xix. Tender

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The glow from my phone illuminates the beaten path cutting through the back-garden. Martin's mansion casts a shadow that shrouds my surroundings in darkness. I step past the wrought iron gate and knock the way he had asked me to on the wooden door behind it.

Before I click my phone screen shut to avoid the attention of any campaign staff that may be working in the far wing of this mansion, I open the newsfeed again.

▲ TRENDING

1. ⇡ Westside and Bex relative poverty

2. ⇡ Fire Emory Avenue

3. ⇣ Second season of Miles Away does Serena live

My chest squeezes. Cherry's name has disappeared, and the fire at Emory Avenue continues to rise steadily up the chart. My hovering finger accidentally opens an article, with the bold headline: "Stove malfunction claims life in one of the duplet apartments at Emory Avenue."

I shove my phone into my pocket, shaking my head as if to clear my memory. But, it doesn't work. A silent film replays in my head till its tape is worn loose. Firefighters move around the taped kitchen, and their striking neon uniforms shine against the grim background. They huddle around a dark zipped bag carrying the victim's body.

"Cooked alive" is how Collin Hart had described it on air. "The floor was black with soot. The expensive furniture was charred and yet still glowing with embers. At the center of the horrifying scene lay the stove by Fritz, the company whose tagline reads: 'The King of Kitchens.'"

I feel ill. Underneath the guilt, there is a twisted sense of relief that births more guilt. If they killed him, they don't suspect me.

I tilt my face towards the sky and it's endless blue, allowing the cool air to calm me down. It's so quiet outside that you can hear the wind rustling through the leaves of the cedar trees planted along the driveway.

The door finally opens to reveal Cherry in a long floral dress with her hair pinned up. She smiles widely and ushers me in. The scent of freshly baked bread and caramel toffee wafts over me.

My forehead creases in confusion. As soon as I've hung my coat in the hallway, Cherry envelops me in a hug.

"I'm so glad you came," She whispers into my ear.

"Uh. Of course," I reply. "Martin said it was urgent and incredibly important."

She pulls back, pursing her lips. "He said that?" She shakes her head and her annoyed expression loses to a loving smile. "There is nothing to worry about. We're just having dinner."

I'm not sure what that means.

Instead of pressing her further, I quietly follow her into a large hall.

Mediterranean tiles line the arched entrance to the open kitchen. There is a stove at one end, a basin with copper-coloured fittings, and colourful cabinets. Emir and a man I can't recognise are huddled over a bubbling pot, too busy to notice anyone come in.

The archway faces the long dark dining table where Martin, Jeremiah, and Nora are sitting and talking with a curious intensity. They turn to look at us as we walk in.

"Hey. You came!" Nora exclaims. I return a clumsy smile and embrace her in a side-hug. Cherry leaves my side and heads for the kitchen.

"Yeah, well. Martin scared me." I give him a pointed look.

"I'm not going to apologise. I did what I had to do." Martin shrugs. My lips curve into a frown. I draw in a sharp breath, but before I can rebuke him, he adds, "Nobody eats alone tonight."

And my guard falls. I don't know if I could admit it out loud but I didn't want to be alone tonight. Jeremiah looks away, and so does Nora. She squirms in her seat, picking at her plaster awkwardly.

"The tragedy was first reported at nine this morning, when plumes of smoke began to escape through an open window. A resident of the adjacent building recorded the scene before him as his wife dialed the emergency number."

"Good. You came." Emir's voice calls from behind me. When I turn, it's almost jarring to see him dressed casually. A loose pale blue shirt and a finger-painted apron. I wonder if he did it himself.

"Nice apron." I smile.

"Thank you. I try." He chuckles. Taking a step back, he gestures towards the man who comes to stand next to him. "London, this is Riz. Riz, London. I think you know each other."

"Riz! Of course. We've been on call plenty of times." I extend my hand and he gives a firm shake.

"We have!" He grins. "I'm their head of IT. Nice to finally meet you."

I say, "Likewise," and then it dawns on me. With a faltering smile, I look around the room. Everyone complicit in today's murder is here.

