Are You Tiffani Caine? Ch. 01

That was it. Sara was definitely going to cry. For some reason, it seemed very important to her that Natalie not see her do it, though. She nodded again, trying to remain stoic, but her eyes were shining and her chin was trembling; the next thing out of her mouth was going to be a sob, and anyone who looked at her could tell as much. Natalie looked like she had more to say, but she told her, "We can finish this up a little later."

Sara beelined to her cubicle. Josh was still there, now looking triumphant, and as she approached he said, "So I thought we could meet right away about my new client. It's pretty important you transfer everything to me and --"

Sara grabbed her purse and stomped off without a word. She made it to the bathroom without crying, but the moment she opened the door a ragged sob escaped her lips. She tumbled into a stall, shut the door, collapsed onto a toilet, and began to weep. She didn't hold back, and in moments her makeup was a mess and she was shuddering. Why? Why Josh? He was an idiot, a grinning ape-child of a man who could probably barely dress himself in the morning! There was a reason his client list was garbage! She had done a great job and she deserved --

Deserved. She bit her lip, shook her head, wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. It wasn't about deserved. This was a test, nothing more. Life held much adversity. She knew she didn't have the strength to face her challenges alone, but she was not alone. She fumbled in her purse for her phone, opened the Bible app, and read. It was difficult at first because tears were still coming, but she knew where to turn. Psalms, Corinthians, Job. She read and absorbed and thought, and in 20 minutes she was no longer crying. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed...

As she read, the tears slowed and then stopped, though her eyes remained red and puffy. She was stronger when she finally emerged from the stall. A stop at the sink to use Visine and to fix her ruined makeup and she was ready. The Lord was her shield; the tribulations of office politics were nothing. She took a deep breath, said a silent prayer for strength, and headed out.

Surprisingly, Natalie was waiting at her desk instead of Josh, who was at his own cube two spots away. Sara put on the bravest face she had and said, "OK, I'm ready to go over Ingers with him."

"Yes, as I said, it's vital that you thoroughly brief him on every aspect," Natalie told her. "It's a very complicated client and he needs all the information before he begins."

"I'll go get him now."

"You have to familiarize yourself with your new clients this afternoon," Natalie said levelly, looking Sara in the eyes. "Most of tomorrow too. So, let's set aside tomorrow from 10:00 to noon for you to brief him on all aspects of the client. He can take over after that."

Sara's surprise showed on her face. "Ingers-Stevens is a very complicated client with a lot of moving pieces. It will take a lot longer than that for him to learn --"

Natlie silenced her with a significant arch of an eyebrow. "Yes. But Josh is such a fast learner, and he's so adaptable and intuitive, and so smart. I'm positive he'll learn all he needs to know in those two hours."

It took Sara a moment, but then she found herself grinning in spite of herself. Natalie hadn't wanted this. She knew Natalie thought Josh was anything but a fast learner, adaptable, or the other things she'd just said. Those were someone else's words, Ken's words probably, and she was repeating them in mockery. Natalie had undoubtedly fought against the transfer with everything she had. She had lost, but she wasn't taking it lying down.

She was setting Josh up to fall right on his irritating face.

"Yes, ma'am," Sara said, enjoying the prospect more than was proper. I'll help give him a shove, she thought, then immediately said a contrite prayer of forgiveness for being so uncharitable. "I'll give him a very thorough briefing for two hours tomorrow."

"Good," Natalie said, and she was semi-concealing a smile as she walked away. Josh peered over at her, and undoubtedly he would have come over right away if he hadn't been on the phone.

Saying a silent prayer of thanks that she didn't have to talk to him again quite yet, Sara sat down and signed into her computer, going straight to her email. She'd checked it right before lunch but already she had 24 items in her inbox. Work never stood still.

The first message was from Natalie -- a list of the clients she was getting from Josh. She glanced at it, but she didn't have the emotional fortitude to deal with it at the moment. They were all small, simple accounts anyway, the sort of things she could have handled without difficulty two months after she got the job. Tomorrow was soon enough to begin that work.

