GODSFALL

The honeymoon suite on the 43rd floor smelled like champagne and white roses and a little bit of the industrial chill of a city that always stays awake.

Ethan stood against the floor to ceiling windows of the suite with his jacket off and his cufflinks lying on the glass ledge watching the lights of Evergreen spread out beneath him. There are three million people living in that area down there, and none of their names are Ethan. None of their names are even close to being his actual name. He has spent many years arranging to keep that part of his identity completely private, and today of all days, he was glad he had.

Behind him, the suite was everything a typical wedding night suite should be. Candles lit the side board. An ice bucket sat quietly. A trail of rose petal's went across the marble floor that neither of them had laid there. They had walked into the suite earlier in the evening to find the flowers already in place. The hotel staff had placed them there as an act of professional romance, and Ethan found himself slightly moved by their gesture. This is surprising since Ethan isn't typically a man who can be moved by someone else's gestures. However, he felt deeply moved by Lena. He had been for three years.

Lena was in the bathroom, still wearing her wedding dress. He could hear her high heel shoes clicking softly on the tile. He could hear the gentle gurgle of water flowing from the showerhead. He could hear the small distinct noises a woman makes when she is unwinding after spending hours putting together the pieces of a wedding. He had been paying attention to Lena throughout the entire day. From the time they exchanged vows in the gardens of the Aurora Palace Hotel. Throughout the long dinner. During the dancing where he didn't do well but participated anyway because she laughed each time he stepped on her foot. Her laughter was the only sound in the world that caused something inside of his chest to stop tightening and remain still instead of tight.

He had gotten married to Lena today. He wasn't sure yet how he would feel about wanting that to be true.

His cell phone lay face down on the glass ledge next to the cuff links. He had put it there intentionally. His cell phone wouldn't be ringing tonight.

He heard her exit the bathroom. He heard a soft rustling of clothing and then he heard her voice. Her voice was softer and less formal now. The show was finally over.

"You're still in your clothes," she said.

"You've been gone for a while."

He turned away from the window. She had removed her hair from its updo. The length cascaded down her naked shoulders and she looked at him with that same look she gets before saying something that she has been thinking about all day long. He has learned to interpret her facial expressions over the last three years by paying close attention to what she does with her body language, because Lena communicates roughly fifty percent of everything that is important to her with her face and the remaining fifty percent with a subtle adjustment in her posture, and ninety-nine percent of everyone misses both.

"I kept thinking about our trip to Hainan during the reception," she said. "Remember? That second year? And it rained for seven solid days...and you bought that truly horrible umbrella from that street vendor?"

"That was a great umbrella," he said, smiling. Smiling isn't something Ethan does frequently enough to make it automatic; therefore when he does smile it is genuine. She knows it is genuine too. Seeing that she recognizes that it is genuine is one of the reasons why he married her.

As he crossed the distance between them, his phone rang.

This wasn't his phone. This was hers. The specific rising pitch that indicated it was a call (as opposed to a message), three short chimes sounded incredibly loud in comparison to the silence in the room.

Her eyes shifted quickly to her purse sitting on top of the bedside table. He observed the flash of internal conflict on her face, followed immediately by hesitation as she reached for her purse.

"It is late", he said. Not a prohibition. An observation.

"It's probably nothing," but as she moved towards the telephone, she could sense the tension building inside of her. "Just one moment while I check this."

As she placed her hand on the receiver, she turned back to where he stood. There were no words spoken by either of them. Her eyes fell upon the phone display and then returned to his face. Something shifted in her facial features that wasn't the same expression she had when she exited the restroom.

"It is Marcus", she said. "He is in the hospital. They say he has internal bleeding. They rushed him in about an hour. He sounds...". She raised her head from staring at the floor and met his gaze. "He sounds scared".

For three full seconds after she made this declaration, Ethan looked directly into her eyes. In those three seconds, he gained several pieces of knowledge regarding what happened next. As always, everything became clear to him immediately; all at once - like a map spreading open.

"You should go", he said.

"No, Ethan—",

"He is your friend, you need to go."

And before he even finished speaking, she was opening the door, putting on her heels, and slinging her clutch over her shoulder. The petals of flowers that led to the bed lay undisturbed as she walked away. She stopped at the entranceway to the hotel room and turned around to meet his eyes. His expression reflected a combination of regret, apology and perhaps relief.

"I will be back within an hour or two", she said.

"Fine", he said.

She pulled the door shut and Ethan remained motionless in the hotel suite for what felt like an eternity. The flames on the candles continued to burn lower. The champagne in the ice bucket grew warmer. And far beneath them, forty-three floors of twinkling lights offered little consolation.

He reached down and picked up his own cell phone from the glass ledge.

He spent another few minutes gazing out of the window at his reflection, and contemplating (the man in a white dress shirt standing in a flower petal covered hotel room) who had asked for the flower petals?

He unlocked his screen and opened a buried, encrypted application. He had installed a silent mirroring protocol on Lena's device about 4 months ago. It was a standard security measure for someone in his position, though he had sworn never to use it on her.

His thumb hovered over the screen. Then, he tapped the audio-link icon.

Through the phone's speaker, Lena’s warm and concerned voice echoed clearly: "Marcus, I am almost there... just let me know what ward..."

A male voice responded, and through the fake weakness and fabricated trembling, Ethan recognized a predator posing as prey; something he could identify easily based on years of experiences.