419 by Will Ferguson Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Will Ferguson
our RRSPs. We were going to travel, going to see the world. Of course... we hadn't gotten around to the details of it yet..." Her voice trailed off. Laura watched the officer as he jotted this information down in his notepad. "How's your cat?" she asked.
"My cat?"
CHAPTER 18
Laura's father, reading a bedtime story. Warren, too big for books, had wormed his way free, leaving Laura alone under her dad's arm as he turned the pages, slowly, deliberately.
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair!" he intoned in the sort of voice he imagined a prince might have.
Laura looked up at her dad. "Why didn't she climb down?"
Her dad looked back at her.
"The girl," said Laura. "Why didn't she just tie her hair to something at the top and climb down by herself?"
"You know," said her dad, "I never thought of that. I suppose you're right. She could have cut her hair when she got to the bottom."
"Hair grows back, right?"
"It certainly does," said her dad.
"So why didn't she just tie a knot and climb down?"
He frowned, considered the question. "I don't know. Maybe she was scared of falling."
"If she tied a good knot, it would hold her, even if she was scared." Then, with arms crossed, "This is dumb."
"Well, it's not a true story. It's a fairy tale."
But even fairy stories have to make sense, she thought.
Laura would later write a short story of her own when she was in elementary school, one about Rapunzel after her escape, running free with short hair.
She thought about that sometimes. About that other her, wondered what ever became of her. It happens so slowly, doesn't it? We surrender by inches. We surrender until one day when we're brushing our teeth, instead of Rapunzel plotting her escape we see a hermit staring back at us.
Warren, too big for books, had wormed his way out, leaving Laura alone under her dad's arm.
CHAPTER 19
"Wait." This was Laura's mother stopping Brisebois as the officers wound up the last of the computer cables.
"Yes, Helen?"
"There is one thing. It's probably nothing, but I remember Henry said something about a message he got... a message from Africa. Some sort of mistake, like a wrong number, but in an email.
I never heard anything more about it, though."
CHAPTER 20
They call us wizards for a reason. This was alchemy, not science. The IT officer knew this—knew it instinctively. He was navigating as much by magic as by prescribed protocol, by touch as much as by training. He was weaving his way into memory itself.
Memory was a holding cell, but the officer held the sorcerer's key that unlocked it, and dozens of deleted files now floated to the surface, emerging like ghosts from the hard drive. Email after email. Afterimages. Trails in the ether.
He had captured shadows in a net, had dragged them to the surface—and he smiled.
SUBJECT: Urgent Matter to the Attention of Mr. Henry
Curtis. Please do not turn away!
RECEIVED: September 12, 11:42 PM
Complements of the season! With warm heart I offer you wishes of good health from Africa. I am contacting you today regarding an urgent business proposal, and though this letter may reach you as a surprise, I implore you to take the time to go through it carefully as the decision you make will go a long ways toward determining the future and continued existence of a young woman'-s happiness.
Sir, I am writing today on behalf of Miss Sandra, daughter of Dr. Atta, late Director & Chairman of the Contract Award Committee for the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation. As you may know, Dr. Atta died tragically in a helicopter crash in the Niger Delta under circumstances most suspicious. Miss Sandra's uncle vowed to care for her, but he too has fallen afoul of government-backed criminals. Her uncle was the executive chief officer of the Niger Delta Development Agency, which works hand in hand with the National
"My cat?"
CHAPTER 18
Laura's father, reading a bedtime story. Warren, too big for books, had wormed his way free, leaving Laura alone under her dad's arm as he turned the pages, slowly, deliberately.
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair!" he intoned in the sort of voice he imagined a prince might have.
Laura looked up at her dad. "Why didn't she climb down?"
Her dad looked back at her.
"The girl," said Laura. "Why didn't she just tie her hair to something at the top and climb down by herself?"
"You know," said her dad, "I never thought of that. I suppose you're right. She could have cut her hair when she got to the bottom."
"Hair grows back, right?"
"It certainly does," said her dad.
"So why didn't she just tie a knot and climb down?"
He frowned, considered the question. "I don't know. Maybe she was scared of falling."
"If she tied a good knot, it would hold her, even if she was scared." Then, with arms crossed, "This is dumb."
"Well, it's not a true story. It's a fairy tale."
But even fairy stories have to make sense, she thought.
Laura would later write a short story of her own when she was in elementary school, one about Rapunzel after her escape, running free with short hair.
She thought about that sometimes. About that other her, wondered what ever became of her. It happens so slowly, doesn't it? We surrender by inches. We surrender until one day when we're brushing our teeth, instead of Rapunzel plotting her escape we see a hermit staring back at us.
Warren, too big for books, had wormed his way out, leaving Laura alone under her dad's arm.
CHAPTER 19
"Wait." This was Laura's mother stopping Brisebois as the officers wound up the last of the computer cables.
"Yes, Helen?"
"There is one thing. It's probably nothing, but I remember Henry said something about a message he got... a message from Africa. Some sort of mistake, like a wrong number, but in an email.
I never heard anything more about it, though."
CHAPTER 20
They call us wizards for a reason. This was alchemy, not science. The IT officer knew this—knew it instinctively. He was navigating as much by magic as by prescribed protocol, by touch as much as by training. He was weaving his way into memory itself.
Memory was a holding cell, but the officer held the sorcerer's key that unlocked it, and dozens of deleted files now floated to the surface, emerging like ghosts from the hard drive. Email after email. Afterimages. Trails in the ether.
He had captured shadows in a net, had dragged them to the surface—and he smiled.
SUBJECT: Urgent Matter to the Attention of Mr. Henry
Curtis. Please do not turn away!
RECEIVED: September 12, 11:42 PM
Complements of the season! With warm heart I offer you wishes of good health from Africa. I am contacting you today regarding an urgent business proposal, and though this letter may reach you as a surprise, I implore you to take the time to go through it carefully as the decision you make will go a long ways toward determining the future and continued existence of a young woman'-s happiness.
Sir, I am writing today on behalf of Miss Sandra, daughter of Dr. Atta, late Director & Chairman of the Contract Award Committee for the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation. As you may know, Dr. Atta died tragically in a helicopter crash in the Niger Delta under circumstances most suspicious. Miss Sandra's uncle vowed to care for her, but he too has fallen afoul of government-backed criminals. Her uncle was the executive chief officer of the Niger Delta Development Agency, which works hand in hand with the National
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