked in and out.  Directly to the right of this entrance was a set of wide stairs and directly to the left were three elevators that allowed access to the higher floors.

            The New Carthage Library was technically associated with the New Carthage University just across the street but was also open to the general public.  Thus, it contained an impressive amalgamation of literature, text books, as well as casual reads.

            To Ariadne, who had always enjoyed spending hours in the library reading, the halls and aisles of books seemed to release a sense of calm into the air.  She wondered if Buddhist temples could achieve the same level of serenity in the very fabric of the air or if this was an effect brought on solely by the presence of a vast repository of literature.

            Each floor had a computer lab separated from the general reading areas so that the sounds of mouse clicks and key strokes didn’t disturb others.  Paris had led her to the one on the second floor and taken them to the furthest corner of the room.  Admittedly, this put them furthest from the entrance, but it also kept them the furthest from the rest of the people using the computers at that hour of the day.

            There were a lot of students spread across the room and only a group of three, all of them wearing winter caps even though it was still relatively warm for the fall, were seated near them.  Ariadne glanced briefly at their journalism textbooks as they walked past.

            “All right, let’s see what we can find,” Paris said, shaking the mouse to wake the computer up and quickly bringing up the internet browser.  “What do you think the odds are that Janus Menelaus has a Facebook account?”

            “Well, if he does, I’m not to worried about awkwardly passing him in the hall if I reject his friend request,” Ariadne said, rolling a chair up next to him.

            Paris quickly typed in Janus’ name and got a long list of results.  The first one, Ariadne noticed, was a newspaper report from CBC regarding Menelaus Senior’s recent run in with the CRA.  She recalled Janus mentioning that to her the previous night.  Her eyes scanned down the page until she hit on a report that caught her eye.

            “That one,” she said, pointing at the fourth link down.  It was another news article but this one was relating to Janus celebrating his seventeenth birthday.  Paris scrolled over and clicked on the link.

            The first thing that appeared was a picture of Janus striding into a prestigious club in downtown Toronto with two fashionably dressed women his age hooked onto either arm.  He was turned towards the camera with that simple smile of his on.  The two women were both turned away from him and waving to the surrounding crowd.  Even though they were smiling, Ariadne got the impression that they were cuffed to Janus rather unwillingly.

            “Looks like Janus celebrated his birthday on Saturday night,” Paris said, scrolling down to take a closer look at the article.  “It was considered to be the social event of the season.  There’s a lot in here about the possibility of under-age drinking in the club that night but I think that’s just the reporter feeding into what he thinks people want to hear.”

            “Look at his hands.”

            Paris scrolled back up to the picture and squinted at Janus’ hands.  “What are you seeing that I’m not seeing?”

            “He’s not wearing a ring,” Ariadne answered.  She reached forward and took the mouse, her finger brushing Paris’ as she did.  She scrolled down quickly and saw that the article also had a link to a series of other photos taken regarding that night.  She clicked on the first one and began clicking through them.

            In each shot, she got a different view of the smartly dressed Janus talking with various people outside of the club, his two women rarely straying far.  In none of the shots could Ariadne see the ring she remembered seeing on his finger the previous night, as well as when he pounded on the window of her car less than an hour earlier.

            “I’m guessing you’re thinking this ring is important,” Paris commented.

            “He seemed to be making a big deal about the one that I wouldn’t let him put on me,” Ariadne replied.  “I don’t know, what do you think?”

            “I think there’s definitely something weird about the fact that he’s going to all this trouble just to slip some metal on your finger,” Paris agreed.  “Do you remember anything about the ring?  Anything we might be able to search?  I don’t think we’re going to get many hits if we just search ‘Menelaus’ and ‘Ring’.”

            “Yeah, there was a kind of symbol on it.  Or a crest,” Ariadne nodded, trying to remember what it looked like.  “God, it was crazy.  It looked kind of like…like when a baseball hits a pane of glass, you know?  When it doesn’t quite break through and smash it but it hits it hard enough to crack it.”

            “So, the way my neighbours window cracked when I hit a baseball into it three summers ago, of course,” Paris nodded.  “Hang on a minute.”

            Paris navigated back to the search engine they’d begun with and did a general search for Menelaus Industries.  He clicked on the Images tab at the top of the screen and selected the first image that appeared.

