Quotes from the Shelf

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." - Ernest Hemingway

Friday, 25 May 2012

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.”

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