Serendipity/Semantic

It’s a cold winter. Marcella shivers at her desk, ledger in her hand shaking slightly with the force of it. Busy as she was, she hadn’t noticed the temperature slowly dropping until it felt like she was outside.

Just as she has half a mind to call her landlord, the lights flick off. She can hear the constant mechanical hum of everything near her stop in its tracks, the radio also shutting down unceremoniously.

Well. Time to make that call.

It takes a moment of blindly feeling around before Marcella finds her cellphone. The sudden brightness of the screen turning on is like a beacon in the darkness. Quickly she grabs it, turns the brightness down so it won’t strain her eyes, and finds Welsh’s number.

He doesn’t answer.

Marcella tries again.

Nothing.

Marcella is about to try again, annoyance beginning to turn into anger, when there’s a knock at the door.

“Coming,” she calls, using the flashlight her phone provided to get around. The piles and mounds of books she had just laying around would surely trip her up at some point had she not, and she was not trying to die under a book avalanche today.

Finally having navigated to the door, Marcella has to get on tipped toes to see through the peephole.

It’s Welsh.

With a sigh of relief, the marker drops down and undoes the three locks she’s got on the doors, opening it right after.

“Welsh,” Marcella greets, arms crossed. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

“If it was not obvious,” the grape returns, gruff voice scraping at Marcella’s hearing, “I was on my way here.”

“Yes,” the marker nods. “Why? And,” she adds as Welsh goes to open his mouth, “Why is my power out?”

“Mark—“

“Oh,” Marcella snarks, “So we’re doing this then, Grape?”

“Dotz,” he stresses. “You call me Dotz right now and nothing else.”

“Well, Dotz,” Marcella stressed right back. “Answer my question. Why is my power out?”

“You haven’t paid your rent in three months, Mark! I have no other choice!”

Marcella huffs. “You know I told you just give me a bit longer, and I’d—”

“No, Mark! No more ‘just a bit longer’s!” Welsh sighs and pinches the space between his eyes.

Time to strike while his guard is down.

“So what?” Marcella murmurs, “Just like that? Did our friendship mean nothing to you?” It gets an immediate reaction.

“Don’t.” Welsh warns.

Marcella doesn’t. Bad play, undercalculated.

She’s losing her touch.

“Look,” Welsh grumbles, snapping her out of her own head, “I’ll give you one week, okay? That’s it. No more, no less.” He wipes a hand down his face. “I’ll turn the power on until then and not a second longer. Unless you pay me.”

Marcella opens her mouth.

“All of it. All three months worth at once.”

Marcella closes her mouth.

Welsh groans. “Bye, Marcella. Good luck, or whatever.” And with that, the grape leaves. Marcella watches as he goes to the elevator, waits, and finally enters. She then proceeds to slam her front door closed and slump down the back of it.

Good god. Good god! She thumps the floor with her hands, groaning. Good god!

How the hell was she supposed to make all that money at one time? She can’t even find a part time job that’ll hire her, nevermind her main profession. That well had dried up what feels like forever ago. It was so bad she was basically living off of dollar store food and snacks. Just thinking of it made her stomach rumble.

Good god. She needed a job. She needed money. She needed food. She needed…

She needed a miracle.

With a sigh, she relaxes against the door and closes her eyes. Maybe if she just sat here for a while… some big idea would come to her.

Yeah. Great plan. She’s absolutely not just too exhausted to get up.

Her phone blaring to life just moments after she’s closed her eyes shocks her so bad, it fumbles out of her hands. Quickly she scrambles for it, retrieving it a little bit from where it landed. Good thing for carpeted floors.

The phone shows an unknown number. There were one of three things on the other end of this line:

An honest to god client

Spam telemarketers

Welsh… for whatever reason.

There was only one way to find out. With a quick breath, Marcella answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi! I’m Fidelity Sparks," sparkles a cheery yet clearly tired voice from the phone. “I—I was hoping to hire you for a case—“

Oh good god, it was an honest to god client!

