@flashfictionfridayofficial
This is my entry for this week’s prompt! I wanted to develop the characters I created for FFF66 because I grew fond of them. A more angsty piece this time!
Tw: mention of death/disease, a child hurt
Atticus was passing slowly up and down the back alley, checking his holographic watch every two steps: three minutes and twenty two seconds before midnight. It could be a cliché hour - that's what Atticus read in stories from before the domes - but out there the day was more dangerous than anything that once could have been lurking in the darkness. Fairy tales, nothing more. He had more important thing to worry about than monsters or ghosts or wolfs roaming into the forest. There was no forest anymore anyway. And he had no one to tell them to since...
The maintenance men retreated under a porch when a family of four walked past him. It was a lot harder to be discreet when everybody else was outside. One minute and thirty eight seconds before midnight. He pulled his hood further on his face, folded his arms, unfolded them to check his watch, folded them again, shifted to try and ajust his coast without unfolding his arm again, sweet Earth he couldn't wait any longer! Twelve seconds before midnight. Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight.
"Ready or not, here I come!"
The memory shook Atticus awake just as a silhouette stopped near him, swallowed a nicotine pill, and leaned against a wall. The newcomer was waiting for Atticus to say something first, of course, he knew how it works. One deep breath before telling his soul.
"You know about the Cassiopeia Project obviously, who doesn't?"
Just a nod. But it was enough. Atticus continued with his voice down.
"I want names. We've heard about some of the programmers, the project manager but I want to know who is behind all this. The twisted mind that started it all. I'll pay for any information that you can find on this person."
"I don't do industrial espionnage."
The voice answered flately.A nervous chuckle escaped Atticus throat. The fiston he was restlessly jumping opened and closed since the arrived clenched.
"No, I can assure you it is personal. This monster took something… someone dear to my heart from me. They ruined my life and I'll make them pay. Can you find this information or not?"
One long minute of silence, Atticus so tensed he barely breathed, the other one very still, thinking intensely before dropping with the same emotionless voice.
"Two week from now, same place, same hour. Four thousand cash."
And just has it arrived, the spy disappeared in the shadows and Atticus was left alone with his thoughts, his emotion storming in his brain. Surprise. Confusion. Fear. Horror. Shame. It took him several minutes to realise his nails were digging in the palm of his hands. He shuddered, and fought back a yawn. Ten past midnight, but he couldn't bare the thought of going back home. Instead his hand wandered into his pocket, caressing a photo he didn't even need to look at anymore. The smile of the six years old girl was engraved in his memory: eyes sparkling with curiosity, one tooth missing but she didn't seem to care. Her unruly hair was tied into two askew braids - she insisted on braiding them herself and of course daddy accepted. She was so lively even frozen in this picture. More alive than the breathing ghost lying in the children bedroom where no one was playing anymore.
Atticus fell on his knees, violent sobs were shaking his body. He didn't care he was in the middle of the street, he didn't care people could see him, he was nothing but pain and sorrow. Through the wails only one word escaped his lips. One name.
