All Is Fair
Copyright© 2024 by TheNovalist
Chapter 15: Passion and pain
Emma. 4
She quickly closed the door behind her, snapping the deadbolt closed as quickly as humanly possible. The metallic click of the lock sliding into place echoed in the cramped hallway, but it did little to quell the rising tide of panic within her. That man—he had followed her; that was the only explanation. He had trailed her, maintaining an unnerving distance, sticking to the opposite side of the road until only a block before home.
Her thoughts raced back to the moment she first noticed that he was there, the nagging intuition that had morphed into a heart-pounding sense of dread. She remembered how her palms began to sweat, how her breath had quickened, and how each footstep seemed to echo resoundingly inside her own head; she had broken into a run, her feet pounding against the pavement, driven by pure instinct. Apparently, the man hadn’t wanted the extra exercise, or maybe he was trying not to draw undue attention to himself since he had chosen not to chase her.
Now, in the relative safety of her apartment, her mind was racing, the adrenaline from her flight still coursing through her veins, she was panting hard, and her mind was racing. Two different men, both on the same day. It was more than a coincidence; it had to be. They had to be working together, which meant both of them knew where she lived, given that this morning’s stalker had been waiting for her outside her apartment block.
Her mind whirled with questions. Why? Why would they be interested in her? She was nobody, just a random girl in a moderate city. Her life was a series of routines: working at the local clinic and hanging out with her best friend and roommate, Jess, who happened to be a sex worker. She wasn’t some high-flying career woman; her family was neither wealthy nor influential; there was nothing extraordinary about her existence, nothing that should have drawn the gaze of menacing strangers, and yet two of them were following her.
Emma paced the room, the familiar surroundings offering little comfort. Her thoughts flitted from one possibility to another, the scenarios growing increasingly paranoid and fantastical. Was this about Jess? Had her friend perhaps unknowingly entangled herself—or both of them—in something far darker than either could comprehend?
She glanced out the window, her eyes scanning the street below for any sign of her pursuer. Every shadow seemed longer, every anonymous stranger more dangerous. She backed away from the pane of glass, her heart pounding in her chest as if the walls themselves could shield her from the malevolent gaze of her stalkers or her own bubbling fear.
Emma’s mind restlessly examined the morning’s events, the unsettling feeling of being watched as she had left her apartment, and the sinister silhouette that had mirrored her movements from a distance. The day’s routine had allowed her to forget the nerves of her trek to work, but those fears had not only been refreshed but ramped up immeasurably by the same thing happening again this evening. The random, ordinary routine of her life had been shattered by the intrusion of something she couldn’t comprehend in any way that didn’t mean ‘danger.’
Compelled by an almost frantic urgency, she moved to the small kitchen, fumbling through drawers until she found a sleek, matte-black pocketknife, a birthday gift from Jess, “just in case.” The weight of it in her hand was both reassuring and terrifying—a reminder of the reality she now faced. Or at least she thought she faced.
Emma’s grip tightened around the hilt of the knife, her knuckles turning white. She had to do more than lock the door; she had to be prepared for whatever came next. Drawing a deep breath, she steeled herself, calling upon every ounce of her courage. She might have been just a random girl in a moderate city, but she wasn’t helpless, god dammit. She had to believe that.
Her resolve hardened as she mentally mapped out her next steps. First, she would call Jess—her best friend needed to know what was happening. Then, she would reach out to the authorities, providing every detail she could recall about the day’s harrowing events. Whatever these men wanted, they would soon realize they had picked the wrong woman to terrorize. Emma was determined not to become a victim, no matter the fear that clung to her like a second skin.
She took another look out of the apartment window, carefully scouring the darkening street outside for any sign of anyone - not just the two men - who looked like they were watching her apartment.
Nothing.
She wasn’t losing her damned mind, she was sure of at least that much.
