The Optogram Read online

  After locating Sibella’s obituary, he scanned through names listed in the short tribute. Mother, father, and three sisters resided in the Midwest, as did, it seemed, most everyone she knew, except for her “dearest friend,” January, who lived in Seattle.

  Given the choice of contacting the bunch in Missouri, or meeting the astonishing brunette, Dothan opted for the latter, and returned to social media to hunt for January Kinsie. As with Sibella, he found a large, adoring herd of followers, and hundreds of pictures and videos displaying every inch of her perfect body and magnificent face.

  He opened a video of January crawling toward the camera, her lush, dark skin glittering in a spandex catsuit. She stretched out across a satin-draped bed and turned her head, licking her full lips as she dragged a crimson nail over her collarbone.

  As she closed her eyes, her hands drifted along the rise and fall of her taut body. Every movement set fire to his soul, and, lost in a frenzied passion, his hand reached to the zipper of his jeans.

  “My god,” he whispered, “that bitch is pure, fucking porn.”

  Dude, chill.

  A drink. He needed a drink.

  No, that would just make it worse. Adjusting himself in the tightening denim, he returned to his laptop and dragged open the direct message link on January’s account.

  Message from Dothan Knox:

  Hello January, I wondered if you would consider contacting me re: your late friend, Sibella Gale. I am a student, majoring in computer science and forensics. I’m working on my senior thesis, the basis of which is the public’s lack of empathy to the innocent victims of cold case homicides. I’d like to include Sibella as one of those forgotten heroes and would appreciate some background on her. Perhaps we can meet up over lunch sometime to talk? Thanks so much in advance for considering my query. 541-555-6575.

  Satisfied with the cover story, Dothan sent the message and closed every tab related to January Kinsie. He returned to Sibella’s pages, read through posts, and wrote a few further messages to her hard-core followers, but there was just one person from whom he wanted a response.

  ***

  The night had been a churning sea of fitful dreams broken by incessant insomnia.

  As the sun rose, Dothan threw back his sheet and grabbed his phone, desperate to discover if there had been an answer to his message. Disappointed by the empty inbox, he stared at the screen, willing her to reply.

  Why can’t I get her out of my mind?

  Agnes had been right about one thing. They needed to find that table locked behind Sibella Gale’s eyes. To accomplish it, he needed to take a couple of days away from Dunlevy in which to focus and plan.

  After throwing on a battered terrycloth robe, Dothan practiced a croaky whisper and dialed. Bekkii’s happy soprano answered the main line. “Good morning! Dunlevy Ocular Research. This is Bekkii. What kind of excellent service can I provide you with today?”

  “Hey, it’s Dothan.” He coughed and wheezed into the phone. “Can’t come in today. I’m sick. Would you tell Nilesh?”

  “Oh poor you!” said Bekkii. “Have you got enough medicine? Are you taking honey and lemon? This crud has really been going around the office, hasn’t it? Is there anything I can do for you? Well, besides tell Nilesh, I mean.”

  “No, no. I’ll be back in a day or so. It’s nothing, just a fever and sore throat, but I think I’m contagious and need to stay in bed.”

  After logging into work from his laptop, Dothan wrote an email to Nilesh. It would be a matter of seconds before Bekkii found his manager and validating his absence.

  Nilesh sent an immediate response in his usual cheerful manner, with a P.S. asking for a status on the project. He wanted someone else to take over the task list while Dothan was out sick. Panicked, he replied that everything would be ready for Nilesh to review by the end of tomorrow, and, as he intended to return the next day, there was no reason to bring in an additional coder.

  That was close, thought Dothan. I need to write that shitty code, like, now.

  He sent a cryptic email to Agnes, explaining he was ill but wanted to follow up on the files he had checked out. It was best to be cautious. Footprints left behind could bring dire consequences should anything go wrong.

  Agnes replied not to worry. After providing her cellphone number, she asked to come over in order to make sure he was feeling better. He texted her the address, and she said she would see him at nine p.m.