I'm still processing all of it when Cherry's silvery voice floats in. She brushes past me and sets a large glass bowl of salad onto the table. It's enough to ground me to the present. She quickly puts everyone to work and I'm ordered to bring the wine glasses from the kitchen.

When I enter, Emir is chopping beans. With rapid rhythmic movements, he brings the knife down on the cutting board over and over again. The sound is relaxing enough, and I smile at him as I check the cabinets.

"Did you buy that book I had recommended?" Emir asks, sliding the chopped beans into a bowl. Carefully balancing the glasses, I walk towards him.

"Sylvia's? Yes I did." I nod. "And I made the driest bread, you can imagine."

"Bread takes practice." Placing the knife down on the cutting board, he looks up. His eyes bore into mine, and he asks. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"You can't blame yourself for this, okay?" he says softly. "It was my decision."

I stand, tongue-tied, until someone begins to loudly ask about the glasses. My feet move without much thought, and the glasses are set on the table next to the ceramic plates and soft white napkins.

"Emergency responders who analysed the scene believe that the victim was cooking breakfast and had left his stove unattended. The victim, a senior accountant at Nutrien, was half-dressed for work when his body was found. Many took to social media to express their shock. But more on that later."

I'm not surprised that Jeremiah is the life of the party. He draws attention towards himself quite naturally.

We sit around the table, some with their elbows on its surface and others with their backs against the chair, joking as if we can't recall why we came here in the first place. Our conversation twists and bends like a river, from one purposeless thing to another. I don't do this with anyone except Chloe.

"No. No, no." Jeremiah wags his finger furiously. I bite back a laugh. "No, Riz. That's not how the story goes."

Riz dramatically drops his napkin next to his plate.

"Why don't you just tell us?" Nora rolls her eyes at Jeremiah.

He replies, "I guess, I have to."

With her elbow on the table, Cherry rests her chin on her hand and patiently waits for Jeremiah. He purposely takes a long sip of his wine, and we all wait with the same expression of annoyance and adoration written all over our faces.

He leans forward and uses his hands to add flair as he begins, "The story begins when our nation considers barricading its borders, a hundred years ago—"

Nora slaps the back of his head.

"Okay." He clears his throat. "The story begins with a radical outfit within the opposition. They had entered our country disguised as participants in the international talks and hoped to carry out the heist while the riots outside the talks got out of hand.

Their heist was successful, Riz. When the talks failed and procedures for immigration were dissolved, they tried to return to their own countries." He pauses, lifting his index finger. "But they were caught at the airport."

"Wait. What the fuck?"

"They were caught?"

"Let me finish!" He shouts over our voices. "Every single one of them was searched. But the authorities couldn't find the artifact"—Martin's lips part in shock—"They couldn't even prove that they were the ones who had taken it. So, they had to let them go. Decades later, the authorities recovered a recorded conversation between two members of that outfit, in which they confessed that they had to abandon their plan to leave with the artifact after they lost a member to the riots."

Nora and Martin, sitting adjacent to each other, look shocked, but Emir and I share skeptical expressions. Our eyes meet for a split second, and he acknowledges it too.

Gently spinning the drink in my hand, I listen to their reactions and the clinking of cutlery.

"So the artifact never left the nation?" Nora asks slowly.

"Nope." Jeremiah shakes his head with a precocious smile. "They just hid it in a separate location and swore they'd come back for it. Except, you know what happens after this. Non-citizens aren't allowed in for years. City goes underwater. But the artifact is still there."

"Okay." I set the bottom of my glass down on the table, and cross my arms. "The version I've heard is similar to this one, but I have to ask, what's the origin of the curse?"

The chiming of silver against glass against ceramic is drowned out by laughter. Even Cherry cracks a small smile. It's the first one I've seen in an hour.

"Exactly!" Emir slaps the wooden table with his hand. "I was remembering the same thing. The artifact is cursed. People have tried to look for it, and all of them have died."

"That's just the plot of The Curse of Zalera." Martin says, laughing softly. "No one can recover it apart from the direct descendants of the artifact. It was a very popular movie, Emir."

"No. No." It's my turn to wag my finger at the rest of them. "That movie is based on this rumour. Not the other way around."

