#patricia split

One hand lifted her cellphone to her ear as the other passed off the clipboard of papers. “Hello?” she greeted professionally, waving to the man as he disappeared out the back door—which Jessica was quick to close and bolt shut behind him. The back stockroom was cold enough that both women had donned their coats and closed the door leading out to the store.

“Is this Iris?”

“Yes, how can I help you?” she continued, stepping aside to let Jessica start on the lengthy process of organizing the many boxes they had removed from their skid delivery.

“I work for Mark Sans,” the man on the other end continued.

Iris paused at the familiar name. Even though she was unsure where she knew it, her stomach clenched with dread; she knew it was not the name of a friend. Actually, the more she thought about it the less it sounded like a name at all. Mark Sans?

Didn’t the word sans mean-

“I have a message from Howard-”

Iris ended the call so abruptly she nearly knocked her cellphone out of her own hand. Her throat went bone dry as she tried to swallow the uncomfortable lump that had accumulated there. She could feel the familiar tightening in her chest, panic swelling to the surface so suddenly it was like someone was trying to smother her.

Mark Sans. Without Mark.

She had read that name in an article about a radicle Anti-Mark group that was steadily growing in numbers through the years. Several homicides and assaults had been linked to the group and its volatile members. Many of the convictions had shown a connection through an alias name; Mark Sans. However, it was the name of her father—Howard Mayfair—that caused her heart to hit the floor.

Rasping out a quick excuse to Jessica, she slipped into her office as her vision swam and blackened around the edges. It was terrifyingly similar to how she felt after discovering her father’s note. She was almost desperate not to pass out this time, however, and quickly shook her head even as she picked up a binder from the desk and began waving it at her face. The cool air was a welcome relief against her heated cheeks—which probably had no colour in them.

Falling into her desk chair for her own safety, Iris continued fanning herself. She only stopped for one brief moment to shuck off her coat, which took several attempts.

This couldn’t all be a coincidence. Her parents are back in her life right in time for someone to throw a pipe through the window of the store, then a phone call with an entirely private ID drops the name of her father and an Anti-Mark group’s well-used alias. And it was all after she had started to meet her soulmates. Were her parents following her for so long that they were able to tell when she met one of the twenty-three marks?

Did they hate the marked so much, they were now a part of that awful group?

Her soulmates!

The connection they shared was getting stronger each time Iris met a new identity within Kevin’s body. It had come to the point that she was able to feel Barry’s discomfort after realizing Iris had met the child among them. They had mentioned to her that her fear from the night she saw her father’s note caused them discomfort, and the night she had experienced the vivid nightmares from her past had actually drawn Patricia in at a run.

She had no doubt they could feel her panic now.

The realization that she was not the only one affected helped to draw her back to the present a bit more, continuing to fan herself as she took deep, steadying breaths. The binder shook between her hands, but her fingers were clenched so tightly, there was no concern it would fall. Her vision steadily cleared, the fogginess receding from the edges of her sight while her laboured breathing began to normalize. Even though she had her bottle of water sitting on the desk, she didn’t trust her hands to reach for it. She would probably end up wearing most of the water if she tried drinking now.

Her phone buzzed on her desk, causing an instinctual flinch, before she spotted the name.

Kevin Crumb.

The fact that they were calling using Kevin’s cellphone showed the importance of the need to contact her. Otherwise, she would have gotten the alert for an email. Dropping the binder to the desktop, she scooped up her phone in both hands—one handed probably would have resulted in it hitting the floor and smashing.

“I’m alright,” she assured immediately, not even bothering with a hello. She knew why they were calling. She pondered briefly in an attempt to remember who was supposed to be working. “I’m sorry, BT, did I interrupt your work?” She was sure the rough sound of her voice did nothing to assuage his concern.

“Screw work, work can wait. What happened, Doll? Felt like you were having a heart-attack.” She could detect the slightest tremor in his voice. It made her heart clench, both with displeasure at her own panic episode causing them distress and because she knew she was cared for so deeply by someone—by many.

Leaning back in her chair, she used her shoulder to better support the phone as she tucked her ice-cold fingers between her thighs in an attempt to warm them. “I got a call. Jessica handed me the phone, I didn’t even really register the private contact information before I answered it. The man said he worked for ‘Mark Sans’ and had a message from Howard. I hung up before he could continue.”