Emma, still palming the pocketknife, moved into the living room, dialing up Jess’s frequency. It only took a few minutes for her friend to answer. “Hey babe,” the girl answered cheerfully. She was flushed, and although the screen didn’t show it - her image stopping just below the shoulder line - she was clearly topless. “What’s up?”
“Where are you?” Emma was in no mood for pleasantries.
“I’m at home. What’s wrong?”
“Home? You’re in the apartment?”
“Yeah, I’m in my room.”
“Oh, thank god, I’m in the living room; I need to talk to you. Are you alone?”
Jess glanced off to the side for a moment, “No, sorry. Do you need me to be?”
“I think ... yeah, I think I do. It’s important.”
“Okay, babe. I will be out in a few minutes.”
With something of a reassuring smile, Jess closed the channel. Emma, feeling slightly better that she wasn’t in the apartment on her own, although still not entirely sure if she wasn’t losing her marbles, went back to the window.
About ten minutes later, she heard the sound of her roommate letting her client out of the apartment. She heard the moment when Jess turned the handle, only for the door to be caught by the deadbolt; a few seconds of confused pause before the sound of the deadbolt being undone echoed from the hallway, and the man was let out. “You’ll get a freebie next time, darling,” she heard Jess purr, followed by an affirmative grunt and the sound of a quick, perfunctory kiss. The main entrance to the apartment was directly opposite the door that led from the living room into the hallway, but Emma’s attention was fixed out the window at the streets below. She breathed a deep sigh of relief when she heard the deadbolt being re-engaged after the door closed behind the customer.
A few moments later, a flustered Jess rushed into the room. “Babe, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” She took one look at Emma, rushed across the space between them, and wrapped her arms around Emma. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
Emma, through shaking, trembling breaths, retold the story of her day.
She had never seen Jess looking genuinely worried before. It wasn’t an expression Emma was fond of. It just looked... wrong on her. Jess, with her effortless charm and infectious energy, was the life of the party, the paragon of confidence and self-assuredness. She knew what she wanted, and as soon as she worked out how to get it, she went for it with almost reckless abandon. Seeing her best friend’s look of worry, her eyes darting nervously to the windows and then to the deadbolted door, did nothing to reassure Emma that everything was okay. In fact, it magnified her own anxieties tenfold.
Emma had expected Jess to laugh off her concerns, to make a joke, to tell her to lighten up. She anticipated the casual dismissal, the playful suggestion that maybe this was all just a misunderstanding, that perhaps the men weren’t following her but just staring at her ass as they went about their totally innocent day. But the sight of Jess’s uncharacteristic apprehension spoke volumes. If Jess was rattled, then the situation was serious—a reality Emma found deeply unsettling.
Jess was much more worldly than Emma. She had seen her fair share of hardships, she had been through rough times in her life, and her work meant that she rubbed shoulders with some pretty unsavory people. Emma, on the other hand, was the very definition of sheltered. But that meant that if Jess thought that this was something to be worried about, then it was something to worry about.
“Jess, are you alright?” Emma’s voice was tinged with a mix of concern and desperation. She needed her friend’s usual bravado to cut through the thick fog of her fear, and so far, that hadn’t happened.
Jess glanced at Emma, her expression strained but attempting a brave front. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual conviction. “It’s just ... weird. Two guys, both on the same day? That’s not a coincidence.”
Emma nodded, swallowing hard. “That’s what I thought too. I mean, maybe if it had been just one man, I could chalk it up to bad luck or overthinking. But two? That feels ... different.”
The room seemed to shrink as the weight of their shared unease pressed in around them. Jess stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, reclaiming some semblance of her usual surefootedness. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “First, we make sure this place is secure. Check all the locks, the windows, everything.”
Emma watched Jess with a mixture of relief and admiration. Even in the face of fear, Jess’s mind was working, formulating a plan and taking action. “What about the police?” Emma suggested, though she felt a twinge of doubt. This was the sort of thing that the wavy majority of people–the police included– would brush off as a bout of unhealthy paranoia and female hysteria; it didn’t help that two young women were more likely to be dismissed than taken seriously on the best of days. Emma didn’t have one shred of evidence to back up her claims, and even if she did, what could the police do now that her stalkers were nowhere to be seen?