  A shower and quick breakfast revived his motivation. Dothan dug into the Dunlevy task list, and, within a matter of hours, produced a usable but low-grade database and user interface. He plastered a few retinal scans into a basic, readable format, proving to Nilesh it was searchable by the researchers and students. The software was a pale shadow of his discovery, but it would appease his mentor, buying more time to improve it before the end of his internship.

  With each task checked out and updated, Dothan emailed Nilesh with the requested progress report. He had cut corners on the monotonous list, but the required components were complete. Relieved, he stretched his arms to the ceiling, letting his joints crack.

  It had been a long day of hashing together the code. He needed to eat, but spotted the bottle of whiskey still perched on the edge of the kitchen counter. The golden liquid gleamed in the setting sunlight, enticing him. He shrugged his shoulders and grabbed it. How could it hurt to have one small drink to celebrate dodging the Dunlevy bullet? He pulled open the cap and swallowed the remaining alcohol.

  Damn, I needed that, he thought. Maybe just one more.

  Dothan opened a cupboard. He pushed aside several half-empty bottles of liquor and grabbed an unopened fifth of vodka. After pouring a double shot into a large glass, he grabbed orange juice from the refrigerator, irritated to find little left in the carton.

  I knew I should have gone shopping.

  He shrugged and placed the tumbler to his lips, enjoying the shivering warmth flowing against his throat until he had drained the glass.

  Dothan grabbed the bottle and drank until a rapturous vertigo enfolded him. As the room spun and wobbled, he held its glass neck up toward the yellow glare of the ceiling light, staring at the rainbow effect it produced.

  Still watching the colors play within the rounded edges of the bottle, he stumbled to the couch, dropping onto its uncomfortable cushions. The game continued as he held it toward the waning sunlight gleaming through the crooked blinds of the living room window. As the pinkish orange rays became a distorted prism in the glass, he took another swig. The process repeated with each new color he discovered until the brilliant red sunset darkened to a deep purple nightfall and he had drunk the last drop.

  Disappointed at the empty bottle, Dothan tossed it across the couch. His phone rang. Giddy and lightheaded, he tried to grab it but knocked the black case onto the floor. As he bent to retrieve it, he leaned too far and fell to his knees. The ringing stopped, and he chuckled at his erratic movements. He steadied himself against the edge of the sofa, swiping at the tiny screen just as a loud ding showed an incoming voicemail. With one eye closed and the other trying to focus, he checked the notifications, making out a name: January.

  Stunned into near-sobriety, his trembling finger hovered over the link. After clicking it, he held the phone next to his ear.

  “Hi Dothan,” said a warm, sultry voice. “Regarding my participation in your project, would you be available to meet with me at Cafe Sirocche on Pine tomorrow at 6 pm? Let me know.”

  “Fuck, yeah!” he shouted into his phone.

  Dothan considered returning her call, but, in his current state of inebriation, was sure the outcome would be disastrous. With a sigh, he squinted and, using all of his limited concentration, confirmed the meeting at the cafe via text message.

  He listened to the voicemail again. God, he thought, that beautiful voice coming from such a gorgeous mouth.

 
; After opening his robe, he envisioned the soft, dark skin against his, and the wealth of hair falling around him. He tried to imagine the pressure of her long, tapering fingers, when the harsh tone of the doorbell and three loud knocks startled him.

  What the fuck?

  He jumped off the couch and stumbled to the window to peer through a broken blind. Bekkii Simms stood on his landing. Catching sight of him through the glass, she waved and extended a white paper bag.

  “I’ll be right there,” he said.

  To avoid Bekkii viewing more of him than necessary, Dothan kept his robe loose around him.

  He opened the door a few inches, and tried to replicate the hoarse, husky voice of his morning call to her. “Hi, Bekkii.”

  “Oh, dude, you still sound terrible,” she said. “I brought you some chicken soup. My Gran used to say it was Jewish penicillin.” She giggled and held up the bag. “I mean, we’re not Jewish, but I can’t see why that should stop it from being just as good for an Episcopalian, right?”

