Story 3: Nebulous

 

Nebulous

I cannot say for how long that I sat in that room with them glaring at me, across the cold, black table.

He was dressed like a lawyer or a businessman. He often fidgeted with his watch or the gold and diamond cuff-links; like he couldn't sit still. I was certain he was moving at least one of his legs up and down, too.

She, however, was incredibly out of place. Dressed to the nines. Not at all business or lawyer appropriate. She sat, ramrod straight, which made the incredibly plunging neckline of her pantsuit seem deeper.

I sat up, my own chair much more uncomfortable, under the extra glare of the unforgiving florescent lighting and cleared my throat.

“Why am I here?” I asked, looking at them.

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, and the man glanced at her.

“Do you know about Nebulous, Mister Tawil?” asked the woman, her voice surprisingly husky for someone so young and beautiful.

“Nebulous. Nebulous. Hmm, no, doesn't ring a bell,” I lie, smiling back at her. I knew, very well, who and what Nebulous was. I also knew that I wanted nothing to do with Nebulous and its organization.

She smiled again, this time the smile was more predatory. The man, beside her, grew increasingly anxious, beginning to sweat profusely.

“Just tell her the truth, man,” he croaked out as if he was parched. She did not, once, break her gaze on me nor her smile. It was alarming, to say the least. I felt like I was a fly, gazing up at a spider who was determined to make me her meal.

“I will only ask, once more, Mister Tawil, do you know about Nebulous?” she queried, finally bring her hands up onto the table, crossing her fingers and leaning, ever so slightly, forward. It made me involuntarily jerk back, the smile wiped from my face. Her eyebrow raised, but she knew she had me. She knew that I knew. However, she needed my acknowledgement.

Okay, two could play at this game.

©L Young, 2024