“Okay,” Marcella says, foresight be damned. She couldn’t let this out of her grasp. Not when this was the first thing she’d had in months.

“O… okay?” Fidelity asks, sounding puzzled. “Don’t you wanna like… know stuff first?”

“I will learn everything needed in person,” Marcella says, practiced response taking over. “Today? Now? At Carlie’s Cafe on Treeshroud?”

“Oh! Um…!” Fidelity says, seeming to be thinking it over. “Okay! See you there, then!”

“See you.” Marcella hangs up and stares at her phone. Finally. Finally!

She bolts up a second later, rushing to find her coat in the darkness. She’d left it over here probably…

A quick game of I Spy later, Marcella is putting on her coat and leaving her apartment. Just as she closes the door, the hum of electronics quietly hits her and she sighs. At least Grape wasn’t lying to her.

She locks her door. Right. Carlie’s was calling her.

—

The bell to Carlie’s dings as Marcella pushes her way in. The cold winter air blows in from behind her and she dashes in after a quick shiver. The door fights off the wind for a moment until it can successfully close itself.

“Sharpie!” calls Carlie herself from behind the counter, accent pushing the vowels.. “T’what do we owe th’ pleasure? You here for somethin’?” Marcella glances around before hopping up on a bar stool and pulling her hood down.

“Yes, actually,” she sighs. “Work. Finally.”

“Woo! Congrats, doll!” Carlie claps, clearly elated for her friend. Marcella, despite herself, blushes.

“Yes, yes. Amazing.” She turns and looks around as inconspicuously as she can. “I’m here to meet a client. You haven’t perhaps heard of someone named… ah…” Marcella closes her eyes, hands to her forehead in a fist, thinking. “I was so busy with everything their name slipped my mind..” she mumbles, feeling a little ashamed. What sort of private eye forgot people’s names? She sighs, resting her hands again. “It began with like, an F, I think? Hm… I think it was something like…”

The bell rings as another patron enters. Marcella pays it no mind, still lost in thought, but Carlie sure does.

“Fi!” she calls, waving. “Come on over!”

“Carls!” beams a very familiar voice. Marcella straightens and turns to watch the new entry waddle over.

They’re a fishing hook, green. On their line is a fairly sized bandana of some sort, red. They have no arms, just legs, and they actually seem like they’d be taller than Marcella if she stood up.

“Fi…” Marcella all but whispers to herself as said person sits next to her, nonplussed.

“Fi! It’s been too long!” Carlie smiles. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Fi’s legs kick under the bar without gusto. Nervous? “Well, you know, Liam is missing,” they provide. “And since the task force is useless, I got a P.I. on the case!”

And just like that the puzzle pieces itself together.

“Um… Fi, was it?” Marcella asks, damning her shyness around new folks. “Are you perchance—“

“WAIT!” Fi says, eyes widening. Marcella can almost see stars shining in them. “That voice! Is it you? Are you the one I’m s’pposed to meet?”

“That… depends.” Marcella is fighting down being overwhelmed by the sudden loudness of the other, trying to keep it professional. “Your name?”

“Fidelity Sparks!”

Bingo.

“Yes,” Marcella nods, fixing her glasses. “Of course. I could never forget.”

“Didn’t you just…” Carlie begins, only to stop as Marcella slams the bar with a fist.

“Well,” she stresses , hopping off her stool, “There’s work to be done.” She looks back at the hook. “Fi…delity,” she says, finding herself too unfamiliar to use nicknames, “come with me. There’s a special booth I like to use.”

Without missing a beat, Fidelity goes, “Kay!” and hops down themself. “Talk to you again soon, Carls?”

“You betcha!” the owner replies.

As Fidelity trots up next to Marcella, looking more excited than one ought to be for having a missing friend, Marcella finds that she was right. Fidelity is taller, if just by a bit.