  “Thanks.” He reached through the half-open door and took the package. “How did you get my address?”

  “Well, I was very naughty and broke into your employee file. Can you ever forgive me? I was just worried about you.”

  He opened the door wider, smiling at her. Bekkii wore a tight floral top that emphasized her ample bosom and clung to a set of voluptuous curves he had not appreciated before that moment. Despite the pink hair and overdone makeup, there was something about the fullness of her lips and the contour of her backside that excited Dothan. It was true she was heavier than he liked, but what mattered was his desperation for someone, anyone.

  “My place is a mess, and hey, I’m a mess, but do you want to come in for a minute?” Dothan opened the door wider and moved aside.

  “Sure, don’t worry about the state of your place, you should see mine.” Bekkii sauntered into the apartment and glanced around. “Oh, it’s so cute. Mine is one enormous room, and what makes it worse is that I can’t figure out how to decorate it, you know?”

  She stopped talking as Dothan pressed himself against her back, breathing on her neck while his hands skimmed her shoulders. When she turned to face him, he let the robe fall open. She lowered her eyes and smiled. He lifted her chin, grazing his lips against hers.

  With his hands on her shoulders, he pressed Bekkii to her knees. As his body tensed against the warmth of her mouth, his hands reached to caress the rope-like tresses.

  Dothan closed his eyes, leaned back his head, and whispered, “January.”

  Chapter Four

  Dothan pulled the pillow over his head, pressing the cool fabric against his throbbing temples.

  It was useless. No matter what he did, the splitting headache followed. Squinting, he tried to adjust to the semi-darkness of the bedroom, and turned toward the alarm clock.

  Shit, he thought, almost eight. Agnes will be here in an hour.

  He scrunched up his face and smacked his dry lips, trying to disengage his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

  How drunk was I?

  A soft hand drifted across his chest, and the memories of the preceding two hours returned with agonizing clarity.

  Dammit. Why is she still here?

  He turned to a pair of adoring gray eyes and a wild explosion of pink dreadlocks spread over the pillow beside him. Bekkii grinned and snuggled into his shoulder, pulling the sheet to her throat.

  His nauseous stomach twisted into painful knots.

  “Hi,” she said in a tenuous voice.

  Dothan forced a smile.

  Please go, he thought, like, now.

  “I hate to bring this up, but I have someone coming over in a few minutes.” He feigned a cough.

  “Aw, are you still feeling rough?” Bekkii wrapped her arms around his waist and drew herself against him.

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s too bad I’m stuck seeing my study partner tonight, I would just stay in bed.”

  Bekkii nestled against his arm. “Well, why don’t you call him and say your nurse is here and insists you have no visitors?”

  “It’s a her. Rhonda.”

  “Rhonda?” Bekkii frowned. “That must be nice for you. Having a girl as a lab partner, I mean.”

  “Not so much. She’s, like, three feet tall, wears anime t-shirts, and I’ve seen toothpicks with more curves.”

  “oh.” She laughed and kissed his cheek. “Tell her she’ll just have to wait until you’re better.”

  “Tempting, but there’s no way. I’ve already shoved her aside a bunch of times and I need a solid grade in this class.” Dothan tried to untangle himself, but Bekki’s arms remained locked.

  “I had a great time,” she whispered.

  And here it comes, he thought, closing his eyes.

  Bekkii stroked his chest. “I…I really like you.”

  Dothan sat straight with his back to her, pretending to sneeze. “I hate this stupid cold.” He got out of bed. “I hope I don’t give this bug to you.” He gestured to the bathroom as he pulled on sweatpants. “So, do you want to use it before you go?”

  “We could always shower together.”

  “Bekkii, I…”

  He watched her cheeks flush a humiliated crimson. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “That was a stupid thing to say. God, I’m sorry.”

  If she’s so damn sorry, why doesn’t she just go?