“We’ll call them,” Jess agreed. “That’s number two—but you need to remember everything: times, descriptions, behavior. If they show up again, we’ll be able to show a pattern and maybe get someone to ... I don’t know ... whatever it is that police do for these things. In the meantime, we stay careful and don’t leave each other’s sides.”
“But ... your work, my work...”
“My work can still happen here. The next few guys are regulars, and I can tell them to call me from downstairs when they get here. No more strangers or new clients until this is over.” She nodded firmly.
“What about the clinic?”
“Can you call in sick?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Well, if you can’t, I’m coming with you. We are in this together.”
There was something calming and reassuring in the newfound determination in Jess’s voice; Emma began to feel a flicker of hope. They were not powerless. Together, they could confront this shadowy threat, armed with vigilance and solidarity. She rose from her chair, joining Jess in their preparations.
The duo moved through the apartment, securing windows, double-checking locks, and discussing strategies. Emma found herself drawing strength from Jess’s resolve; each task they completed seemed to bolster that little flicker inside her that promised everything would be alright.
Outside, the city continued its inexorable march of life, unaware of the silent battle being waged within the small apartment. Yet within its walls, two friends stood united, their bond a shield against the unknown danger lurking beyond their home. Emma knew that the locks on the door wouldn’t hold out against anything more than a fairly hard kick, but there was still something reassuring about locking them again, like an extra layer of protection, even if it was only in her mind. The same went for the windows. Emma liked the light; she loved the daytime, especially at this time of year; drawing the curtains felt like she was shutting herself off from life itself. But in this case, they were blocking prying eyes. Again, there were sensors available in any electronic store that could see through the curtains like they weren’t even there, but to her mind, they helped, so she closed them tight.
Then they called the police.
The two of them sat side by side on the sofa in the middle of the living area, their eyes fixed on the screen as they waited to be put through to a detective. The minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, thick with the tension of their shared anxiety. Finally, the call connected, and they found themselves looking at a crew-cut man with a spattering of five o’clock shadow on his face.
“Good evening, my name is Officer Marlon,” the detective introduced himself, his tone professional but not unfriendly. He glanced down to take notes, ready to document their concerns. “What seems to be the problem?”
Emma took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over her. Her heart pounded in her chest, but to her surprise, a clarity of purpose took hold. As she began to speak, she found that every detail she needed was right at the forefront of her mind. She recounted the events of the day with a precision that startled even her, every piece of information emerging just when it was needed. It was like every detail of every memory was being handed to her by a brain that seemed to understand that forgetting things now could be very bad for it. She spoke for what felt like hours, even if it was probably only a few minutes.
“There were two men,” she carried on explaining as the officer kept taking notes, her voice steady. “Both on the same day. The first one was outside my apartment this morning, just standing there, watching. I thought maybe I was imagining things, but there was something about him that felt ... off. He was tall, bald, had a beard; he looked ... strong like he was a soldier. He looked like he was waiting for something—or someone, then he started following me.”
Officer Marlon’s fingers moved swiftly across his terminal as she continued, detailing the unnerving feeling that had plagued her since that morning. She described the second man, the one who had followed her on her way home from work, sticking to the opposite side of the street until she broke into a run. “He didn’t chase me. He just stopped and watched as I ran.”
As Emma spoke, Jess sat beside her, nodding in silent support, her hand resting reassuringly on Emma’s knee. The presence of her best friend lent her strength, solidifying the sense of calm and control that had surprisingly taken hold.
“He knows where I live,” Emma continued, her voice unwavering. “Both of them do. I don’t know if they’re working together or what they want, but it doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”
Officer Marlon looked up from his notes, his expression one of focused attention. “You mentioned they were watching you? Did they make any attempts to approach or communicate with you?”
