Midnight

Work was a welcome distraction today, even if Midnight and I could have blown it off till Monday. But with the waiting game having been in full swing for a couple of hours now, I've felt sick to my stomach. Neither of us has been particularly open to talking – there's just too much weighing on our minds.

Tonight's the night Kenneth picks up his parts and I'm in charge of... I guess a soft sort of interrogation. Midnight has gathered up a pile of junk consisting of tires, taps, upholstery... all of it sits stacked in a corner, not far from the counter where she's currently sitting. It's easier said than done to hide her away from view – those glowing eyes of hers can't be turned off, and even at their 'low' setting, they give off plenty of light to stick out in a shadowed space.

While I fiddle with fine-tuning the carb linkage on the Chrysler, Midnight's attention is shared equally between her laptop and the clock on the wall above her – even though the computer has the time down in the lower right corner of the screen.

I've suggested it multiple times now, but one more attempt can't hurt...

"Midnight, we don't have to do this," I comment aloud.

"I have to do this. I can't let this opportunity come and go," she calmly answers back without looking at me. It's the same relative answer I've gotten every time.

"I just don't want to see you taking unnecessary risks, Mid. I don't want to see you get thrown back into the frying pan if you're wrong about him and his view toward you."

"John, I don't want to go through this again, but I guess I have to," she sighs, closing her laptop and setting it on the counter. Her perked ears and rigid posture have been a staple for the past hour or two, but the slight frown that greets me when making eye contact is new. "There's still no guarantee it's him – I'll know that when I see him. And while this is an opportunity for one last visit to my past, I'm not making a move until I'm sure it's safe to do so – even if that means not coming out at all."

Just as she said, this little discussion is a carbon copy of the last few times we've had it. It doesn't make me feel any better or worse... but I had to try my luck one more time before—

The loud electronic buzz of the front gate bell drones through the shop, interrupting everything. Midnight's eyes go wide, but she doesn't hesitate in rising to her hooves and climbing out of her seat.

"One last time, Mid," I start to ask. But she shakes her head to stop me from going further than that.

"I'm doing this. The more questions you ask him, the more I can get an idea of how much or little I can trust him. So you can help yourself by helping me – remember that," she says.

"Can you fault me for trying one more time?"

It's why I haven't yelled at you. Now go – I'll get myself situated," she urges me, trotting over to her makeshift hiding spot.

With no alternative now, I let my shoulders slump in resignation and turn around to head outside. Behind me, I can hear Midnight already shuffling just around, trying to set up that perfect spot to not only give her a good viewing angle in relative comfort but more importantly, to be virtually invisible to our guest. Hopefully, the junk pile itself doesn't seem out of place to warrant suspicion.

Alright, so maybe I'm starting to get too paranoid. The die is cast – the sooner we get this done and over with, the better.

While walking outside and off toward the front gate, I try to take a few deep breaths and calm myself. It wouldn't do well to appear anxious or nervous to Kenneth right off the bat, so the forty-some-odd foot walk to the front gate is somewhat welcome to get my head straight.

Getting closer, I can see our customer through a gap between the fence and gate, idly kicking at the sand while awaiting entry. My first impression is Midnight has to be wrong about this guy; he looks to be on the youthful side, possibly even younger than me. Some of that could be due to the slightly curled mop of brown hair on his head, but it's hard to say for certain. But whether by chance or hearing me approach, Kenneth looks up and spies me through the same crack, offering up a small, awkward wave of his hand in greeting while cracking a smile.

"Good evening," I offer up my own greeting. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess you're Kenneth."

"Yeah, that's me. Sorry if I'm a little late," he answers in regret. "I know we sorta settled on seven, but—"

"Nah, no need to worry.. there's nothing going on at this time of day," I assure him. Unlocking the padlock on the man gate, I pull it open and gesture with an accompanying "Come on in."

"Thanks," he says with an awkward chuckle. Though I had no expectations of him looking suspicious or the part of a lab rat, his appearance still has me a bit perplexed; his tired jeans cut off at the knee and a plain white t-shirt make him look more suited to manual labor than a high tech lab... though he doesn't really have the build for anything other than menial labor at that.

A peek out in the parking lot reveals his mode of transport – a newer model of Honda Civic bathed in metallic blue paint, seemingly well-kept with only a few minor blemishes that show age. Kenneth turns once through the gate, tracking my line of sight to his car. "Yeah, I never got into cars like my father. He's a Volkswagen fanatic," he comments. "He's got another Bug to wrench on – trying to keep it looking like a weatherbeaten original."

"Yeah, I guess I'm always curious to see what someone rolls up in, even if it isn't fancy. Just the car guy in me," I concede, quickly sticking my hand out for a shake. "Oh, I'm John, by the way."

