"There's no other answer," Edward muttered to himself as he leaned back and dragged his hands down his face. He had looked at the evidence from a thousand different angles; it was the only answer.

Disheveled and defeated, he had been behind his desk for hours, desperately willing the pieces of this puzzle to fit into any picture other than the one appearing before him. His usually neat brown hair was mussed in all directions.

Wiping his palms on his shirt, he reached for the phone and dialed.

"What?" a gruff voice answered.

"Milo? It's me."

"This can't have waited?" the voice on the other end of the line was incredulous and groggy with sleep.

Edward glanced at his watch, 1:33. "Shit. Sorry," standing, he swept the curtains aside and looked out the open window, "I hadn't realized it was dark, never mind this late," he let the curtain fall back over the screen. "But this can't wait. I need to meet with you." Though alone, his voice was low, hardly more than a whisper.

Silence.

"Hello? Milo?" he urged, a little louder than before.

A scratching, shuffling sound muffled the voice of a woman and was followed by a man's grunt.

"Yah, yah. I'm here. What did you say?"

"I need to meet with you."

"Tomorrow," Milo yawned. "Breakfast? I'll have Jean clear my schedule."

"No. Now." Still standing, Edward began pacing as far as the phone cord would allow.

"What?" Milo groaned, the irritation evident in every drawn-out and exaggerated syllable. "Why?"

"Now. I need to meet with you right now."

Listening carefully and awaiting Milo's response, the only thing Edward could hear was the woman's muted voice, and it had become irritated as the muddling of fabric against the phone magnified.

"What could possibly be so urgent that you need me to leave my bed and my wife to speak to you..." Milo growled, "...right now?"

"Please? You'll understand when I tell you, but I need to meet with you. To speak with you..." he trailed off, dubiously glancing around the walls of his office. If his suspicions were correct, he had no reason to trust the privacy of this office or any other place provided to him by this organization.

"Fuck. Fine." Milo finally relented. "Meet me out front."

Though Milo couldn't see him, Edward nodded and returned to his seat, his jaw clenched as the line went dead - the echo of an extraneous click emanating through the receiver. Momentarily hesitating, he again scanned the dark, wooden walls of the office then carefully dropped the phone into its cradle. Someone else had been on the line?

Hurriedly stuffing into his briefcase the papers littering his desk, he shoved his arms into his jacket, hit the light switch, and eased the door closed as he entered the dimly lit hall.

Resisting the urge to look up and down the passageway like a paranoid madman, he let out a shaky breath and made his way to the elevator. If someone else had been on the line, then someone else had to be in the building. But where? And how long had he been under scrutiny?

'Paranoid. You're being paranoid,' he thought. Hitting the down button on the elevator, he closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself as he waited. The descent from the third floor was agonizingly slow and he could feel sweat beading at his temples. When the elevator doors opened, all semblance of calm lost, he sprinted through the lobby and out the front doors. The heavy night air hit him like a breaking wave, laden with the smell of sea salt and the remnants of the sweltering day. Glancing to his left, he decided against retrieving his car from the underground garage and opted for a steady jog in the opposite direction.

What a fool he must have looked, still dressed in his work clothes, with his jacket flapping behind him, and polished shoes slapping the bricks of the sidewalk. His briefcase was a burden at this pace, weighing him down to one side, every second footfall heavier than the other.

As the streets morphed from storefronts into the stoops of townhomes and apartments, he slowed his pace. Ahead, under the downcast rays of an old-fashioned street lamp, sat the man he sought: bolt upright with his arms crossed, Milo's eyes were closed.

Stopping before the bench where Milo sat, Edward took a few breaths and cleared his throat. He deliberately skimmed their surroundings; what a strange place to feel comfortable enough to sleep. He cleared his throat again, a bit more urgently this time.

Milo slowly raised his eyelids, his gaze fixed on Edward standing in front of him, even before his eyes were fully opened.

"This better be good, old man," his voice was deep and rough with tiredness. "My wife is home alone and my side of the bed is getting cold."

"Here?"

Raising his eyebrows, Milo looked around. "It's a playground. No one is coming here at this hour," he closed his eyes again. "Now, out with it; I'm tired."

Edward spoke quickly, but quietly, "Let's sit over there," gesturing vaguely towards a bench in the shadow of a large tree. "There is no sense in meeting at nearly two in the morning if we're going to sit beneath the only street light on the whole block."