BT swore on the other line. “Mark Sans, that’s a name that group of psychos use, right?”

“Yes. And my father’s name is Howard Mayfair.”

“Iris,” BT sighed, worry dripping from that one word. “Doll, you gotta call the cops. What’s the name a’ that guy who did your statement?”

“Montez,” she answered quietly. The adrenaline was bleeding out of her system and leaving her body feeling like lead. “Officer Montez. He gave Barry his card, I don’t think I have it-”

BT grunted. “One sec,” he murmured, before shuffling came through the phone like static. “It’s in our wallet.” Much like the cellphone, it did not make much sense to have a different wallet for every alter—the cards for the bank account, ID and other important pieces of information were kept in one simple wallet. How it was carried varied person to person, but it made their lives easier when the credit cards or work ID weren’t switching to a new wallet every day. “You got a pen?”

Iris looked to her desk. She had a pen and a stack of post-it notes. However, the tremor was still running down her arms; she doubted her hands would be any better if they were removed from where she was pinning them. “Yea, but I think I’m shaking too much right now. Give me another minute?”

“All the time in the world, Doll.”

To distract her, he began telling her about his day in a soft, soothing voice. It never raised, even when she could tell something had frustrated him or he was mocking someone who had yelled at another worker—a mother throwing a fit about something being closed. Iris was sure that if it had been a better day, he could very well have soothed her straight to sleep.

Thankfully, it was enough to calm her nerves.

So long as she was able to write down the number, that was all that mattered.

“What time’re you off today?”

“It’s a later one today. Jess and I have to break down the shipment, double-check everything’s correct. Probably until six. We’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

“Six it is,” he confirmed.

“What? BT, no! You don’t-”

“Aw, shush. I’m gonna be there whether you want me or not. Come on, we’ll make a little date out of it. Stop for hot chocolate or something.” The guilt returned. She was always throwing them off their schedule because she wasn’t able to handle her own life—past or present. “Besides, this means I get to see you again. Good luck keeping me away.” The happiness in his voice was enough to ease the clench in her chest just a little bit.

It was impossible not to smile along, even if only a small one. “Alright, BT, you win. I’ll see you at six. Come on inside when you get here. It’s way too cold to have you waiting out on the sidewalk.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

Iris took a few minutes more to collect herself, finally able to take a drink from her water bottle without sloshing the liquid everywhere. She was half-certain that Jess was worrying herself out in the stockroom, but she knew that going out while sheet-white and shaking would do nothing to improve her opinion. Scrolling through her phone to the call she had received just before BT, she found the ‘Private Name’, ‘Private Number’ listed and quickly blocked any future calls or messages from that specific contact.

She knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop them, but it gave her just a bit more peace of mind.

BT arrived slightly earlier than he had discussed with Iris, stepping through the front door shortly before six. There was a younger woman, possibly even a teenager, manning the front cash. She looked at him with such wide, innocent eyes. Actually, it reminded him of Iris.

“I’m here to see Iris?” he offered, unsure, as he stood with his hands in his pockets. The girl’s eyes widened before she nodded.

“BT?” she asked hesitantly. When he nodded, her expression softened a bit and she stepped out from behind the desk. “Iris told me to bring you to the back once you got here. She and Jess should be just about done, so you’ll probably just have to wait in the office.”

He was brought to the back door of the store, a sign declaring ‘Employees Only’ with ‘Alarm will sound’ directly beneath it. Sarah, as her nametag dubbed her, entered a passkey into what looked like a new panel just to the right of the door. She didn’t enter with him, just opened it and stepped aside. He was sure she headed right back to the front desk once he was through the door.

It opened into a decently sized stockroom, tall shelves piled with boxes that carried labels and writings in permanent marker. A few carried Iris’s familiar cursive—he was sure he could pinpoint her writing from hundreds of other cursive samples by this point. He could see a small office to the far left. Next to it was what appeared to be a break/staff room.

“So, these weren’t damaged during shipping?”

The female voice, one he recognized from the day he had met Iris, spoke up from amongst the shelves. Walking slightly further into the room, he was able to peek around the metal shelving to spot Iris and her co-worker Jessica. Iris was standing on a ladder, hefting boxes over her head and onto the higher shelf like they weighed next to nothing. From what he knew the store to sell, he was fairly certain those were boxes filled—or at least damn near it—with books.

