TREVOR HOMAM RESIDENCE
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 5, 8:45 P.M.
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A day after his loft was reduced to a bunch of ashes and blackened walls, Adam, in the intimacy of Trevor Homam’s house, pretty drunk, came clean and told him the truth behind the accident.
Adam hated hiding stuff from Trevor. Even when telling the truth meant being considered a freak or a lunatic, he needed to take the burden off of his shoulders, and whiskey had given him the little push of bravery to do it.
He confessed to Trevor that the cause of the fire hadn’t been a domestic accident as he declared to the insurance company and the rest of the world, but an intentional act from a maniac who threw energy balls out of his hand. It goes without saying that his narrow-minded friend didn’t believe him, so he had to make use of a demonstration of his abilities to back his words, the same way Juzo had done with him, a few Fridays back.
Trevor blanched as his company’s purchasing manager rose three feet above the floor and formed a swarm of electric shocks in his hand. That strange combustion scared him so much that he almost wet his pants.
An unrecognizable, baggy-eyed, non-shaved Adam explained to his friend the happenings of the last weeks; his encounter with Juzo, what had happened after B-Crush; and as the story went along, sobriety imposed onto him, flushing away the alcohol ingested. The whiskey had accomplished its mission.
The complicated part came when Adam was wrapping up his story. Trevor got rid of the horror he had on his face and put on a mask of loathing, impermeable to any emotion; the same mask his old-fashioned mother used to put on every time she talked about her husband’s shady attitudes, as Adam recalled.
Trevor adjusted his glasses and looked at him with the fake gesture of: ‘Nothing is going on here, everything goes on as usual.’ He listened to Adam with his head down, nodding once in a while without asking questions, as if he were listening to some political speech on the radio. And Adam had the impression that, just like what happened with those speeches, his friend would end up with more doubts than answers.
Then, Trevor said, “As long as you’re fine…”
Adam waited for the rest of the phrase, but there wasn’t much to it. ‘As long as you’re fine,’ what? ‘I’d be too’? ‘I’d be happy’? ‘I’ll chill’? Adam added in his mind: ‘—fine by me,’ and even so, Trevor’s words made little sense. The phrase sounded more like a piece of friendly advice, such as the type one gives to a friend when he’s going to make an unwise decision; one of those: ‘You know what you’re doing, pal.’
And Adam did what he’d always done when something bugged him: he asked, “What does ‘As long as you’re fine’ mean?”
Trevor took out his glasses, cleaned their lenses even when they weren’t dirty, and put them on with a blank stare.
“I don’t know,” he said when he couldn’t shake Adam’s eyes off of him. “Be careful when you do what you do.” He went to the movable table, poured himself some whiskey, and didn’t even taste it, swallowed it in one go. “If things are just like you tell me, then be careful not to get into an international mess,” he added, turning his back to Adam as if he didn’t dare look him in the eye.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“What do you mean?”
“You talked about stolen files,” Trevor said; “and things that are not public knowledge, at least here, on this side of the world. Implants, thrusters… Things that belong to Markabia’s military government, and you know how they are when it comes to their things.”
It was true; Adam hadn’t stopped to think about that.
“I know,” he said, trying to dismiss the subject. “Don’t worry, those files are lost and—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Trevor interrupted him. “The Imperial Army are not stupid; they must know what happened to your twin. And I must remind you that you work for an international company. Many eyes can fall on us if you get involved in a political scandal with those people.”
Trevor finally turned to him, and in his eyes, he had the same look that he’d given him that time in the hospital, when they had talked about moving the influences of one to cover up the mess of the other: a stern look.
“You’re right,” Adam agreed. “Maybe it’s best to resign from my position. That way, international eyes do not fall on Homam Enterprises.”
“I don’t think quitting will do any good,” Trevor said. “You could take leave, though. Also, with those fires of yours, if you don’t have any control over them…”
“I could cause harm. I get it.”
Trevor offered him the key to one of the apartments he owned for rent, so Adam could live there until his loft gets in condition to be inhabited again: a place on the fortieth floor of the Andromeda skyscraper, in the Cyan area, about a hundred and thirty blocks from the Carter Building, where his loft was.
This apartment was quite big and well furnished, had a huge living room; three rooms, each one with a bathroom; two balconies, and even a recreation room and a bar set up with exquisite spirits and whiskeys. It was a plum, flawless, like everything that had to do with its owner, Trevor.
The only problem: the apartment had divisions; it had many walls, too many, for Adam’s taste. No big spaces with no restrictions. Now, he couldn’t go to the bathroom, leave the door open, and have an entire view of his place; now, every place had its door. As if he needed something else to remind him his previous life was over.
“Is something wrong?” Trevor asked him upon seeing his face. “Don’t you like the apartment? It’s the best one I have, but I can lend you the—”
Adam stopped rubbing his stubble and looking around like a hopeless loser.
“No, no. It’s okay,” he said and tried to change his face. “It’s more than okay, dude. Honest! Thanks a lot!”
Adam hugged him. Trevor hugged him back, though he wasn’t quite effusive. To tell the truth, Trevor wasn’t much of a ‘hug and affection showing’ kind of person, but in this case, Adam detected something different about his friend: a distance provoked by fear—divisions, like in the apartment. Something cold filled his heart, and he feared the mask Trevor was hiding behind was a forecast of an irreparable schism in their friendship.
“Well, I have to go,” Trevor said and shook Adam’s hand as if he were a real estate agent who had just clinched a deal. “I have a flight scheduled for early tomorrow. Meeting with investors in Principia. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Are you kidding? What else could I ask for? This place’s amazing!” Adam answered, and camouflaging his anguish, he opened a liquor from the bar, poured two glasses, and raised one, proposing a toast.
Trevor took the glass and toasted him back, but he barely dampened his lips.
“Hey, Rita told me that the Carinaes will be there too, in Principia,” Adam said. Actually, what his secretary had told him was irrelevant, he just wanted to find a topic of conversation to feel some of that complicity between friends that he needed so much now, and what better than a topic on which they almost always agreed: business. “Will Homam Enterprises finally team up with the Carinaes to compete against Morris & Co.?”
Trevor smiled. A win for Adam.
“I’ll tell you as soon I get back. I have to go now.”
Trevor took off. Adam waved goodbye and left the door open for a while.