"That's... that's why I wanted you to come here. It was Csilla's idea, actually." Mark blew the words out, not stopping to rest until he had finished. "Her mother works under the chief of police here, and one time I was over at her place for dinner—"
"You have dinner with her family?" I arched my eyebrow.
"I...we've gotten very close," Mark said. He quirked the side of his mouth in a kind of smile. "I suppose we're dating."
"I suppose you are," I said. "You don't kiss random people goodbye on the mouth, unless that's a new Hungarian tradition."
"No," Mark said, his white cheeks flushing red and blotchy.
"Sorry," I said. "Too much snark. Uncalled for."
"You can be as snarky as you like, Brynn," Mark said. His voice was quiet. I felt like I had broken something in our friendship, or maybe we had just lost it naturally when I had stayed away. I didn't want that, though. I wanted everything to be the same as it was before the assault, and before Mark tried to kiss me. I wanted to be friends and joke around.
"I get a free pass on snark? Don't tempt me," I said.
"I will take every piece of sarcasm you throw at me," Mark said, raising his hand solemnly. "I swear I don't mind."
"So, my mom?" I asked. "What about her?"
"I mentioned you, I forget how it came up," Mark said. "But when I said your mother was buried in the Fiumei cemetery, Mrs. Deveny—that's Csilla's mom—she asked what your name was again. She remembered it."
"Remembered it? From where? Eliot said that the newspapers didn't mention it at all. He looked back through a bunch of records to see if he could find anything, but nothing came up."
"Eliot?"
"Dr. Herceg." Now it was my turn to blush.
"It was a big deal, Brynn. An American tourist getting killed. They kept it out of the papers, claiming that it was part of an ongoing case, but Mrs. Deveny said that there are still tons of files on record. Just on private record. She remembered the case, even."
"Could she get me access to the files?" My heart thudded.
"I'm not sure. I didn't ask," Mark said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"I wasn't sure you would want to know," Mark said. "If it was... she said it was a violent murder."
"I want to know," I said breathlessly. "I want to know the truth."
"Then I'll ask for you," Mark said. "I'll go to her place tonight to ask."
"I can do it," I said. "Can I call her? Do you have her number?"
"I have Csilla's number," Mark said, biting his lip. "Not her mom's."
"Give me the address, then," I said.
"Brynn..." Mark trailed off.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said. He pulled out his phone to look up the address and wrote it down for me.
"Maybe I'll see you there tonight," I said. It was an attempt at humor, but it failed miserably. Mark looked awkward, more awkward than normal, and didn't know what to say.
"What are you working on?" I asked, turning away and looking at the math that Mark had been discussing with Csilla. It was the same proof Eliot had been struggling with, a subsidiary case. From the looks of it, Mark had tried to break down the proof into a smaller problem, working on the base cases before doing the induction steps. The base cases were hard enough, but I smiled to see that he had gotten stuck on the same step I had. That method would not work, no matter what. It was a good try, but it wasn't going to lead anywhere.
"The first three parts of this proof we have," Mark said. He darted a glance over at me. "You understand how we substituted here?"
"Yep," I said. I didn't care much for the tone of condescension in his voice. I also didn't like his use of the word we. "It all looks fine. I like the simplification you did here. Makes it easier to see what's going on."
"Yeah, but we can't figure the next part out," he said.
"We? You mean you and Csilla."
Mark looked up in surprise. "Brynn—"
"It's nothing," I said. "You just seem like quite an inseparable unit after only a few weeks."
"I thought you didn't care about me like that," Mark said. "You said—"
"I don't!" My voice was too loud, high-pitched. The students at the next table turned to look at us and I lowered my words to a whisper. "I don't. I just don't like her."
"You've made that clear," Mark said, his dark eyes sparking with intense emotion. "But I do like her. I'm not going out with her to spite you, Brynn."
"I never said you were," I said. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind until then.
"Brynn, I want to be your friend," he said.
"Dating the one person in Budapest who has it out for me isn't exactly the friendliest thing you could do," I said. I could see my words stung him.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Can we just joke around, do math together? Like we used to?"
"Sure," I said, crossing my arms and turning back to the board. The numbers swam in front of my eyes.
"Have you looked at what we—what I'm trying to do here?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"And?" he asked.
"And what are you getting to with all this?" My hand waved at the lines on the whiteboard.
"Not much. The proof for this last case seems impossible," Mark said.
"That's because it is," I said coldly.
"I don't see—"
I reached out for the whiteboard marker and wrote rapidly. The last simplification led directly to a dead end, the same dead end that we had eliminated weeks before. Mark watched, his eyes widening in comprehension as the formulas changed into their familiar structure. The wrong structure. I finished the line, then drew a sharp slash through the entire proof.