He knew Iris was stronger than she looked. Physically and mentally—though emotionally she carried a lot more scars that were still tender from the years of abuse and hardships. However, he had not expected to see her lifting what had to be fifty to seventy-five pounds over her head. And when she was up on her tip-toes—which, had it not been even more dangerous, he would have called out a scolding after seeing.

“The box is fine,” Iris answered Jessica’s previous question. Resting a box on her hip, held in place with on hand, she used the other to shove another one to the side in order to make room. Then, again, lifted the books into their new place with ease. “It must have been damaged during packing. Mark it for return and stack it with the other one.”

“And the paperwork?”

Hopping off the ladder, Iris carefully folded it and tucked it to the side—then secured the metal monstrosity to the shelving with a chain.

“I’ll do that, it only takes a second!” Her voice hitched on her final work as she turned around and finally caught sight of BT. Her entire body jerked with her short yell, halting in her stride. “BT!” she scolded a moment later, her hand flying to her chest as Jessica jumped from the sudden yelp her manager released.

He shrugged his free shoulder. “Sorry, Doll.” His amused expression said otherwise.

Nodding to Jessica, who was giggling away, he opened an arm to Iris. She sighed at him like a scolding, but there was a faint smile on her lips as she stepped into his embrace. Her arm was tight when she wrapped it around his torso, the hand at his back fisting in the material of his coat like she was seeking a lifeline. “Thank you,” she breathed into his chest—too quiet for her friend to hear.

She didn’t want the younger woman to know. He wasn’t sure why, but Iris was a very personal person so he could assume it’s hard for her to open up to others.

“You guys all finished? Or I can go and wait in your office?”

Iris opened her mouth to speak, leaning back from his chest to look him in the eye, but Jessica beat her to it. “You’re in luck, we just finished!”

“What?” Iris blurted out, turning to look at the woman who had a splitting grin spread across her face. Iris had forgotten for a minute that Jessica had—somewhat—met BT before. “I still-”

Jess shook her head again. “You said so yourself, the paperwork only takes a second. I’ve done it before; I promise not to mess up your carefully organized system.”

BT’s arm tightened around her shoulders, drawing her in against his chest again. “Perfect! Where’s your coat, Doll?” Looking down at Iris, he could see a pinch to her expression that had never occurred before. It was like she had sucked on a lemon. At first, he thought it looked cute, but the more he looked at her face the more he realized that it was irritation and fear that caused that look. “Hey, come talk to me,” he prompted quietly, drawing her toward the office he had spotted earlier.

She went willingly but pulled herself from his arms on their way.

Closing the door for privacy, BT watched her pace toward her desk but refuse to sit down. “What did I do?” he asked quietly. He knew it was him. Her co-worker had only been helping him to his end goal—getting her home as soon as possible.

“I won’t change my life again because of them.” BT went to speak but the words caught as she turned to look at him. The bleakness in her gaze silenced his argument. “My parents made all of my decisions for me; what to dress, what to eat, what to say, when to say it. I have work to finish; and it’s my decision to stay here and finish it. I know you care, and I love you for it, but please don’t take my choices away.”

BT’s heart broke as he took in her words—and everything she left unsaid. They hadn’t spoken much about her parents, but it was easy to guess the trauma the left behind. It made him think about when she had finally gone back to her apartment. They all tried to coax her to stay, but no one made the decision for her. She was never forced.

“I’m sorry, Iris. I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to-”

“I know,” she assured quietly, finally returning to him and wrapping her arms around his broad frame. She was soon cocooned in his arms and coat, folded up in the fabric like a security blanket. “I’ve been on my own for so long I don’t think I’ll ever be used to people wanting to care for me, or protect me, but I’m trying. And all I ask is that you leave the decision up to me. Don’t make it for me.”

Ducking down to inhale the scent of her hair, he nodded against the crown of her head. “You’ve got my word.”

The smile she gave him was less sad, but he could still see the fatigue and strain in and around her eyes. The day was taking its toll on her. He was sure that the emotional strain alone was a weight on her shoulders, like trying to carry the world.

“I just need a few more minutes. Mind waiting here?”

Smoothing back the bit of hair that had loosened to fame her face, BT caught her soft eyes and smiled as encouragingly as he could manage. “Take your time, I’m in no rush.” Watching her leave the office felt like he was letting her step into the wolf’s den. But he let her go.