Opening his eyes, Milo stood and Edward stepped back. Even though he had known Milo for years, it didn't make him any less intimidating. He wasn't towering, but was taller than most; his shoulders broad and his eyes penetrating as he glared at Edward. Shifting past him to sit on a beshadowed bench a few paces away, Milo resumed a nearly identical position to the one in which he had begun: back straight, arms crossed, though this time his eyes remained open.

Edward hesitated, trying to decide where to begin. "You know my position?"

"Position? Your job?"

"Yes."

"You're the accountant."

Nodding nervously, "Yes and I have been doing this for a very long time," Edward paused, looking off to the side as the chain of a swing creaked in the breeze. "I see... everything." He wrung his fingers among one another, eyes now set on his freshly scuffed shoes.

"And?"

Looking up, Milo was staring right at him, gouging the truth from Edward's anxious silence. "And... over the last few years, I have noticed a pattern emerging... I..." Milo raised his hand in a motion to silence what was clearly about to become a jumbled, rambling explanation. "...in that briefcase..." Edward either didn't notice or didn't care for Milo's attempt to silence him, because he didn't stop speaking.  Taking a final, steadying breath, he uttered more clearly and confidently, "I know who he is!"

Ah.

And now Milo understood the urgency, Edward's motivation to pull him from his bed.

But there were no secrets here, Milo never doubted this day would come. Eventually. It always did.

How does one advise a man that he has just made his last discovery? Worked his last day? That he is unknowingly counting down his last breaths?

"Take the briefcase," Milo leveled Edward with an impassive stare, "and destroy it."

Edward turned sharply towards Milo, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Milo's calm was agitating; his lack of reaction or concern, suspicious.

"Why would I destroy it? I can prove..."

"You don't have time to argue with me, just do it."

"No." Standing squarely, Edward's voice was firm and defiant.

Milo just snorted, his head falling into his hands as he tried and failed to suppress a hearty laugh.

"This isn't funny!" Edward's voice rose in tenor and tension.

"Calm down," Milo scolded, glancing side to side as though he had just remembered they were outside, "you'll attract attention."

"I will not calm down!" Hostility rumbled within his words and as he rubbed his forehead with his fingers, Edward shook his head, "I don't even know why I called you." Throwing his hands to the side, disgust mixed with confusion as he whispered as loudly as he could, leaning in towards Milo, "I thought it was for advice, but not the sort that tells me to destroy what I have found and just forget it!"

"I didn't tell you to forget it," Milo denied.

The men stared at one another, a foreboding moment unraveling between them as Milo sat stoicly beneath Edward's scrutinizing glare.

Milo was completely devoid of emotion. Entirely unreadable.

"You're not shocked," Edward murmured, standing upright, "or angry."

He cocked his head and Milo watched silently, his own jaw ticking, waiting. This man was no fool; the breadth of truth was dawning on him now and it wouldn't take long for the outlying shreds to fall into place.

"You know?"

There it is.

Edward waited for a response, but none came.  "You already know." This second utterance was no longer a question, but a sort of epiphany, and Edward began to back away. The transfiguration of trust into fear, as the depth of mistruths rapidly became apparent, skated across his face.

"Yes," Milo nodded once, a desolate smile breaking his passive demeanor. "I have always known."

Running his hand through his hair, Edward began pacing back and forth in front of the bench.

"This is all much... older than I have the time or patience to explain to you." Milo's consolation was half-hearted at best.

"I have plenty of time!" Edward spat with tenacity.

Milo rose, gently placing his hand on Edward's shoulder. "It is more time than you have." He dropped his hand, slipping his fists into his pockets. "Fill that briefcase with rocks and drop it into the river on an outgoing tide. Whatever. But destroy it. Go home, collect your wife, and leave."

"What?"

"I said: collect your wife and leave. Don't bring any of that," he gestured towards the briefcase, "and don't tell anyone where you're going." Milo drew his hands level with the man's shoulders, flashing his palms as he flicked a dispassionate wave to sky, "Disappear."

Edward just stared, brows furrowed, with one hand in his hair and the other on his hip.

Slipping his hands into his pockets once more, Milo's words were decisive. "If you're here talking to me," he began, "if you think you know who he is, then he already knows. Your clock is already ticking."

The statement left no room for question.

The click of the phone.

It was true.

"Where do I go?"

"I certainly don't care" Milo shrugged. "Don't tell me. Don't tell anyone." He turned and began strolling across the street towards his house. "Come on. I'll drive you to your car."