“No,” Emma replied, shaking her head slightly. “They just ... watched. It was like they were waiting, but I don’t know what for.”
The officer frowned, the furrow in his brow deepening. “And this has happened before? Or is this the first time?”
“It’s the first time,” Emma confirmed. “But it’s been enough to make me feel very unsafe in my own home or at work. My roommate and I have double-checked all the locks, but I don’t know how much safer that makes me feel.”
“Where is work?”
“It’s the community medical center on 8th Street.”
Officer Marlon nodded, making more notes.
Jess interjected, her voice brimming with concern. “We don’t want to take any chances. We need to know what we can do to protect Emma and figure out who these men are and why they’re targeting her.”
Officer Marlon gave another slow nod, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the surface of his desk. “Alright. Normally, my answer to that would be that we don’t know if she is being targeted, but I have to admit, her account of things certainly does support that theory. So here’s what we’ll do. I’ll have officers patrol your neighborhood more frequently for the time being and keep a squad car posted outside your apartment and your place of employment when you are there. I also recommend you keep a log of every unusual activity or person you see. The more information we gather, the better we can assist you.”
Emma felt a small measure of relief at the detective’s practical response, though the anxiety was far from gone. “Thank you, Officer Marlon. We appreciate that.”
“I’ll also put you in touch with a victim support advocate,” the officer continued. “They can offer additional resources and strategies for maintaining your safety and peace of mind.”
Emma nodded, the detective’s words providing a glimmer of reassurance. “Thank you,” they both said in unison.
“If you see either of these men again, or if you feel like anyone else is following you, I need you to contact me on our emergency frequency. My concern is that this is a gang associated with one of the Syndicates. Kidnapping is a rarity in the core worlds, but it isn’t unheard of, and I would rather not take any chances.”
“Kidnapping?” Emma blinked. “Why would anyone want to kidnap me? I’m nobody.”
“You assume they know that. It could be a simple case of mistaken identity and these people think you are someone else. Perhaps today was all it took for them to realize that, and they will leave you alone. But I would rather not take any risks until we know for sure.”
“I ... I agree.” Emma swallowed hard and nodded. Not after her; that was something she could get behind as a reason not to freak the fuck out. They both thanked Officer Marlon again, and with nothing more to say, the officer said his goodbyes and closed the channel. As the call ended, she turned to Jess, her heart still heavy but buoyed by the knowledge that they weren’t facing this threat alone. They had taken the first step, and with the support of law enforcement, they could begin to unravel the mystery of these men and reclaim their sense of safety.
“Well, that was easy,” Emma said with a sigh, turning to look at her friend.
But Jess’s face was a mask of confusion or maybe nervousness. “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? He didn’t push back at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Babe, I’m a hooker...”
“Sex worker.”
“I’m a hooker,” Jess smiled halfheartedly. “I get weird men following me all the time. Whenever I have tried to report it, I have always had to fight their urge to brush me off. There’s always a question about how sure I am or if I could be imagining things, or maybe I gave the wrong guy the wrong signals. He took that very seriously, considering what I’ve dealt with in the past.”
Emma frowned. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know, it’s probably nothing, just ... I don’t know ... I’ve got a feeling.”
Two “I don’t know”s in one sentence. Something was worrying her.
“Would you mind if we stayed in tonight?” Emma asked, trying to think of anything that would get that terrifying look from Jess’s face. “Drink some wine, watch shitty tv, maybe order in?”
Jess blinked, turned to her, and smiled. “Yeah, that sounds good. I have my last guy in about an hour. I’ll finish him quick, and then we can have a girl’s night.”
Tony 2
Holy fucking shit, he could have kissed her. She was old enough to be his mother, frumpy, disheveled, and had only a passing relationship with personal hygiene. Yet none of that mattered at that moment; the sight of his relief stepping onto the bridge a full fifteen minutes early was enough to have him feeling almost euphoric.
