Chương 4
The person who remembered a conversation differently because they needed it to be different.
At 9:07, Rachel Bell walked in.
Daniel recognized her immediately even though he had never seen her before.
Maybe it was because he expected someone carrying a secret to look different.
Instead, she looked exhausted.
She was probably in her late thirties.
Her dark hair was pulled back carelessly.
She wore a plain jacket with a coffee stain near the sleeve.
She scanned the room.
When she saw Daniel, she stopped.
For a second, something crossed her face.
Not fear.
Something closer to regret.
She walked over.
"Daniel?"
"Rachel?"
She nodded.
"I almost didn't come."
"Why?"
She looked toward the empty chair.
"Because I knew once I told you something, I couldn't take it back."
Daniel sat down.
"That sounds like something people say before making someone’s life worse."
Rachel pulled out the chair slowly.
"Sometimes it is."
She sat across from him.
A waitress approached.
Rachel ordered tea.
Daniel ordered coffee he did not want.
Neither of them touched their drinks when they arrived.
"Tell me about Evan," Daniel said.
Rachel looked down at her hands.
"He worked for a nonprofit called Northbridge Research."
Daniel waited.
He had learned that silence made people uncomfortable.
Rachel seemed like someone who filled silence only when she trusted the person listening.
"What did they research?"
"Data systems."
"That’s vague."
"It was supposed to be."
Daniel leaned back.
"Supposed to be?"
Rachel looked at him.
"Northbridge worked with organizations that needed to protect sensitive information."
"Government?"
"Sometimes."
"Companies?"
"Sometimes."
"Who funded them?"
Rachel did not answer.
Daniel noticed.
Not because she avoided the question.
Because she avoided it too quickly.
"You don't know?"
"I know enough."
"That’s not the same thing."
"No."
Her fingers tightened around the paper cup.
"It isn't."
A group of teenagers passed by the table laughing loudly.
Rachel waited until they were gone.
"Evan found something."
Daniel felt the muscles in his shoulders tense.
"What?"
"I don't know exactly."
"Then why are you telling me?"
"Because he thought someone was hiding something inside the organization."
Daniel stared at her.
"My brother disappeared because of a workplace disagreement?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
Rachel seemed to realize it.
She looked away.
"What aren't you saying?"
She took a breath.
"Evan was investigating people connected to Northbridge."
"Why?"
"Because he thought they were using information they shouldn't have had."
Daniel frowned.
"Using it how?"
Rachel looked toward the window.
"I don't know."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
"Then what do you know?"
Her eyes returned to him.
"I know Evan was scared."
That sentence bothered him more than anything else.
Daniel had seen Evan angry.
He had seen him frustrated.
He had seen him exhausted.
Fear was different.
Evan rarely admitted being afraid.
"When did you last see him?"
Rachel hesitated.
"Three days before he disappeared."
"And you didn't tell anyone?"
"I tried."
"Who?"
"My supervisor."
"And?"
Rachel looked down.
"He told me I was imagining things."
Daniel almost smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Because it sounded exactly like something Evan would have hated.
"He was always doing that," Daniel said.
Rachel looked up.
"What?"
"Finding something wrong and then making everyone else uncomfortable because he couldn't ignore it."
A small expression crossed her face.
Not amusement.
Recognition.
"You sound angry with him."
"I am."
"You miss him."
Daniel looked at the table.
The coffee had gone untouched.
"Both things can be true."
Rachel nodded slowly.
"They usually are."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Daniel watched a drop of condensation slide down Rachel's cup.
A normal little thing.
A person could spend years ignoring details like that.
Then suddenly a stranger could sit across from you and make ordinary life feel temporary.
"Why contact me now?" Daniel asked.
Rachel looked at the photograph he had placed on the table.
"I didn't."
Daniel frowned.
"What?"
"I didn't send that."
The room seemed to become quieter.
"You called me because you thought I received something you didn't send?"
"Yes."
"Then who sent it?"
Rachel did not answer.
Daniel watched her face.
This time he saw something he recognized.
Not confusion.
Fear.
"Rachel."
She reached into her bag.
"I need to show you something."
She placed a small envelope on the table.
It was worn.
Old.
Different from the one Daniel had found.
"I found this in Evan's apartment after he disappeared."
"You were in his apartment?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Another pause.
"He gave me a key."
Daniel felt a sharp irritation rise.
A strange woman had been inside his brother's apartment.
She had information Daniel never had.
She had been trusted by Evan.
That last part was the one that hurt.
"What was your relationship with my brother?"
Rachel looked at him.
"Friends."
Daniel waited.
She sighed.
"Complicated friends."
"That doesn't mean anything."
"No."
Her voice lowered.
"It doesn't."
She pushed the envelope closer.
"He wanted you to have this."
Daniel did not touch it.
"You just said you found it."
"I did."
"Then why didn't you give it to me before?"
Rachel looked away.
"Because I was afraid."
"Of what?"
She looked back.
"Of being right."
Daniel stared at her.
Outside the window, a delivery truck blocked the street for several seconds while the driver argued with someone about parking.
The city continued doing ordinary things.
People carried bags.
Cars moved around obstacles.
Someone somewhere was probably complaining about being late.
And Daniel sat across from a stranger holding another piece of his brother's missing life.
"What is inside?"
Rachel swallowed.
"I don't know."
"You opened it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it has your name on it."
Daniel looked down.
There was a label on the front.
Not printed.
Written by hand.
Daniel Mercer.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Evan's.
His brother had written letters to him before.
Usually short ones.
May you like
Usually jokes.
Once, after Daniel helped him move apartments, Evan had left a note on the refrigerator that said, "Thanks for pretending you weren't annoyed."