  He clenched his teeth. Bekkii was useful; he had to be careful. “No, no.” Dothan laid beside her and stroked her arm. “It was a fantastic evening, and I like you, too.”

  “You do?” she asked.

  “Yeah, sure. It’s just I feel like shit, and I’ve got this stupid school thing to get out of the way tonight. Rhonda is a complete fascist.”

  Bekkii’s eyes brightened. She wiped away a tear trickling along her cheek and jumped naked from the bed. “I’ll be as quick as I can.” She grabbed articles of clothing scattered throughout the room. “Hey, how about I come back after your study partner leaves? We could chill.”

  Fuck. Why can’t you just take a hint?

  Dothan shook his head. “I don’t know how long this thing will take. After that, I just need to crash.”

  “I have an idea. You can just call me when you’re done, or give me a key so I don’t disturb you when I get back.”

  “Look, tonight meant a lot to me, and you’re a special, beautiful woman, but let’s not rush this.”

  Her face dropped. “What you mean is, I fucked you, so why don’t you get the hell out?” She slammed the bathroom door.

  Dothan rolled his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands. “Come on. Don’t do this.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. Her echoing sobs mingled with muffled slams within the tiny room. “You won’t have to worry about me bothering you again.”

  Bekkii ran through the bedroom, wiping the streaming tears from her face. “I’m such an idiot!”

  “Can you just listen to me, please?” he asked, following behind her.

  Bekkii threw open the front door and flew down the stairs, her heels clanging against the metal treads. “Leave me alone!”

  Dammit, why do they always do this?

  Dothan shrugged and closed the door. At least she was gone. A little flirting combined with a token gift, and he could smooth things out with her. While even a small bouquet might hit hard on his limited funds, it was worth the investment. Bekkii’s knowledge of Dunlevy was an unfortunate necessity during his internship.

  With only fifteen minutes until Agnes arrived, Dothan disposed of the empty bottles and headed to the bathroom. As he pulled the plastic curtain across the tub, a loud knock followed by the distinctive squeak of his door being opened startled him.

  Oh shit, I didn’t lock it. Please don’t be Bekkii.


  “Hello?” came the raspy voice of Agnes. “Dothan? Oh good lord, what a mess.”

  Dothan called out, “You’re early. I’ve just gotten into the shower.”

  “So I figured,” she replied. “Was that our beloved Director of Customer Interaction I saw squealing out of the parking lot?”

  He shut the bathroom door, ignoring her question. There was no doubt Agnes would interrogate him with all the gusto of the Third Reich after he pulled himself together.

  With his head still aching, he leaned against the stained fiberglass wall, allowing the warmth of the water to splash over his body.

  Still wet, Dothan wrapped a towel around his waist and kicked the door to his bedroom closed. After throwing on his sweats, he grabbed a pill from the container in his backpack and swallowed it dry. If he had to face Agnes, even the Pope would understand the need for drugs.

  He opened the door, surprised to find her vacuuming the carpet. She had tidied the room. Neat piles of unopened mail lay on his once cluttered desk, and there were no dishes in the kitchen sink.

  “What the hell, Agnes?”

  “Your place was a pig sty, and I got bored. Don’t you ever clean?”

  “I’ve got better things to do.”

  “Looks to me like the only thing you’ve done is develop new strains of bacteria.”

  “Ha. Funny.” He grabbed his laptop and dropped onto

  the dingy sofa.

  Agnes sat on the opposite end and crossed her arms as she glared at him through her bright red oversized glasses. “And?” she asked.

  “What? You mean about Bekkii?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “What do you want me to say, man? Bekkii showed up with soup and things got a little out of hand. That’s all.”

  “What do you mean, that’s all? It’s an unspoken rule that you don’t dip your pen into company ink, if you get my drift. If she’s as angry as those peeling tires seemed, you could have a serious problem. That girl is nothing but a big ball of emotion and can’t keep those flapping gums still. One thing our little venture doesn’t need right now is our resident drama queen crying over you to everyone passing the reception desk.”