Edward looked around, realizing he had lost track of the briefcase. Spotting it on the ground, he collected it and followed Milo.

The drive back to the parking garage seemed too short in the man's racing mind. Raking his eyes up the brick structure as the car came to a stop, nothing seemed amiss; if anyone else had been inside with him, it appeared he, or she, had already left.

Stopping just outside the gate, "Destroy it," Milo repeated under his breath as Edward opened the passenger door.

Pausing with one leg out of the car, he turned, looking Milo in the eye, and nodded once.

His own car was covered with a sheen of condensation, the humidity of the sea air settling itself on the silver paint. Unlocking it with the press of a button, he tossed the briefcase on the passenger seat and engaged the ignition. The sound of the engine seemed like a roar, reverberating on the smooth cement walls of the underground garage in the quiet of the night.

He rolled down all the windows. The city was beautiful at this time of night; the buildings illuminated and the narrow streets free from the thousands of gawkers that infested every corner of it by day. When he moved here, almost two decades before, it had been a seedy fishing town, a city whose luster had faded with the whalers and oil barons. Born at the mouth of the mighty river, where it emptied into the ocean, in the last decade the city had transformed into a mecca for tax-free shopping and glamorous seaside living.

He passed over the first bridge towards his home, trying to calm himself.

Destroy it.

Why?

Because he already knows.

The first bridge led to an island with a dozen houses packed tightly together. Easily navigating the short twists of the old road, he mounted the second bridge and, at its peak, the causeway ahead came into view, the Great Island beyond it. The causeway was hardly more than a jumble of rocks adorned with a thin layer of asphalt and an encroaching, decaying guardrail.

Edward lived on the northern shore of the Great Island, in a house provided to him as part of his employment. Weaving his way through the streets and down his driveway, he silently parked outside.

Destroy it.

He already knows.

He hadn't destroyed it. The briefcase was still sitting on the passenger seat.  Parking in front of his house, he tried to forget the image of it as he rushed to the yellow door, the audible click of his key in the lock setting his heart racing.

Laying his keys on the table in the entryway, he followed the faint glow of a lamp down the stairs and into his study. There he found his wife, asleep on the couch.

Kneeling before her, he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her softly.  She breathed deeply, stretching her arms gingerly over her head as she arched her back.

"What time is it? I was waiting for you." Her voice faded back into sleep as she rolled onto her side, pulling up her knees and sliding her hands under her cheek.

"I know. I'm sorry," he whispered. "Val? You have to get up."

She neither moved nor attempted to open her eyes again. "Why?"

"We have to go."

Sinking further into the plush leather of the armrest, she sighed, "Okay."

"No, Val, we have to go now."

She slowly opened her eyes, her lips parting to speak.

"I'll explain later, but now I need you to pack some things and we need to leave."

As though understanding had finally seeped through the barriers of sleep, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Nodding, she smiled sadly then ascended the stairs to the kitchen.

After watching her retreat, the man left by way of a back door, traipsing up to his car and pulling the briefcase through the open window.

"It's pretty late."

The man's nerves a wound spring of tension, he recoiled as a voice penetrated the darkness.

Chuckling quietly to himself, a man clad in business attire emerged from the shadows of the river bank. "You're jumpy," he observed.

Scrubbing a hand down his face for what felt like the thousandth time tonight, Edward sighed in relief, "Kane. You scared the shit out of me."

Stepping into the light of a lamppost, Kane's lofty form was no less intimidating than it had been in the shadows. Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he tipped his head towards the suitcase, "Working late?"

Given the circumstances, the question was overwhelming and Edward's mind went haywire with implication and conspiracy. Unable to fathom a response, he nodded disparagingly.

"Come on now," his voice eerie and rigorously calm, Kane took a step forward, stopping just short of where Edward stood. "Don't lie to, Edward."

"I... wouldn't..." Edward stammered, all of the bravado he had shown in Milo's presence sublimating into abidance beneath Kane's unwavering stare. "I called your brother," he lifted the briefcase as though presenting the leather-clad baggage explained anything at all.

Destroy it, Milo's voice rang out in Edward's head once again.

Kane may have responded, but in that moment, Val shimmied through the front door, pressing into it with a hip as she shushed the young girl in her arms. A tangle of legs and syrupy brown hair, the girl looked up and over her mother's shoulder as they passed under the porch lights.