Emir nods furiously, mouthing "See!" to Martin, who ignores him with a veiled smile and stuffs a spoonful of gravy into his mouth.

"I genuinely believe that actor is one of the best in the industry." Nora mumbles. "But I lost all respect for him once he started showing up in every other Orion ad."

Jeremiah leans over the table to be able to see Martin clearly. "Hey. Why don't we get celebrity endorsements?" 

"Because we're on a budget, unlike the AFD." Martin replies in a playfully condescending tone, leaning towards him as well.

"Also, it's not proven to be effective." Cherry speaks in a low voice, and the whole dinner table quietens down.

Her mood had changed drastically once she had murmured a small prayer before her meal. Only Emir had waited for her to finish, and I now notice that he is watching her, discreetly, while the conversation drifts forward. Cherry pushes her food around her plate, staring at the singed skin of the potatoes.

The ugly feeling returns to the pit of my stomach.

Riz explains, in a somber tone. "We are targeting smaller centralized networks. Information spreads just as fast and stays within the group. Nora showing up on a local stream helped immensely among the younger Bex crowd. We don't need to get mainstream celebrities and draw national attention."

"I have to think of something that effective for Westside. The focus groups are fucking ridiculous. This food aids bribe is actually making people look past Nutrien's history of abuse." Martin pours the rest of the wine into his glass. The empty decanter reflects his troubled face.

"Nora," Emir calls her. "Did the election observers say anything about the food aids?"

Nora sighs deeply, putting her fork down on her plate. "They are constantly updating their investigation report with proper protocol. Even if the food aids feel like a bribe and clearly have the effects of a bribe, they haven't found anything solid to incriminate the AFD."

"But they have to at some point, right?" Jeremiah looks around the table with worried eyes. "This is blatant vote buying. I bet the observers are involved in—"

"They are so clean." Nora interrupts him. "They started investigating it before we made a complaint."

"Oh god." Emir groans. "Nobody talk unless they have good news about something."

And the table falls silent. The river has permanently changed course. We can't escape the present anymore, even when we're joking.

"According to a recent independent survey, eighty-five percent of Fritz clients have full faith on it's automatic functions despite the reputed stove's rocky history. The first recorded malfunction occurred at Holder Mansion, and the second one took place at Fremly Heights that same year. Tonight, we will examine the stove's troublesome history and the government's attempt to reign in the Kitchen Kings. Let's dive in."

"I don't get why they're still popular?" Cherry thinks out loud, in between small bites. "What kind of idiot would choose to own a Fritz stove after the previous disasters anyway?"

Murmurs of agreement follow. I exchange a look with Emir, who suppresses a smile. He's doing a terrible job of it, and before taking another bite he says, "Ask London."

Silence falls over us for a split second, and I shift in my seat. While a deep red blush colours Cherry's ears, the others laugh. Jeremiah has to lean forward when he almost chokes on his water.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to call you an idiot—" Cherry backtracks.

"No, it's fine. You're right." I laugh softly. "It is stupid. And to answer your question, the kind of idiot who doesn't think twice before buying it because it's what everyone uses."

"Oh, everyone?" Martin teases me.

"No, sorry. I mean—uhm—everyone that I know."

Nora leans back with her plastered hand on the table. Her fork dangles dangerously on the edge of her plate. "Its unbelievable to me that you wouldn't think twice about it. That stove's price tag could cover my rent for two months."

My cheeks feel hot under their eyes, and I fidget with my knife.

Riz leans forward to look at me directly. "You should change it," He says.

Before I can respond, Jeremiah cuts in. "Why bother? It was not the stove this time."

My breath hitches in my throat. No one meets another one's eyes. This is the closest we have come to calling it murder.

We don't speak for a while, and the cutlery rings again. Knives scrape against plates, grease oozes from the smoked skin of the steak. Dishes and spices are passed around. Only a fistful of salad remains in the glass bowl.

"If his family sues..." Emir finally breaks the silence. He places his elbows on the table and knits his fingers together. "Then, this is going to dominate the headlines for days to come."

"Do you have a plan?" Nora asks, and all heads turn towards Martin.

