The Cross Society

Chapter 1: The Call --- The room was dark. The windows were covered with heavy curtains. A single lamp cast a dim glow across the long mahogany table. Twelve men sat around it, each wearing expensive gold chain around their necks. Their hands were folded in front of them. Their eyes were fixed on the man at the head of the table. Nathan Cross. He was older than the photographs. His hair was grey. His face was lined. But his eyes were sharp. His hands were still. He looked at the men around him. "Gentlemen," he said. They stood. They raised their right hands. "Hail the Cross," they said in unison. "We owe everything to the Cross." Nathan Cross nodded. He gestured for them to sit. He opened a folder. He looked at the papers inside. He looked at the faces around the table. "We have business to discuss," he said. A man at the end of the table shifted. "Amara?" Nathan Cross looked at him. His voice was quiet. "She found things she shouldn't have found." "She's dead. It's done." Nathan Cross was quiet. He looked at the papers. He looked at the man. "Are we sure she didn't tell anyone?" No one spoke. "Are we sure?" The man shifted again. "We checked. She told no one." Nathan Cross leaned back. His voice was quiet. "Make sure. I don't want surprises." He paused. "I don't like surprises." --- The light came through the window the way it always did — soft and grey, filtering through the curtains she'd bought at a flea market three years ago. Ife opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The radiator clicked and hissed. Jake was still asleep beside her. His arm was draped across her stomach. His breathing was slow and even. She didn't move. She just lay there, watching the ceiling, listening to him breathe. She remembered the first time she saw him. A coffee shop in the West Village. He was reading a book and drinking something that wasn't coffee. She'd asked him what it was. He'd said it was tea. She'd asked him why he was reading a book in a coffee shop. He'd said because he didn't like reading in libraries. She'd liked the answer. Three years later, he was still here. --- She slipped out from under his arm. She walked to the kitchen. She made coffee. She stood at the window and watched the street below. Her eyes moved to the photograph on the shelf. Amara. Smiling. Five years ago. The last time Ife had seen her. She was supposed to visit next month. She'd been putting it off. She didn't know why. She just kept saying "next month" until there was no next month left. The phone rang. She looked at it. Her mother's name on the screen. She didn't answer. --- Jake came into the kitchen an hour later. His hair was messy. His eyes were still half-closed. "You didn't wake me," he said. "You looked tired." "You always say that." "Because you're always tired." He walked to the counter. He poured himself coffee. He stood beside her at the window. "Your mother called," he said. "How do you know?" "Your phone rang. I saw it." She didn't answer. "She called again," he said. "After you didn't pick up." "What did she want?" "I don't know. I didn't answer." He looked at her. "You should call her back," he said. "Why?" "Because she's your mother." "Who told you that's a reason?" He didn't answer. --- They walked to the park later. The weather was cold. The sky was grey. The trees were bare. They walked side by side, their shoulders brushing. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asked. "Nothing's wrong." "Something's wrong." "What makes you think that?" He stopped walking. He turned to face her. "Ife. I've known you for three years. I know when something's wrong." She didn't answer. "Is it your mother?" he asked. "It's always my mother." "What did she say?" "Nothing. She didn't say anything. She just called." "So call her back." "I don't want to." "Why?" She was quiet for a moment. She looked at the trees. "She doesn't understand," she said. "Understand what?" "Me. My life. My choices." He was quiet. "What about me?" he asked. "What about you?" "When will I meet your family?" She looked at him. His face was calm. His voice was steady. "Soon," she said. "Soon?" "Soon." He didn't push. He just nodded. "Okay," he said. --- That night, they made dinner together. She chopped vegetables. He stirred the pot. They talked about nothing. They talked about everything. She laughed. He made her laugh. She almost forgot about the calls. She almost forgot about everything. That night, they lay in bed. Jake was asleep. She was staring at the ceiling. She thought about her mother. She thought about the calls. She thought about the questions. When are you coming home? Are you eating well? Is there a man? She thought about Jake. She thought about how she hadn't told her mother about him. She'd been putting it off. She didn't know why. It wasn't fear. It was just... time. Time slipping away. She thought about Amara. The photograph on the shelf. The last time she'd seen her. She'd been laughing. She'd said, "I'll see you next month." There was no next month left. She closed her eyes. --- The phone rang at 2:47 a.m. She was awake. She was always awake at 2:47. It was the hour when her mind wouldn't shut up, when everything caught up with her. She didn't answer the first time. She didn't answer the second time. The third time, she picked up. "Hello?" "Is this Ife?" A woman's voice. Nigerian. Shaking. Ife heard the tremor in it before she heard the words. She knew, somewhere deep and cold, before the woman said a thing. "Yes." "My name is Temi. I'm a friend of Amara. Your cousin." Ife sat up. The sheets tangled around her legs. Her heart was beating too fast. "There was a fire. At her apartment. She... she didn't make it." The words landed in the room. Ife watched them float. She didn't touch them. She didn't know how. "I'm so sorry," Temi said. "I'm so sorry." She said something else. Ife didn't hear it. She heard the refrigerator hum. She heard the radiator hiss. She heard Jake breathing. She hung up. She sat there. The phone was warm in her hand. The screen was dark. The room was dark. She looked at the photograph on the shelf. Amara. Smiling. She'd been laughing the last time Ife saw her. She'd said, "I'll see you next month." There was no next month left. Jake was still asleep. His face was turned away from her. She could see the shape of his shoulder, the curve of his back. She could hear him breathing. The same rhythm. The same sound she'd heard every night for three years. She didn't wake him. She sat there, in the dark, the phone in her hand, and waited for something to feel real.