"Impossible," I said. "Completely impossible. The proof is wrong." I capped the marker and tossed it down on the table.
"Brynn—"
"Call me if you figure out anything new," I said, a hiss underlying the syllables. "You and Csilla."
"Brynn, I'm sorry—"
"I have to go," I said, picking up the slip of paper with the address on it. I left Mark staring at the board filled with numbers. No solution. At least, no solution I could see.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eliot
“It is not enough to have a good mind. The main thing is to use it well.”
Rene Descartes
Music played as Eliot paced back and forth in front of the shelves of books. Behind him, on his desk, the mathematical work he had started lay abandoned, dimly lit by the lamp which cast his moving shadow onto the wall. His mind was filled with thoughts of Brynn.
Brynn. He had put on his favorite recording of Satie, telling himself that it would inspire him to work faster on the math problem. But after the first chords rung out, he was transported back to the first time he had played the piano for Brynn. His mind could not relieve itself of worry. She was gone—where? To the Fiumei cemetery? She would not still be there after so many hours. To the Academy, to study? Perhaps. Perhaps she was having fun, shopping with a friend, or eating out somewhere in a little cafe. He should have taken her out to dinner. She needed him, and he had been so selfish. It didn't matter that people would stare at him. Let them stare. They could eat out somewhere out of the way, maybe. Now perhaps she was out eating dinner with that other student, Mark—
"Stop it, Eliot," he said out loud. "You're being ridiculous." Then came the thought that talking to himself in the middle of his study was also quite ridiculous. He sighed heavily and sat down on one end of the leather couch. On the other end, the gray kitten flicked his tail at being interrupted in the middle of a nap. The soft melody of Satie's Gymnopedie floated through the air.
Relax. Marta had told him before she left that he gave himself too many burdens, that he should relax. Eliot shifted uncomfortably on the leather cushions, trying to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then opened them again.
Relax. Turning sideways, he pulled his feet up onto the couch, trying not to step on any part of the kitten. His long frame was almost too big to lay out completely, but he stretched his feet over both kitten and armrest. Lucky stood up in a kittenish stretch, irked to be displaced, and hopped over onto Eliot's stomach.
"Hello," Eliot said. The kitten cocked its head, looking straight into Eliot's face. His tail flicked back and forth.
"I'm not feeding you again," Eliot said. Lucky curled up onto his chest and went immediately to sleep, his warm body vibrating against Eliot's with a low purr.
Eliot petted Lucky with one finger, stroking the little head with his knuckle.
"I wish I could relax so easily," Eliot said. He yawned. Perhaps he could read a bit before taking a nap.
His eyes scanned the bookshelves and caught on an old book, one of the books he had read as a child. The Little Prince. Trying hard not to disturb the kitten sleeping on his chest, he reached over the back of the couch and hooked his finger on the spine, pulling it out. He flipped to a random page and started to read. His eyelids drooped and he fell into darkness as he read about wandering through the desert, and finding a garden full of roses...
"Eliot?"
The voice carried through his sleeping brain and tickled him into consciousness. He picked his head up and looked over. Brynn was standing in the doorway. Her sweater had slipped down over one shoulder and a curl of her dark hair had slipped out of its bun, snaking its way down her neck and to her collarbone.
"Eliot?" Her voice was soft, needy. As he brought himself into full awareness the book he had been reading slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a clatter. The kitten still laying on his chest perked up its ears.
"Brynn," he said. He coughed, pulling himself up on the couch. Lucky hopped off and looked back at him peevishly. He brushed the gray hair from his shirt as he stood up from the couch. Brynn's eyes were sad, and he thought that she looked at him with disappointment.
"Brynn," he said, not waiting for her to respond, "I'm sorry about this afternoon. I want to apologize for being so irritable lately. It's nothing to do with you. It's just—"
Brynn stepped forward and hugged him hard. He stopped talking, his hands clasping her head close against her chest. He kissed the top of her hair. Her hands were tight around him, her fingers pressing into his back greedily. The hug was an apology and a plea, all in one. Under her sweater he could feel her heartbeat pounding against the skin.
"Hold me," she said, her voice cracking. "Please."
"Of course," Eliot said. He rocked softly from side to side, pulling her against him in a complete embrace. The piano record finished, then started again automatically. The notes of the Gymnopedie trickled out of the speaker, too loud for their silence.
"Eliot..." Brynn began to say, then stopped.
"What is it?" he murmured, his lips against her forehead. "Brynn, darling. What is it?"