Her piercing green eyes were fixated, without reservation, directly upon Kane.

Kane stood, statuesque and static, until Val deposited the child in the back seat of the car.

Shaking himself free of his own distraction, Edward moved decisively back towards the house, "We have to go."

An impassive look forcibly overtaking Kane's features, he peeled his gaze from the car to land on the briefcase, and then onto Edward's own expression - one of worry and urgency. A moment of contemplative, uneasy silence spawned between the men before Kane turned towards his own lawn, without saying another word, and treaded through the dewy grass towards his own house.

Making his way back through the door, Edward didn't go upstairs, but instead disappeared into the depths of the house, emerging minutes later without the briefcase.

Retrieving the bags Val had packed, Edward left the house, not bothering to lock the door.

He abandoned the island in the opposite direction from which he had come. There was only one place to go, whether anyone else knew of it, he wasn't sure. He would have to take the chance. When he reached the highway, he turned northward. The state line ran through the center of the river just beyond the Island, and as they passed the sign on the bridge indicating this, Edward glanced at his watch: 3:05.

From there, the roads were long but never straight. They wound themselves along the rocky coast, through small fishing towns and posh waterfront getaways; surrounded by life, but more or less empty themselves.  He could drive all the way out of the country by this route, if he never stopped.

Hours later, they had stopped only briefly to top off their fuel and buy a coffee.  Since, the purr of the engine and steady vibration of the wheels on the road had lulled both his wife and the child to sleep. As the first rays of morning began to creep over the ocean, the sleek, silver Mercedes hummed around the curves and Val awoke. She glanced at Edward, then over her shoulder at her child in the back seat, still sound asleep.

"How much longer?" she asked, turning back to face her husband.

"Not long. Less than an hour."

Val murmured and nodded, turning her gaze again to the sleeping child. "She looks so peaceful," she lamented.

Without looking, Edward reached out for her face, gently turning her head with his finger under her chin; he peeled his eyes from the road long enough to see the glisten of tears in the corners of her eyes, and ran his thumb across her cheek. She looked at him for a moment then turned from his hand, again looking through the windshield at the road ahead.

Her fingers laced together in her lap, "I'm scared," she whispered.

"I know," he gently placed his hand on her leg. She nodded and looked down; covering it with her own, they continued winding along the coast in silence.

Rising over the ocean, the sun threw flaming streams of gold and pink across the sky. The road followed the coast north, jagged rocks leading from the road to the sea in an endless tangle of rose hips and poison ivy.

Every now and then, Edward's eyes flitted to the forest at his left, his nerves ensnared by the early morning shadows dancing among the trees.

As the car rounded a sharp bend atop a rocky point, Edward slammed on the brakes and Val shrieked.

Spinning and skidding, Edward expertly gripped the steering wheel and attempted to regain control as the car careened towards the barrier; beyond it there was nothing more than a rocky drop-off and frothing waves. The car came to a violent stop as the front bumper crashed into the side of an SUV blocking the roadway.

Jolted awake, the young girl's panicked voice quivered from the backseat, "Mommy?"

Four men stood idly by, observing. The tallest, with dark hair and hands in his pockets, was casually leaning against a rock just off the roadway; not quite sitting, not quite standing, he stared at the silver Mercedes. Two more men stood closer to the tree line, arms crossed; they were facing the trees as though they were waiting. A fourth man stood alone on the far side of the guardrail in a remorseless revere, narrowed gaze fixed on the emblazoned horizon extending beyond the gentle swells of the ocean below. Only when the squeal of the tires and the sound of crackling of metal ended, did this man, and this man alone, turn towards the silver car.

Edward quickly glanced at his wife as she drew in and held a sharp breath; from the back seat the girl's voice broke into a frightened drawl, "Mommy?" She was staring through the window at the man on the other side of the guardrail, now advancing towards them.

"Drive!" Val choked on her words, panic dulling the command into a strangled whisper.

One of the men by the tree-line swiveled on his toes with the intention of rushing towards the car, but as he did so, a small puff of dirt issued from the ground. Stunned, he cocked his head and watched the dust rise from the dimple that had appeared in the sandy earth at his feet. He dragged his gaze back to the forest, slowly taking in the form of each tree. His comrade seemed to have noticed the same occurrence, also freezing mid-stride and surveying the tree line. Bodies tense, in the time it took for each man to reach across himself towards the concealed carry on his hip and give one another a subtle nod, the space between them erupted in a slow, rhythmic spray of dirt and rocks.