Next up was a message from Lawrence Wright, her primary contact at Ingers-Stevens: Sara, it's been a pleasure to work with you. Thank you for all your efforts and good luck in the future. Jerk.

Routine, routine, routine.

The seventh message down had the subject line, Are you Tiffani Caine?

The strange phone call instantly came back to mind. What the actual heck? Was this some kind of weird joke? That must be it. She did have some odd friends. Well, she could use a laugh right now just about as badly as could be. She opened the email and read:

In its entirety, the top line read Adam C. Bristow.

Sara's blood turned to ice as she read the name once, twice, again, again. The whole room had gone silent; she was looking down a long, dark tunnel with the computer screen at the end of it and that name looming impossibly large. It was almost a full minute before she forced her eyes to continue reading: Now that I have your attention, I direct your attention to the attached .zip file. Open it now.

Her hand was trembling as she clicked on the file, and she didn't breathe as it unzipped. It was photographs, ordinary holiday pictures. She was in many of them, her long-ago laughter perpetually frozen in image after image. The noise of the office suddenly seemed very distant, like it was fading away, Her mouth was dry. She was dizzy. She felt like she was shrinking, being drawn into herself, she had never felt smaller in her life...

Not since the last day she saw Adam.

The last picture in the file was an image of words: I will call you again on your personal phone. I will ask if you are Tiffani Caine, and you will say "Yes." And then we will talk.

With a lurch, she closed the message, closed her browser, pushed herself back from the desk so that her chair swept across her cubicle and bumped hard against the divider. She didn't even know how she covered the distance to the bathroom, because the next thing she remembered she was splashing cold water on her face and her heart was hammering so hard it felt like it would tear free of its moorings.

OK, OK, she was panicking. She was about to lose it completely. She had to get a hold on herself because she had to think. More water on the face. She knew she needed to take deep breaths, but she couldn't make her lungs work properly -- her breathing sounded almost like the yips of a frightened lapdog.

A woman came in, someone Sara knew by sight but not name, and gave her an odd look as she headed for a stall. Sara barely registered her presence.

Come on, girl, get yourself together. Calm down. You don't even know what this is about. It could be -- She stopped there. She wanted to tell herself it might be something innocent, or at least something not terrible, but she couldn't think of a single way that could be true. Nobody would start a message with that name of all names and have it be anything but...what? A warning? A threat?

Justice?

She was hyperventilating. Calm, calm, breathe deep. Deep. Long, slow breaths, hold it in, exhale all the way, pause, repeat. The women's restroom wasn't the best place to take deep breaths. On the tenth such breath a toilet flushed and the stall opened. The woman reappeared, approached the sinks, washed her hands. She didn't make eye contact as she left.

Calm. Calm.

No, she wasn't calm. She couldn't be calm. She had to get out of here.

Out of the bathroom, back to her cube. She turned off her computer, grabbed her purse and coat, and headed for Natalie's office. She didn't even knock, opening the door to a meeting between Natalie and Josh. Natalie didn't get a word out before Sara blurted out, "I'm sick, I gotta go. I'll be in tomorrow."

Natalie looked back in surprise, and Sara realized she must look and sound unhinged. Josh gazed at her with his customary smug prick asshole fuckface needs his teeth kicked in --

Natalie said something that sounded like assent, but Sara was gone before it fully registered, almost running for the elevator. She hammered the button and paced in the car like a tiger; when it opened in the lobby she almost sprinted. She wasn't conscious of where she was going, but sometime later she found herself at Caribou Coffee with a triple espresso in her hand. Caffeine, caffeine would settle. Caffeine would focus.

And rather amazingly, it did. Enough, anyway, that questions started penetrating the fear-haze. Who had sent her those pictures? How had they gotten them? How much did they know? What the living heck did they want from her? And perhaps the most random aspect of all of this, who was Tiffani Caine and why did this person think Sara was her? She'd only ever met a couple of Tiffanys in her life and both of them spelled it with a y, not an i.

And most importantly, just exactly how much trouble was she in? Because it really felt like she was in a lot of trouble.

