Water Riddles At Sunset

The rooftop pool was empty, as always. Elias leaned against the railing, the orange sunset bleeding across the sky like a bruise. Down below, the water lay still—too still, as if holding its breath.

"You're late," she said, not turning around. Her silhouette cut through the dying light, sphinx-like in its inscrutability. She'd been waiting here three nights running, since the cable went out in 402.

"Job's complicated," Elias said, dropping his gear bag. "Your building's ancient. The cabling's a rat's nest of obsolete infrastructure and questionable repairs."

"Like my marriage." She finally turned. Forty-something, expensive highlights, eyes that had seen too many hotel bars at 2 AM. "You find what you're looking for?"

"Found the break. Someone's been splicing into the line. Free premium channels." Elias pulled a crumpled cable from his pocket, the end raw and exposed. "Yours?"

She laughed, a sound like glass breaking. "My husband's. He thinks I don't know about his "late nights at the office." But I know every show he watches, every hotel he orders from. The cable bill tells me everything."

Elias nodded. He'd seen it before—cable technicians were the new priests of confession, hearing sins through fiber optics and coaxial cables. "Why call me?"

"I wanted someone who'd notice." She stepped closer, the pool light flickering on behind her, casting rippling reflections across her face. "Someone who sees what others miss. You're observant, Elias. You see the breaks in things."

"It's my job."

"Is it?" She touched his arm, fingers cool. "Or is it just easier to fix other people's connections than to make your own?" The orange glow of sunset had faded to purple bruise-colored twilight. The water of the pool, suddenly illuminated, seemed alive with possibility and danger.

"What's your name?" Elias asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Does it matter?" She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "Fix the cable tomorrow. Tonight—" She nodded toward the water. "—the pool's heated."

Elias looked at the dark water, at her sphinx-smile, at the cable still tangled in his fist. He thought about his empty apartment, his ex-wife's voice on the machine, the way he'd been patching things for years without fixing anything.

"I'm on the clock," he said, but his hands were already unbuttoning his uniform shirt.

"So am I," she whispered, and stepped into the water, pulling him under after her.