Mary Tyler Moore's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Mary had just stepped back from the blue statue when three sharp knocks struck the workshop door. The coyote's ears pricked up. No one knew this place. No one was supposed to. She slid the panel shut and crossed the room slowly. Through a crack in the wood, she saw a thin man standing on the stone step outside, one hand resting on the carved sundial she used as a doorside marker. A small cactus in a glass pot sat at his feet, its crystals glowing faintly. "I watched him take from someone else too," he said. "I brought proof." Mary did not open the door. Not yet. She pressed her cheek to the wood and let her voice go soft and slow, the dumb-blonde lilt she wore like a coat. "I don't know who you mean, mister." She watched his shoulders. She watched his hands. A real witness would beg. A planted one would push. He pushed. He named her rival. He named the meeting. He named the algorithm, the slides, the date. Each word landed like a stone in still water. Only one person besides her knew those details, and that person had every reason to send a fake friend to her door. Mary smiled the small smile no one ever saw. She opened the door six inches, took the glowing cactus from his hands, and said, "Wrong house, sugar. But thank you kindly." Then she closed the door and locked it. She set the little crystal plant on her table beside the sundial disc. It was a probe. He was checking if she existed. The coyote watched her from the corner. Mary's hands were steady, but something cold had settled in her chest. Her rival knew someone was hunting him. He did not yet know it was her, but he was already reaching into the dark, feeling for the shape of his enemy. Her days had just become hours.