"Good to meet you, thanks for working with me on the parts," he replies, accepting my gesture. "I've passed this place a few times here and there, just never looked into it until recently, with my dad talking about his new project and his birthday coming up."

"Wish I could have given you a better first impression so you didn't have to drive all this way," I comment with a chuckle. "You helping the old man with his projects at all, or while growing up?"

"Nah, I never got the car bug – er, no pun intended," he replies. "Never was very good with my hands on mechanical stuff – I didn't inherit that gene I guess. I've always been more interested in science, I guess."

Everything about this guy seems genuine thus far – though granted, just because one works in a secret lab doesn't mean their whole life is shady. But that little footnote at the end of his response offers up an intriguing avenue to follow now...

"I wasn't into science much in school... well, I really wasn't interested in anything much in school," I quip, adding a chuckle at the end. "But I'm guessing science became a passion for you then?"

"Yeah, college and a career, I suppose," he muses. With a short pause, Kenneth's thin smile he's held onto this whole time falters. "Kinda hit a bump in the road on that now. I'm between jobs at the moment."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, man," I apologize, uneasy with the sudden downturn in conversation.

"It's not too bad. I'm doing okay financially, and I'm probably better off now than where I was, to be quite honest," he assures me, breaking into a wry grin. "What about you though? You're asking me all these questions like I'm on trial. What's your story with this place?"

For the ensuing couple of minutes, I give Kenneth a brief rundown of my history regarding my junkyard – with some details left out for obvious reasons. It buys me more time to amble along back to the shop where Midnight awaits, though I can only purposely move so slow without it being obvious.

Inevitably, we reach the open garage door of the shop and step inside, greeted by fluorescent lighting which is beginning to eclipse the brightness of the sun outside. Kenneth hesitates for a moment, making my heart skip a beat – until I realize his eyes have been drawn to the Chrysler. "Wow, is that a customer car?" he asks, pointing to it.

"Nope, that's a personal project. Hadn't planned on it, but it was a good deal," I hawk, taking a little bit of pride despite my growing anxiety. I can't help but glance over at that junk pile set off in the corner near the counter; there's no sign of a glow from Midnight's eyes, so that's good.

"I got your parts in a box behind the counter over here," I mention, beckoning Kenneth to follow me. "Since you came out all this way, probably ought to take a look to make sure it's what you're looking for."

I can feel my heart beat faster with every step I take leading Kenneth along closer to Midnight's hiding spot. It doesn't matter that even just a few feet away I still can't see her to know she's this close in a potentially vulnerable situation terrifies me. Internal pep talks are no match for this bundle of fraying nerves, even as I cast one more glance her way before rounding the counter. I can sense her eyes upon me now, even if they're still invisible...

Fortunately, our visitor is more interested in the box I heave onto the counter rather than scanning the entirety of the garage. He pulls open the folded flaps for an inspection of the contents, while I start to formulate my next move. I'm well aware Midnight wants me to continue on with the 'secretary' cover story to dig at past employment – but there's not really a way to 'ease' into that sort of thing.

Fortune favors the bold, I guess.

"Hey, I hope you don't mind me asking – my secretary couldn't be here tonight to meet you. She was just curious about—"

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that whole thing," Kenneth interjects with an awkward little laugh. But he goes no further than that on the topic, preferring to enamor himself with the dulled chrome of a weathered hubcap. "These are just the sort of thing I was looking for."

"Hey, no problem, glad I was able to scout out what you wanted," I passively comment. "But anyway, my secretary – she's been here a few months now, but her prior workplace was in a factory. She swears she recognizes your name from there."

"Eh... I don't remember working with too many women there," he reluctantly replies, scratching the back of his head. "Maybe another department but... I dunno."

"It was a factory around here though, wasn't it? Is that the place that's left you between jobs?"

"It's... it's a complicated story. Kinda boring to be honest," he answers in an attempt to dismiss me. "I really don't like talking about it."

"Oh. Ugly job breakup I assume been there, done that in the past myself." It's an effort to try forming a connection again, as judging by his uneven expression and tight-lipped answers, I'm already starting to lose him.

"Yeah, sort of. I wasn't the only one though. But I— I really can't say much beyond that," he spits out in a rush.

I lean down on the counter with my elbows now. "Hey, I'm not gonna tell anybody, so don't worry about that," I mutter in a hushed tone. "My secretary just really wanted to know about—"

"With all due respect for the parts and service you've offered me tonight, why isn't your secretary here if she's so interested in me?" Kenneth shoots back, not allowing me to finish that thought.