Lord, I know I don't deserve it, for I am a sinner. I am weak. I am foolish. I am not wise. I am not worthy of Your love. But I really, really need it now, as much as I needed it on the day You raised me up and saved me.

Because I'm scared, Lord. I am so very scared.

Her phone rang. Unknown number. Surprisingly she felt no panic this time, only sinking, horrible dread that pulled her heart down to her stomach. She took a deep breath and answered. "Hello."

"Are you Tiffani Caine?" Again the same male voice, deep, muffled.

So weird. It was like a password or something. "Yes."

"It's good to speak with you, Tiffani. I imagine you can't say the same, am I right?"

The question was stupid in addition to being rhetorical, but she didn't feel not answering was an option. As she picked up her purse and coffee and headed for the door, she said, "No. Yes, you're right. I don't feel the same."

"I understand that you're surprised by all of this. I'm sure you believed you'd put it all behind you years ago. And I'm sure you have many questions. I may answer some of them, or I may not."

Marquette Avenue was always busy, but Sara spotted a big circular concrete planter next to a building that had nobody within 20 feet of it. She headed there. "Alright. Who are you?"

"You start with a question I will never answer. It's enough that I know who you are -- and before you ask, I won't tell you how I know that either."

She sat down on the planter, feeling the cold of the concrete soak into the back of her thighs almost instantly. It was a warm March for Minneapolis, but it was still March in Minneapolis. "Then what do you want?"

"The question with the most interesting answer of all. Unfortunately, that's another one I won't answer, at least not directly. You should be able to piece some things together on your own. You're a smart young woman, Tiffani."

Why was he calling her that? She looked up at the long streak of pale blue sky visible between the tall buildings on either side of the street. She took a deep breath, held it, let it go. "Then what's next?"

"First, an assurance. The photographs I sent you would be interesting to the police, but in and of themselves they would do no more than raise questions you'd rather not answer. However, they are not the only photographs I have, nor are photographs all I have."

Sara closed her eyes. Her voice was barely audible as she asked, "What else is there?"

"Written accounts and video."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Video?"

"Yes. I didn't send those things to your work email because I didn't want anyone else to see them. They might feel compelled to call the police, and that would spoil our fun."

She felt so cold she was almost numb. "I...I don't remember what happened that day. I remember the morning, I remember the boat ride, but...it goes blank. I don't remember what happened."

"Then the information I have would be useful to you. Would you like to see it in all its vivid, exquisite detail? It's most...precise."

The very thought was like a blow to the gut. If it was what she thought it was, what she'd been told it was, then..."No. No, I don't want to see it."

"Then let me assure you of something, Tiffani. The information I have is more than enough for the Attorney General's Office of Florida to send you to prison for a very long time. And that would be the best you could hope for. You understand what I mean."

She swallowed bile. "Yes."

"Good. I'm glad you understand that, because it will make what's coming so much easier."

"What...what's coming?"

"It's very simple, really. Soon you will receive a phone call that asks if you're Tiffani Caine. At that point you will have a very simple choice. You can either say no, in which case I will forward the information in my possession to the appropriate authorities, or yes."

"What happens if I say yes?"

"Then you will be given a task."

Sara's stomach gave a sick lurch. "What will I have to do?"

"You don't have to do anything, Tiffani. That's one thing you must understand. You are always free to say no, to anything, at any time. The only punishment you will receive for that is that you will face the consequences of your actions seven years ago."

"Then what will I be asked to do?"

"I don't want to spoil our fun."

"Our fun?"

"My fun. It is important you understand this, Tiffani. Everything you do from this point on will be because you want to avoid those consequences. You are always free to simply accept them. If you do, you will never hear from me again."

"But I'll be in prison,"

"That is the normal result of the things you did."

"I'm not going to commit any crimes."

"Any more crimes, you mean?" It suddenly struck Sara that the man's voice wasn't muffled at all, it was electronically disguised, like an anonymous witness on a TV show.

"Fine. Any more. I mean it. I couldn't live with myself."