There’s a little nervous feeling in your chest as you press the button on the buzzer just outside of the big metal door that leads down into your friend’s underground housing.  Or well, friends, you suppose you should say, thinking about the many people you’ve been getting to know that all happen to share one body.

A pause, long enough to make you a little apprehensive.  Just when you reach up to buzz again, there’s a mechanical click as the latch unlocks and the door swings open. 

“Good afternoon, love.” Patricia is standing before you with a warm smile and gentle blue eyes.  She’s in a mauve turtleneck today and you have to stop yourself from gazing too long at the ribbed material that dips into a high-waisted black skirt.  

“How are you?” You beam at her and she leans in to give you a friendly peck on the cheek, the usual greeting from her.  “It’s..” You shrug.  “It’s been a day, I guess.” Work ended about an hour ago, giving you enough time to run home and change out of your uniform to meet Patricia for some tea. 

Patricia’s brow knits with soft concern and she smiles softly as she opens the door wider for you, beckoning you inside.  “Well lets get you inside then. Come along.” You don’t waste time, stepping into the dim hallway and following her.

It was a little odd the first few times you came down here, but you’re more used to it now.  Something about the idea of it being Patricia’s space makes it all the more inviting as she leads you into their humble kitchen.  You take a seat at the table, watching as she steps towards the stove to put the kettle on. 

“I take it you want the usual?” She asks, reaching up to an overhead cabinet.  “Yes please.” The formalities don’t feel forced or fake, it’s just Patricia’s nature to be polite and it draws the same out of you.  “Something happen today at work?” She asks, unwrapping a teabag and dropping it in a mug that’s been specially reserved for you.

You shrug, rubbing the back of your neck. “Not.. really. Just busy today, I guess.” A sigh escapes you.  “I guess I’d rather be busy than bored but… Just sitting at that desk all day gets me all stiff and tired.” 

Patricia turns, worry apparent on her face.  “You aren’t overworking yourself, are you?” She speaks like it’s a warning and you can’t help but smile a little.  “No, no, nothing like that.” You dismiss her concern with a quick wave of your hand.   

“You know,” She starts to speak, getting that sly look in her eye when she has a particularly clever idea. “There are a few trigger points on the neck and shoulders that help with stress relief.”  Her skirt swishes as she slowly steps behind you.  “May I?” Large hands hover over the nape of your neck, hesitant.  “Knock yourself out.” You joke but you’re glad that she’s behind you and can’t see the pink rising in your cheeks.

Patricia laments sharing her body with so many others.  Dennis is a manual laborer and it shows on their body’s hands, calloused and knicked with assorted scars from over time.  But the way she holds herself, poised elegantly as her fingers descend firmly but softly onto your body is a pure kind of elegance unique to herself.

You jerk and wince at first, your back is tight and it’s not a place that you’re used to being touched.  “I’m not hurting you am I?” Her voice is quiet with focus, a gentle accented murmur that sends a rush through you.  “Nonono, keep going.” You urge her, slipping into the sensation like falling into a warm bed.

“There we are, I can feel you starting to loosen a little.” Thumbs roll into a knotted spot of muscle and you roll your head to the side to give her better access.  “Right there..” She focuses her efforts a little more intensely, and that’s when it happens.

A moan escapes you involuntarily, a little louder and embarrassing than you would ever like to display in front of Patricia.  The two of you freeze for a second and you know that she can see your flush now because it spreads all the way to the top of your ears. 

An awkward pause, her efforts don’t stop but they slow.  “Did.. Did that hurt?” She asks and you can hear the smug expression through her voice though you can’t see it.  “No, it feels good.  Really, really good.” You laugh nervously and there’s another pregnant pause.  

Before you can open your mouth to say anything there’s a sudden whisper from the kettle that bubbles over into a shriek as it begins to steam, Patricia abandoning your stiff shoulders to take the kettle off the burner.  “There we are.” She announces as she sets a steaming mug in front of you, ginger teabag sinking in the water as it steeps. 

“The tea should help, too. Ginger aids inflammation.” Patricia elaborates, more facts from her bottomless tome of knowledge.  You smile and thank her, fidgeting with the string on the teabag absentmindedly while you wait.