by TheTimeTrust
Griffin:
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Glover saw me, I'm sure of it. The question of how at this point does not concern me.
I leap backwards out of view and attempt to make a run for it. None of my physical feats in this form, of course, are in any way physical, but metaphysical. My mind moves me.
It is only a moment or so before I feel a presence behind me. I give this newcomer a cocky smile before adjusting the eldil stone to once again become the invisible man I was made into as a young man, long before I took the name of Griffin as my own. Odd... I can hardly recall now what my birth name was...
The little ghost caught a glimpse of my rarely-seen face before I vanished from his realm, although that knowledge will do him no good. I haven't seen my own face for many years now, nor is there anyone living whose knowledge of my appearance would do them any good. I made sure of that much when I became a free agent. I much prefer the term entrepreneur, though.
I dare not take the risk of moving back into the shadow realms until I have escaped this accursed building. I am aware, however, that all the members of MBL Consulting have returned and are present within this building. Hellfire and damnation! I should have vacated the building as soon as my mission was over. Curiosity got the best of me, however, and I must bear the brunt of it.
The little amount of knowledge I gleaned from Piper's hasty scribblings on his desk should have alerted me to the extreme danger I would be in upon the return of the other targets.
As I crawl along the outer part of the spiral staircase, avoiding all these carousing and drunken children that seem to be everywhere, I keep my eyes and senses open around me. It would be best to avoid any unnecessary contact at this juncture.
I finally reach the lobby on the first floor. The paltry security precautions are easily avoided, especially since all but the most basic have been shut down for the duration of the festivities. Home free. There didn't seem to have been anything that needed worrying about, after all. This mission has been all tits and giggles, really.
My snickering stops as I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder.
"Hello..."
Fuck!
"Stringfellow, you old rotter, you!"
I suppress a giggle and a sigh of relief as I watch him. He is noticeably taken aback. I'm not out of the woods yet, though.
"Do you know me?" he asks me, his eyes looking directly at me despite my invisibility. I hated dealing with that damnable Order back then, and I hate dealing with one of them now. Bluffing simply won't work; I try a somewhat honest approach...
"'Course I do, Turkish. I'm surprised you've already forgotten that dark night in Istanbul a few years back. We barely escaped with our lives then. Haven't you ever wondered where that small scar just behind your right earlobe came from?"
I can see by his expression that I've gained a kind of credibility with him. He seems somewhat confused that I am completely unreadable to him, however. Hopefully that's for the best.
"I have... lost quite a bit of my memory. I must admit I do not know you. Who are you, and why are you here?"
"The name's Griffin. And I'm here for the same reason you're here, guv."
A pause.
"Why am I here?"
"Bloody hell, they really got you cockered, didn't they? Listen, mate: You and I, we're the same: free agents. You're here because these metahuman blokes are providing you with a purpose while you figure things out for a bit. I'm here on a job. A potential client for MBL Consulting hired me to check out whether this outfit is on the up-and-up."
"And... are they?"
"I'll leave that for my employers to decide. I fully expect they'll be desiring this company's services soon, though."
The tall, bald figure regards me for another moment, as if somehow he could crack open every word I've said to him like a squirrel cracks open a nut. It's not going to work, Stringfellow. The eldil stone ensures it.
"There is something about you... I can't put my finger on it... but you are like a closed book to me. Or an ever-shifting morning mist."
"Don't worry too much about that, Stringfellow; I've been called worse. Wish you luck on that memory problem, though. And if you ever see Astarte again, tell her that Griffin has never forgotten about that Bangkok affair."
Stringfellow takes his hand off my shoulder and nods. As I walk out through the front doors, he appears to mutter something under his breath.
"Will I see you again?" he asks me.
"You can be sure of it. Perhaps we can meet for a glass of absinthe sometime. I'm not sure how much more I can tell you about yourself, though. You were always the secretive one. Cheers!"
I take the long route back to my den. No sense taking any further chances. I watch Kit Piper in his small flat as he watches Leno on his television over a bowl of potato chips. A framed portrait of two little girls standing on either side of him catches my eye. I file away this bit of knowledge in my mind for possible future use before slipping away. My close call at the target zone has me somewhat shaken, but it merely serves as a reminder that I am still, after all, human. Sometimes I forget.
At my own hired room I send another e-mail to my employers on my laptop and write out a detailed report from memory. I leave out the details on Stringfellow. In a way, I still owe him for saving my life, whether that was his intention or not. And as I am a professional, I always repay my debts.