"I doubt that statement very much."

"I don't care if you don't believe me, but I am not the same person I was then. I know it, and more importantly the Lord knows it. I'm not going to commit another crime."

"The choice is always yours, Tiffani."

A sudden surge of irritation overtook her fear and dread, and she snapped, "Why are you calling me that? That's not my name. I don't even know anyone with that name!"

He chuckled, and the electronic distortion made the sound ominous. "Another question I won't answer. But don't worry, that's one I'm sure you'll figure out for yourself."

She bit back a sharp reply that she desperately wanted to give but was too frightened to. "Alright Fine. I'll figure it out. What now?"

"Now you wait for contact."

"Whose contact? How long do I have to wait? I want to just get this over with."

Another chuckle, longer this time. "Faith teaches patience. Exercise it. Goodbye for now, Tiffani."

He hung up. It took Sara a long moment to realize the line was dead, and when she did she lowered her phone and stared at it, unmoving.

She sat for almost fifteen minutes, mind running in circles, dreading and terrified of what would be demanded of her, of what would happen if she refused.

Lord, please help me. Guide my feet, for You know the way. Tell me which path I must take. If I am to pass into imprisonment, make it plain to me. If I am to endure these other tribulations, make it plain to me. I am a vessel of Your will, now and forever. Amen.

Twenty minutes later she was on a bus heading home. She owned a car, but she only drove to work when she had to because mass transit was cheaper than parking downtown, not to mention more convenient in bad weather. It was especially valuable today, because she was far too distracted to drive safely.

She was getting off the bus a block away from her apartment before she realized that she had left her work laptop at her job. She needed to prepare for the Ingers handoff tomorrow and she couldn't.

And she had thought those terrible things about Josh the last time she'd seen him -- a Christian needed to be meek in the face of foes, forgiving of wrongs, and she had failed. A fresh sin. She would ask forgiveness for that too.

But first she needed a shower. A long, hot shower. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her coat on the floor; her dress joined it just outside the bathroom. Stockings and underwear came off as she turned on the water. She stepped into the spray that was just this side of scalding and turned her face up to it, letting it crash over her, letting it peel her until she was pink. She stayed under for over 20 minutes, not thinking, just feeling the sensations; she would have lingered longer, but the heat made her almost numb after a while. She got out, wrapped her long, dark brown hair in a towel, and then simply stood leaning with her hands on the sink, staring down into the basin without seeing.

Anyone who looked at her would have been impressed with what they saw. Sara Moorhead was by any conventional measure an attractive young woman. At five-foot-five she was not tall, and her long torso rendered her legs "stubby," as a ballet teacher had inarftully phrased it when she was ten years old, but she packed a lot of curves into what she had. Her breasts were large and full, to the point where many people who got a look at her figure assumed incorrectly that her 32Ds were fake -- in fact, it had been their early development, along with her legs' stubborn refusal to grow likewise, that had dashed her early dreams of being a ballerina. Her hips were wide and her butt would have been called sexy if she ever wore anything that revealed it.

Above the neck, Sara would never be called beautiful, but undoubtedly she would be labeled "cute" until the day she died. Her head was a little too large for her body, making her look like a girl even though she was 26 years old. Her brown eyes were big, her cheeks wide and prominent, and her nose a pert and dainty little button. Her face tapered from her cheeks so that her mouth was small and her chin came to a point. She'd had people tell her she looked like a living anime character.

What most people never realized was her physical strength. Sara was a believer that since God had only given her one body, it was her duty to take care of it. Being healthy was an obligation so that she could spread God's word, bear strong children, and be attractive to the wonderful man who would become her husband in five short months. She had always been active, from field hockey and cheerleading in school to developing into kind of a gym rat later on. She wore long dresses and other concealing clothes, so almost nobody knew that those stubby little legs were tree trunks or that her butt was a steel coil.

But that was alright, because it was none of anyone's business. Some of her friends knew because they had seen her changing, and Isaac knew some because they had worked out and run together, but she never wanted to incite desire in anyone but him.