Avoidance

Ken’s heart pounded hard in his chest. He leaned over his station, making a good show—by his estimation—of being hard at work. But ever since that day with the girl, he’d been growing less and less focused on it with each passing day. Right now, he was just focused on maintaining the appearance of devotion.

Everything he did felt unnatural. Every movement, every action he took, was corroded by his distrust for Irina, and for the nature of the work he was doing.

Inside, he knew it was silly, and immature. The words of a random girl? Why had they entrenched themselves so deeply into his mind? But as he pondered it, the answer became clear: ever since that demonstration, he’d been doubtful anyway. His conversation with the girl at the extirpation just gave him an excuse to condense the thought to what he felt now.

To make matters worse, at the time, Irina had dismissed the extirpation a few blocks away as being nothing more than a coincidence. Her dismissiveness further eroded his confidence, and faith that the work they were doing was good. Her unbotheredness indicated some level of understanding beyond his own.

And that scared him deeply.

He glanced up. Irina walked back and forth, from machine to machine and station to station, grabbing a tool from here and writing a reading there. She was a whirlwind of productivity, more so than he’d ever seen before.

Come on, Ken, he thought. Just get over there and ask her. He jumped to his feet, his legs practically moving on their own to get him started. But the rest of his body was far more reluctant.

He strode over to her, feeling as though his skin didn’t quite fit right over the rest of his viscera, and that maybe his bones were creaking obnoxiously with each step. But he made it over to her, and the crawling he felt inside and out subsided as she turned toward him.

“I’m busy,” she said, making sidelong eye contact for a moment, then turning back to her work. “Do you need something?”

A month ago, and this very same question would have cut much deeper. Ken wasn’t sure if it was that he’d grown used to it, or if she’d simply grown used to him.

Regardless, her words put him at ease—she invited the conversation in her backhanded way. “Well, I… wanted to ask about something.”

She waved her hand as she moved around, apparently not believing the introduction warranted a response.

“Well, I met someone interesting the other day.”

“Mhm.”

Ken could feel the impatience radiating from her.

“They implied that you were involved somehow with the extirpations,” he said hurriedly. “And, not just within this research—before it, too.”

She froze for a moment, before continuing with her chaotic process. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do,” he said, pressing for more.

“No, I don’t.”

“Come on, Irina. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Enough of this.”

“Just… debunk it quick.”

“Quickly.”

“What?”

“You said ‘quick,’ when you meant ‘quickly.’”

“Whatever. You’re dodging the question now.”

The rate of her work slowed more and more with each further prodding, until finally, with this statement, she stopped completely.

“I have no obligation to answer this.”

“You… kind of do,” he responded.

She just stared at him, expression flat. “Who did you hear this from, anyway?”

“From a girl. She claimed to know both you and me. And something about your past involvement with extirpation.”

“A stranger, then?”

“I… suppose, but—”

Irina’s expression darkened. “You believe a random girl over my own words?” Irina asked.

“No it’s not—”

“Ridiculous,” she cut him off.

“It’s not even a matter of believing!” Ken cut back in, growing louder. “It’s a matter of trust! And that you won’t answer makes it perfectly clear—”

“I don’t need to answer silly questions like this,” she said, returning to her work again. But Ken could see her posture was different. Her mood had changed.

And he knew the next string of comments on his lips was perhaps approaching the line, but it emerged before he could filter it. The momentum he had forced it free.

“Really?” he asked, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “Great. You’re very mysterious, but forgive me if knowing you caused the end of the world is more important than your troubled mystique.”

Irina whirled around, knocking her notepad and pen from the lab bench before her. “Enough! Get back to work, now!” she exploded. “Or would you rather the world really end?” She muttered what Ken could only assume was a gratuitous string of unflattering words in Russian, with even some English ones laced in as well. She turned back to her work, still spouting profanity, but Ken wasn’t one to miss a chance to press his advantage.

“What? Is that a threat? And enough of you telling me to ‘get back to work,’ and to ‘have this by tomorrow.’” He grabbed her shoulder, turning her around. “I’m sick of—”

A pain split his wrist as a black smear arced down onto his forearm, rapping against the bone with the splitting force of an axe against wood.

Ken recoiled, grabbing his sore forearm. He whirled around, looking for the source of the strike.

Marcel stood behind him, just out of reach, holding a shiny black cane. It had returned to rest, propped limply against his hand beside him. But Ken knew that he’d been the one that struck.

“Great. Now you’ve set your dog on me, too.” Ken wrung his wrist idly, turning to his workstation. “I’m leaving. And I won’t be in on Monday. Call me if you need anything, but—” He looked at Irina again, jaw clenched. “I won’t be at your beck and call anymore until you explain this shit.”

“Fine. You aren’t useful anymore, anyway.”

Ken breathed in to speak again, but let the breath go with a huff. He picked up his computer and notebook, and turned to Irina again.

Of everything he wanted to say, no one thought could push through. So, instead, he just clenched his jaw, shook his head, and stormed from the lab without so much as stowing his things in his bag.