Needless to say, I'm left on my back foot now while I try to come up with a neat little excuse. Unfortunately, emboldened by my lack of a response, or perhaps frustrated with my questioning, Kenneth presses on.

"What's her name, anyway? Maybe it would be easier to remember her if I had a name to work with here," he says, leaning on the counter toward me as I stand up straight.

"I'd tell you if I could, but she's my employee. I need her permission to give that out," I stonewall him.

Kenneth's eyes narrow upon hearing that excuse. "I really do appreciate you getting me these parts, but I'm thinking they aren't the real reason I'm here tonight," he comments in an ominous tone. "I'm wondering if my parts were ever lost to begin with. What's this really about, John? Is that really who you are?"

"It's— yeah, I'm John. This is my junkyard, John's Vintage Auto Salvage," I protest, putting my hands out as I try to halt this sudden runaway train. "I'm not trying to make you mad, I was just trying to get some info—"

"You're doing a lot more digging than just curious idle gossip about something that doesn't even personally involve you," he growls. "Let me be clear on one thing – I am not part of the place where I used to work. That's all I'm going to say on the matter, and I think we're done here tonight."

"Oh, but that idle gossip does personally involve John. Don't get too angry with him, Johnson," Midnight's voice calls out.

It's a shock to both of us standing on opposite sides of the counter – though for vastly different reasons. After all, that didn't come from the junk pile in the corner...

"I thought you said your secretary wasn't here tonight? Who was that?" Kenneth demands. Despite his questioning and angered tone, he looks... lost. He starts spinning around, frantically looking for his own answers.

"Well, she's..." That's about all that I can come up with now. Midnight jumping into the conversation was not part of the script tonight; explaining this away on short notice is just about impossible with the story I've set up so far.

"Who are you?!" Kenneth shouts, still searching for the source of that disembodied voice.

"I could tell you my name, but I can assure you – it would be unfamiliar," Midnight answers him.

I myself am trying to figure out where the hell she's at, particularly because of the way her voice carries. Granted, the garage is a cavernous space that lends itself to a slight echo, but this is more pronounced. It writes off the car – not that I would expect her to choose such a spot to hide. And I don't see her peeking around the corner of the open garage door either – I'd be able to place her there just from experience...

"I swear I've heard your voice before," Kenneth calls back. His voice has lost some of its bite now, even as he continues. "Why are you hiding if you want to know about me? What do you have to hide?"

"It's all just a simple matter of trust~," Midnight sings. It's beginning to sound like this is an enjoyable little game for her – but more importantly, I think I know where she is now. With Kenneth still looking around, I quickly flick my gaze upward toward the ceiling and the steel trusses supporting the roof.

There, amidst the dim lighting that reaches the rafters, a plywood panel has been wedged atop two of the beams. Midnight is perched atop the bridge, staring down at our guest. With her position relative to our guest, she only needs to pull her head back from the edge to vanish from sight.

"I'm done— I am so done with this tonight!" Kenneth belts out in frustration, turning and slamming his fist on the counter in front of me. "Who is she? What is this all about? Why am I here?!"

I don't have answers now. I can't even get myself to form words at this point. This meeting is so far off the rails down, spiraling into a mess...

"I will tell you, assuming you will accept one important condition," Midnight sings. "Nothing of this discussion leaves the garage tonight. Not from me, not from John, not from you – lips are sealed once foot touches sand. It comes down to you for that – John and I have kept quiet for months now. But this isn't really about you. It's about your... 'job'."

Like the flip of a switch, something clicks within Kenneth. The anger vanishes from his face while he stands up straight again. His eyes go wide with...

Is that a look of wonder or horror?

"I can— lips are sealed. I swear," he drones breathlessly, turning around in a trance-like state. "Nothing leaves here tonight."

"Fair enough."

I look back up into the rafters again just as Midnight leaps from her vantage point. She tucks in her limbs to avoid the trusses, then flares her wings wide and pumps them to slow her descent.

That descent concludes in a tight spiraling glide to the shop floor, touching down to face him from a good three or four-foot distance. Her face is stoic and emotionless as she faces her target.

"Hello again, Johnson," she greets him in a monotone voice.

"It is you..." Kenneth's statement comes out as a quiet gasp. He takes a step back into the counter offbalance before abruptly falling from sight without a sound.

Uh...

Midnight's expression shifts to confusion at about the same time. I quickly step around the counter to find Kenneth on his ass, leaning against the wall in a slumped, toneless heap.

Fear stabs into me when my head starts running through what the hell just happened. Did he— did Midnight—

I happen to spot his chest slowly rising and falling – at least he's breathing. But he's out like a light.

"I didn't think my entrance was that scary," Midnight mutters.