Chapter 2 He Doesn't Blink

Five days in and I already knew two things about Cael Montreaux that I wished I didn't.

First was his door, which never closed. Every other executive on fourteen kept theirs shut, blinds drawn, sealed off behind frosted glass. His stayed open, angled so his desk had a clean sightline across the analyst floor to my desk. I told myself it was a coincidence, that I was being paranoid, and I half-believed it until Wednesday when I caught his eyes on me twice in an hour and he didn't look away either time.

The second thing I learned came from Thess over coffee on nine, the good coffee, because the stuff on our floor tasted like it had been brewed out of spite.

"Oh, the door thing?" She was stirring her cup with a pen because she'd lost her stir stick somewhere between legal and the elevator. "Yeah, that's not even the weird part."

"There's a weird part."

"He doesn't blink." She said it flat, no buildup. "I mean he does, he's not a lizard. But when he's looking at you he just... holds it. No break. He's... I don't know, filing you away somewhere."

"That's very reassuring, Thess."

"You get used to it." She took a sip and made a face. "That's a lie. You don't. Three years and he still makes me want to check if I have food on my face."

"Great. So my boss is a non-blinking, door-opening, staring... what?"

"I don't know what he is." She set the cup down. “I know that if he asks you a question in the hallway, you answer fast. He doesn’t warm up, he doesn’t do the…” She waved her hand. “Pleasantry thing. He just waits. And the silence is… yeah. Trust me. You don’t want the silence.”

"You could've warned me before my first day."

"And miss the look on your face when he locked onto you?" She grinned over her coffee. "Not a chance. That was the highlight of my month."

"Glad I could be useful."

"Speaking of useful." She leaned forward. "You found a data error in the Nordic fund?"

"Someone moved a decimal point six months ago and nobody caught it."

"In your first week." She shook her head and grinned. "You're gonna make so many enemies on this floor and I'm gonna enjoy every goddamn minute of it."

I visited Dad after work. The facility in Queens was forty minutes by subway when the trains cooperated and twelve dollars by bus when they didn't, and I made the trip every night because sitting alone in my apartment doing math was worse.

Bina met me at the door to his room with a nod and a quiet smile. "He's been in a mood," she said. "Fair warning."

"Good mood or bad mood?"

"The kind where he argues with me about his medication schedule and then tries to fix the remote control with one working hand." She shook her head. "Good mood, I think."

Dad was in his chair by the window. He looked up when I walked in and his mouth moved a half-beat before the sound caught up.

"You're... late."

"I'm three minutes early and your clock is wrong."

"Clock's fine." The corner of his mouth pulled sideways. "You're... slow."

Bina mouthed he's been doing this all day from the doorway and I bit back a grin.

I pulled out the old mechanics manual we'd been working through. His idea, because the disease had taken his hands and was coming for his voice but his mind was still sharp and he wanted to keep it that way. I read and he corrected my pronunciation on half the technical terms, and for forty minutes it was just us and the book and the radiator clicking in the corner.

"Your mother... used to read to me," he said, and each word cost him. "Same chair."

"I know, Dad."

"She was stubborn." His eyes went to the window. "Too many... questions. You're the same."

I turned the page. Mom died when I was eight. Car accident, wet road, a turn she didn't make. That was the story and I'd never had a reason to question it.

"I'll come back Friday," I said. "I'll bring the good coffee."

"Read the good parts. Skip the boring... ones."

"Dad. It's a mechanics manual."

"Not boring... to me."

His hand found my wrist on my way up, shaking and weak and holding on longer than he needed to, and his eyes were wet, and I kissed his forehead and got out of there before I fell apart in front of him.

Bina caught me at the door. "He had a good day," she said, keeping her voice low. "Ate most of his lunch. Argued with the night nurse about the thermostat for twenty minutes."

"That does sound like him."

"The speech is... it's getting harder for him." She paused. "Faster than I... yeah."

"How long?"

"I don't know, honey. Months, maybe. Could be longer." She squeezed my arm. "You're doing good, Maren. Coming every night. He knows."

I nodded because that was all I had.

The subway was delayed so I took the bus and counted out twelve dollars I'd rather have kept.

I noticed the camera when I got to my floor.

The security camera on the third-floor landing had pointed at the elevator for as long as I'd lived there, standard building security, and I'd clocked its position my first week in the apartment because I clock everything. In two years it had never moved.

It was pointing at my door.

I stood in the hallway with my keys in my hand, staring at it. The red light was on, steady, and it stared right back at me and neither of us blinked.

I went inside, locked the door, put the chain on, sat at my kitchen table with the lights off and the red notebook open.

Camera on my floor repositioned. Used to face elevator. Now faces my door. Maintenance?

I stared at that word for a long time. Then I picked up the pen and added one more line underneath.

Probably.

Two weeks passed. I went back Friday and the Friday after that. Dad ate less each time. Bina stopped telling me the good parts and started just nodding when I walked in. The camera on my landing didn’t move again.