The man at the guardrail also stopped. Crouching momentarily, he frantically scoped the trees and the rocky cliff behind him, his scowl landing on a lighthouse just off shore.

Whomever was firing at them was purposefully missing - a hostile warning the men stood no chance of heeding or defending against. Realizing this rather quickly, the two men exposed in the field along the tree-line turned and started running towards the SUV; equally though, they stood no chance of escape. The silent gunfire flowed perfectly in their footsteps, inching nearer to them with each step, gaining on them with more speed than they could siphon from the adrenaline flooding their bodies. One of them slammed face first onto the ground as though pushed from behind.

The second man continued running but faltered, blinking over his shoulder towards the garbled cries of his fallen companion, his body shuddering as redness began to ooze from his dark hair. In this distraction, the line of gunfire easily overtook the second man, running up his back and through his head as he fell.

Val watched in horror, mouth agape and eyes round.

Edward jerked the car into gear, reversed a few feet, then slammed forward, hurling the scene into chaos once again. With no room to turn and no chance of driving through the soft earth on the forested side of the road, he had to take his chances between the SUV and the guardrail. Scraping his car along the bumper of the SUV, the seemingly driverless vehicle suddenly lurched forward, pinning the nose of the Mercedes against the guardrail with just enough pressure to hinder its progress.

The man who had been standing on the other side of the guardrail flicked his gaze to the lighthouse, recklessly appeased by the deadened silence as the gunfire ceased as mysteriously as it had begun.  He launched himself over the guardrail towards the now stuck car, catching the gaze of the terrified girl in the back seat. His eyes were dark and his light hair was glowing in the fiery colors of the early morning sun.

He grinned as he smashed his elbow into the front passenger window, a kaleidoscope of sky and sea and trees emanating from the point of impact.  Never breaking eye contact with the girl, he sunk his fist through the shattered window. Edward threw himself against his seatbelt, wildly grabbing for Val's shirt, trying to pull her frozen form away from the smashed window, but the man outside was faster.

Twisting a fistful of her hair, Val screamed as the man slammed her face into the door frame, the remnants of the window imbedding themselves in her cheek. With the third strike, her body fell slack. As her attacker hopped the guardrail, once again slinking back towards the cliff edge, Edward cried out, fighting the confines of his seat to reach his beloved wife's bleeding face.

The last thing the little girl heard was the crumpling of steel as a second SUV, which had come careening up the road, slammed into the Mercedes with force sufficient to send it hurtling over the edge.

Slow motion silence enveloped the girl as the back of the car reared up, the second SUV revving forward, scraping the underside of the Mercedes. It stood on its nose for a moment, then toppled onto the roof and began sliding down the steep cliff.

She couldn't hear the scraping of metal on rock or the groans of the frame as it slid. She didn't notice the faint smell of roses and crushed grass as the car slid down the rocks and vegetation. Her ears ringing with fear, she saw only the onrushing surf envelop the hood as the car collapsed against the impact; the windshield an indecipherable mess of intertwined fractures, buckling and curving, but never quite breaking.

As waves lapped at the car, it fell to its side, icy water seeping through the wreckage, and the girl slipped into darkness.

The surf, the only remaining sound.

Gulls cried out from above, ever ready in the presence of flesh in the water, undeterred by the species.

The last man standing flicked glass from his sleeve. Turning towards the parked SUV, the body of a man lay in the road. In the tumult of gunfire, he had missed the moment this man died. Uncaring of such details, he heaved the body over his shoulder and returned to the cliff, tossing the limp form into the waves below.

"Nasty creatures down there in the ocean," he sneered, "when blood stains the water."

Brushing sand and debris from his jacket, he slipped his hands into his pockets, smirking at the scene he had orchestrated. Striding around the hood of the SUV towards the passenger seat, he opened the door and casually kicked the dirt from his boots as he sat down.

"What happened?" the driver's accented voice was tinged with age.

"They're all dead," was his curt reply. 

The man's line of sight remained fixed on the lighthouse as the driver steered the vehicle northward, breaking only when they turned left on the first road leading inland.

The driver's hands tightened on the wheel. Taking a sharp breath through his nose, he hesitated. "I know, but how?"

The man in the passenger seat did not immediately answer and the driver glanced at him in the silence - silence born from the lucidity of the only possible answer.

"Someone else was there."