He was utterly exhausted, having been on shift for twenty out of the last twenty-four hours. Fatigue seeped into every fiber of his being, a tangible weight that made even the simplest movements feel like monumental tasks. His eyelids felt like they were attached to the deck plates, heavy and stubbornly unwilling to stay open. His muscles ached from hours of maintaining the same position, every slight shift in posture sending waves of discomfort through his body. He felt as if he were tethered to his station by invisible chains, each one tightening with every passing second.
More than that, if he didn’t take a piss soon, he was pretty sure his bladder was going to explode! Not figuratively, either. It would burst like an overinflated balloon and make a mess over his console ... which he would then have to clean up.
When his relief walked in, all those discomforts momentarily vanished. She might not have looked like a savior in the traditional sense, but to him, she was nothing short of a miracle. Knowing that his ordeal was almost over, he felt a rush of gratitude and, frankly, a level of adoration that he would never admit to anyone else.
“You’re early,” he managed to croak around his dry throat, his voice barely audible over the bridge’s low hum and the myriad of beeping instruments.
“Figured I’d save your ass today,” she replied with a wry smile, oblivious to the depth of his gratitude. “I heard you’d been on for a while.”
The intense wave of relief broke over him, almost overwhelming in its immediacy. He could already feel his mood lifting, the crushing weight of responsibility and exhaustion beginning to ease off his shoulders. As he stood up, every muscle protested, a cacophony of aches and stiffness that made him wince. But it didn’t matter now; he was finally free.
“Thanks. You have no idea,” he muttered, giving her a tight smile as he lumbered to the side of the console and let her sit down. “I owe you one.” He couldn’t remember her name; he was useless with names at the best of times, but in his mentally fogged condition, he barely recognized her face; names were simply beyond him.
She smiled and nodded, taking his recently vacated seat, and glanced up at him. “Anything happening?”
He gave her a look. One that said, “Absolutely fuck all is happening, and you know it,”
She giggled again and turned toward the console, logging herself in for the start of her shift. “Well then, Lieutenant Commander, you are relieved.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant; I hope it’s a quiet one for you.” With a slight nod, he turned on his heels and headed for the door, stopping to give the ship’s first officer, Commander Carlton, a salute. The stiff, by-the-book, formal-looking man glanced up from his holopad and nodded to him.
“As you were, Tony,” the man said with a friendly smile. Get some sleep; you look like you’re about to drop. Good work today.” Tony liked the XO. He was a good officer, approachable, and friendly, but more importantly, the guy was actually competent, which was more than could be said for a huge number of the other officers Tony had served under over the course of his career.
“Thank you, Sir, Goodnight.” He may have received, and possibly even given, a few waves of farewell to the other members of the bridge crew, but he was honestly too tired to think about it. With his responsibilities completed, his mind had already started to shut down.
Nothing had happened for the entirety of the last twenty-four hours. There had been a flurry of meetings between the senior bridge staff not long after he had reported for duty, and the helm had been given the order to change course not long after that. The new course was taking them fairly close to his homeworld of Orpheus, which was pretty cool, but otherwise, nothing worth even a single iota of attention had taken place. Not even a sensor glitch or comms echo to fix. How he had managed to stay awake was something he had to put down to divine intervention.
His first stop was the bathroom, one of the crew ones in the corridor outside the bridge. Despite the pain in his legs and back, it felt like walking on clouds. Each step reminded him that he was no longer shackled to his console, and the mere thought made him almost giddy. Or maybe he was just numb and sleep-deprived. Who knew? He made it just in time, and the sheer weight of relief was practically a religious experience. He couldn’t talk with any authority on the subject, but he was pretty sure that records were broken with that leak, and he was even more certain that the moans of relief falling from his lips sounded almost sexual.
A few minutes later, three decks lower and a quarter of a cruiser further along from the bathroom, he stumbled into his quarters, the journey feeling like an epic quest to his exhausted body. The corridors blurred around him as he navigated the familiar path, his legs moving on autopilot while his mind was already halfway to sleep.