He spins the thick silver ring on his middle finger with his thumb. "Well, I haven't smoothed the edges out, but I want Emir to take charge of the conversation. Talk about negligence, or corporate responsibility, or the fact that Fritz had been summoned twice but the government didn't make sure that they made the court-ordered changes. "Fritz, like many other corporations, was allowed to prioritize it's own interests, and so Tragedy has struck a third time.""

A shiver climbs up my spine. There is a small scowl etched on Jeremiah's face, and Nora is fidgeting with her plaster again. Emir blinks at his plate wordlessly. This feels so wrong.

Martin heaves an exasperated sigh. "Look, they're using this as an opportunity to drown us out. Ten media channels are regurgitating the same news on a loop. We cannot lose out on an opportunity like this because now you want to be the good guy who doesn't try to gain something from someone's death."

"It's a good plan, Martin." Emir clears his throat. "It's just uncomfortable."

"I understand." Martin slaps his shoulder. "But once you get into the zone, it'll be like muscle memory."

The sound of the impact is drowned out by the sudden screech of Cherry's chair. "Excuse me," She mutters and sets off far into the kitchen.

My eyes follow her as she disappears into the pantry room. "Should we go after her?" I ask.

Martin nods with a defeated look on his face. "She is having the worst day. Early morning, she received a cryptic email about Dakota. Then the news of the fire broke—"

"What?" Emir shouts in shock. "What email? Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"I was overwhelmed with work today!" Martin replies with the same intensity.

I can feel a pointless fight coming, so I slip out to find Cherry. 

The pantry door has been left ajar. I gently push through and find her leaning against a rack filled with packets of flour and rice. The small room smells like a coffee shop. I can only assume there is a bag of well-roasted coffee beans somewhere here.

"You cut your hair yourself, didn't you?" I gently prod, walking over to her. I lean against the rack too, next to her.

"Yeah. Martin had to rush in a stylist to fix it." She laughs. There is no warmth in it. "I'm sorry for worrying you. You don't have to come check up on me. I just—I feel..."

I turn my body towards her. "You feel...?"

"Like I am being punished, and I am so angry at God because even if I deserve it, Dakota doesn't." She mumbles through gritted teeth. "We just sent a man to his death, and all I can think about is if she's been eating well."

"I'm sure she is." I reply without thinking.

"Yeah. Anyway." She sounds unconvinced and I don't blame her. "How are you? Can't imagine that you're handling this well."

I shrug. "I don't know. I've been thinking of death a lot lately. I was never raised with religion. My parents are atheists and I guess, so am I, but ever since the shooting, I keep thinking about what lies beyond death. Today just gave me a little bit more to chew on."

"The afterlife." She nods, thoughtfully.

"Do you think that people are condemned to hell?" I ask, and I don't know if I am thinking about him or myself.

"Not really." She grabs a jar from a nearby shelf, and it rattles in her hand. "I'm not sure if I believe in heaven or hell, or any similar conception of the afterlife."

Befuddled, I ask. "So, you think God's all forgiving?

"I have to." She avoids my gaze.

I turn away from her to give her more space. A glimpse of the dining table comes into my vision. Jeremiah passes a bowl of stew to Nora. He rises from his seat to help her when she cannot reach it.

My heart clenches. "But, all this suffering..." I murmur. "I don't think I'd respect an all-forgiving God. Where's the justice in that?"

Cherry places the jar back and looks at me properly for the first time. "Do you think there's justice in retribution?"

The sound of breaking glass fills the pause. "I don't know." I say, and my weak voice is drowned out by the commotion outside.

The door to the pantry bangs open, and Cherry and I jump back in shock. Martin holds the door frame for support as his large excited eyes stare at us.

"Cherry, I'm so sorry, I should have shown the message to Emir as soon as we got it. They were trying to tell us that they are releasing Dakota tomorrow!" he says in a voice too loud for a room of this size.

Cherry doesn't flinch or move or react in any way, and Martin repeats himself a second time.

I feel like a block of wood, the good news isn't seeping in.

"She's coming home tomorrow?" Cherry's doe eyes search Martin's face as if he would lie to her.

He nods, and she leaps into his arms squealing with joy.

We step out into the dining room again, and everything feels

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