            It was a shot of Menelaus Industries’ HQ in Troy, Ontario.  The sky seemed to have been applied in one swift brush stroke of blue, fading to white the closer it go to the ground on either side of the imposing spire that was the building in the shot.  Menelaus Industries came to a point at the very top, like a spear aimed at the heavens.  The walls were entirely made up of black windows for all forty-seven floors of the imposing tower.   The caption below the image clarified that the HQ of the multi-billion dollar corporation was not only the home of the company that had given the life-blood to Troy but it was also the tallest building in the city.

            “There,” Paris pointed.  “Do you see it?”

            Ariadne squinted at the top of the tower and made out the company’s logo.  Paris clicked on the image to magnify it and she got a better look.

            Next to the company’s name, which were spelt out in thick blue letters, was the same image she had seen on Paris’ ring.  It looked like an off centre circle with four lightning-bolt-like cracks shooting out from it and a second circle – larger and fainter than the first – running just short of the edge of the symbol.

            “What the heck is that?” Ariadne asked.

            “Ask and you shall receive,” Paris replied, returning to the initial search page and clicking on a link to a wiki page for Menelaus Industries.

            “Power house company blah blah blah…headed by Menelaus Senior blah blah blah…here we go.”  Paris began to read from the site: “Menelaus Industries’ symbol is a bit of an enigma.  Despite several questions posed to the CEO there is no definitive explanation as to the logos origin.  Ajax Menelaus has been quoted as saying ‘The logo?  Now that’s an interesting piece of family history.  Just think of it like the mark of God on our family.  It’s brought with it plenty of pleasure and plenty of wrath.’”

            “Way to be vague while still making it sound cool and interesting,” Ariadne sighed.  “Why would he have a ring engraved with that?”

            “Was it on your ring too?” Paris asked.

            “I don’t know, I didn’t see,” Ariadne confessed.  “But even if it was I don’t get it.  There’s nothing in there about family rings is there?”

            “Not that I can see.”

            “Then what the Hell is up with them?” Ariadne demanded.  “The sick freaks trying to force it on my finger and I don’t have a damned good reason why he’s got cops chasing after us to do it.  Does he think I’m suddenly going to like him because I’m wearing a nice wedding band that he got me?”

            “Maybe that’s exactly what he thinks,” Paris offered.

            “Give me some credit, Paris.  In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly that easy.”

            “No, you’re definitely worth more of a fight than that,” Paris nodded.  “But we’re out of his grip now.  Maybe there’s something more we can learn about the family.  If we dig a little deeper we might be able to get into some more newspaper articles about the family, figure out what the story is with Janus coming here after you.  At the very least, we can learn more about the connection between your family and his.”

            “Why not get it straight from the source?” Ariadne asked.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, we’re in downtown New Carthage, less than five blocks from Hellenistic Inc.  We can just go visit my dad and get him to tell us about the family.”

            “Do you really think that it’s a good idea to go to your father?” Paris asked.  “After what happened with…with your Mom.”

            “My Dad and my mom might be married, but they are very different people.  It was him I was really hoping we could let in on what happened when we went to my house in the first place.  He’ll know what to do.”

            “Maybe it’s time we started figuring things out for ourselves Ariadne?”

            Something about the way Paris phrased the question made Ariadne look at him a little closer.  There was something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.  He was gazing at her, his eyes completely sweeping her up into their depths.  What was he asking of her?  To run off with him?  Where would they go?  Where would they get money, get food, get shelter?  No, she wasn’t going to run forever.

            Yet even as she thought this Ariadne felt a tug in her chest, like an invisible hook had snagged her heart was trying to reel her closer to Paris.  She took in his face and his eyes and his neck down to the collar of his shirt and realized that she really wanted him to kiss her in that moment.

            What was getting into her?

            “We don’t have many other options Paris,” Ariadne finally said.  “My dad will be able to help us, I’m sure of it.  We can get a cab there.”

            “We might want to walk,” Paris said.  His voice had dropped to a whisper and he was looking past her now.  “And you might want to keep your head down while we make our way out of her.”

            “What?”

            Paris nodded past her in response and Ariadne turned around to see he was looking at the computer screen of the three students who were at the nearest occupied computer.  They were on the CTV website, no doubt doing some research as part of their journalism studies, and were at that moment reading an article headed with photos of both Ariadne and Paris.  The title of the article was large enough for Ariadne to read from where she was sitting.

Police Suspect High School Junior in Kidnapping of Hellenistic Inc. CEO’s Daughter

“That doesn’t look good,” Ariadne whispered, turning around and bowing her head as the two of them rose.

            “Yeah, no kidding.  I’m pretty sure people have started wars over things like this.”