Finally reaching the sanctuary of his quarters, he fumbled with the door panel, his fingers heavy and clumsy from fatigue. The door slid open with a whisper, revealing a spartan but comforting room that looked like paradise at that moment. He barely registered the familiar surroundings—the small, functional desk cluttered with datapads, the standard-issue wardrobe, the soft hum of the air recycler. His bed, neatly made but with corners begging to be peeled back, stood invitingly against the far wall.
He kicked off his shoes with a lackadaisical effort, sending them tumbling across the floor, and didn’t bother with any other form of undressing. Face-planting onto the bed, he felt the blessed relief of the mattress conforming to his body. The crisp, cool sheets felt like the softest of silks against his skin, and the pillow cradled his head like a long-lost friend.
Sleep claimed him within moments, a swift and merciful embrace that pulled him under like a riptide. His breathing slowed, deepened, and the weight of his eyelids finally surrendered to the darkness. His entire body, taut with exhaustion, relaxed into the mattress, limbs splayed in a way that would have been laughably uncomfortable if he had been even slightly awake.
The buzz of the ship’s systems, the vibrations from the engines, the distant sounds of activity—all these were nothing more than a faint lullaby, soothing him further into the depths of rest. Time seemed to fold in on itself, the minutes seemingly stretching and blending into hours as his body went about the essential business of recovery. His mind emptied of worries and thoughts, the chaotic, mind-numbing whirl of the day fading into nothingness.
He stayed that way for forty whole minutes before the chime of his door echoed through the room.
He ignored it. If it were important, he would have been raised on the ship’s internal com system.
The door chimed again.
He ignored it again, groaning loudly and wrapping his pillow around his head to drown out the intrusion.
The door chimed again.
“Oh, for fuck sake! If something isn’t on fire, or someone isn’t dead, I’m gonna be fucking furious!” he muttered to his empty room as he dragged himself out of bed and across his quarters towards his door, jammed his thumb into the panel, and waited for the door to slide open.
It was Cheryl, and she didn’t look happy. The “What?!?” that was on the tip of his tongue froze at the sight of her.
“I...” she was looking at the floor between them, probably avoiding the angry, exhausted glare he was doubtless giving her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” her voice broke a little.
He squinted at her, his vision sluggish and blurred as his tired mind struggled to process the scene before him. There was something vaguely urgent about her demeanor, something about the way her eyes glistened and her breath caught in her chest. It was clear she was upset, but his brain, still dulled from exhaustion, struggled to piece it together. He had probably been at least this confused at some point in the past, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of when. He sighed heavily.
Without saying anything, he stepped aside, allowing her to enter. She walked past him, her breath quivering slightly with emotion. As she stepped into the room, she hesitated, glancing around in a way that spoke volumes. The room was shrouded in darkness save for the faint glow of instrument panels and the muted hum of the ship’s life support systems.
The scene before her spoke of his exhaustion: his shoes discarded in the middle of the floor, his crumpled duty uniform still clinging to his frame, his bloodshot eyes carrying heavy-duty baggage beneath them. His whole body slouched with a weariness that ran bone-deep.
“Oh shit, your shift,” she gasped, her voice tinged with sudden realization and guilt. “I’m so sorry. I’ll ... I’ll come back later.”
She made a motion to leave, but he gently grabbed her arm, his grip firm but not unkind. Despite his own fatigue, the sight of her distress spurred an automatic flicker of alertness within him.
“No,” he managed to say, his voice gravelly from tiredness. “You’re here now. What’s wrong?”
She hesitated, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he was up for this. The stark contrast between their states—her emotional turmoil and his physical exhaustion—created a palpable tension in the small room.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice wavering. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”
“I probably am,” he admitted with a faint smile, trying to lighten the mood. “And I’m going to need enormous amounts of coffee injected straight into my eyeballs for this, but if something’s bothering you, it can’t wait. Come on, sit down.”