Chapter Twelve Page One, Bren, The Memorial Center

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Bren sat in her car, listening to the sound of the radio, staring at the entrance to the Memorial Center. Bren could see the resemblance it bore to a sepulcher; rectangular, pillars in front, grey stone, no real windows to speak of. Bren tapped the wheel with her fingers to the beat of the music. It was four in the morning. Maybe no one would be there.

She got out of the car, locked it behind her, and walked across the street. Falling Rocks was near empty. There’d been traffic at midnight, one, and two, but around three it had died down. Bren had expected that was when another set of assassins would come. Surely they knew she was out there. Surely they knew she was looking to recover her stolen goods.

Seymour answered the door when she stepped up to it. He faked surprise, “Brenda Alba? What brings you here?”

“I’d like to join,” Bren said.

“What has prompted this decision?” Seymour asked. He raised his eyebrow after the statement. It was the first facial tic Bren had seen that was actually disquieting. Seymour tried to look like a corpse reanimated, but most of his attempts fell flat. The way it rose was like a sudden jump. A delayed one, too.

“Could you just not wonder why,” Bren said, “And just accept that I’ve finally said yes to your repeated invitations?”

Seymour smiled. “Contemplation has brought you here, hasn’t it?”

“I’ve just been thinking it over so much, you know,” Bren said, “Seems I should finally live up to… my legacy?”

“I am glad that you have seen things the way I and the circle have seen them.”

The circle? Really? “May I come inside?”

“Not yet,” Seymour said, “Tomorrow you may.”

“Tomorrow as in, Monday?” Bren asked.

“Oh my,” he said, “It is already Sunday?”

“It’s close enough,” Bren said.

As if he didn’t already know. The bastard had bags under his eyes. Probably even knew why Bren was here.

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