If Marcella counts her cap.

That was neither here nor there, though. The marker leads the way to a very secluded area of the cafe near the back. Even with the dimmer lighting and empty feeling for lack of presence, Fidelity didn’t seem perturbed.

“Now,” Marcella says once they’ve both slid into the booth, “I’m Marcella Mark, Private Eye, at your service.” She waits a beat. “But most people call me Sharpie.”

“Hi, Sharpie!” Fidelity smiles. “I’d shake y’hand but, well! Y’know!” She laughs, either at her lack of appendages or at her own statement, Marcella is unsure. But that mattered little.

What did was the fact this was the cheeriest client Marcella had ever had. Most people came to her crying and sobbing or loud and angry. Never happy-go-lucky like this. And especially not when they were trying to find someone.

“Yes, that is… um…” would it be insensitive to say unfortunate? Probably, right? Right. Best to just keep it moving. “Anyways,” Marcella says, crossing her hands in front of her, “Tell me about yourself.” Fidelity tilts their head to the side.

“Don’tcha wanna know about Liam?” Marcella nods.

“Yes, in due time. I like to know as much about my clients as their targets, though, so I’d appreciate it if you cooperated.”

Fidelity is quiet for one singular moment before bursting into a laugh. Marcella blinks.

“Did I… say something funny?” Fidelity shakes their head, all smiles.

“No, no! ‘t’s just that you’re so… oh, what’s the word?” The hook giggles as they think. “Y’know! Like… you’re so serious! You know?”

Marcella decidedly does not know. Was she supposed to be something else in this situation? She never had to be for any other client. Why would she start now?

“Um,” is all that will come from Marcella’s mouth, even when she tries to force it to make more. Not only is she rusty at her job, but she’s equally as rusty at reading new people she wasn’t prepared for. Anger was easy. Sorrow was easy. Whatever this was? It was the most difficult thing she’d ever faced. And this wasn’t even her target!

Fidelity seems to understand that no, this is not adding up whatsoever to Marcella, so they take a deep breath and shake themself out before telling their tale.

“Well, as you know, name’s Fidelity Sparks! But most’a my friends just call me Fi!” For simply being the first syllable of their name, they sure do seem quite pleased with it. “I’m a radio host for our local station, Pyne City Streets. You ever listen?”

“No,” Marcella replies, hoping it doesn’t come off as unkind. If it does, Fidelity doesn’t so much as flinch at the answer.

“You’ll have to hear sometime, then! Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I think it’s pretty good, hehe.”

It suddenly occurs to Marcella that she should be taking notes. You know, like some sort of private investigator or something.

Out of her pocket comes her handy dandy notebook, extensively decorated in absolutely nothing. Not that she didn’t want to, it just didn’t scream professionalism to walk onto a scene with rainbows and sparkles on the thing you were recording murder notes in.

“Fidelity… Sparks… Radio host… Pyne City Streets…” Marcella mumbles as she writes down the sparknotes so far. “Alright. Anything else?”

“Mmhm!” Fidelity nods. “I live here in the city. My apartment’s a little small, but it’s more than enough for me. I moved here when I was about… 17? 18? Can’t remember, honestly. I was a senior, though.”

Marcella nods, adding the notes to her book. “Thank you. Now,” she says, turning the page, “tell me about your missing friend.”

It’s like some sort of switch. From bubbly to pensive in just one moment. Their whole body seems to cave in on itself, if only just slightly. The only thing not giving them away is their smile, only the slightest bit more tense than before.

“Liam. Liam Orion. They’re…” Fidelity looks off to the side and for just a split second, a chip in their resolve seemingly breaking off. They’re just as quick to replace it, though. “They’re my best friend.”

Marcella jots down Liam’s name and relationship with Fidelity before pressing. “And when did they go missing?”

“Three days ago,” Fidelity answers without missing a beat. “They haven’t called, they haven’t texted, they haven’t shown up at their house… nothing.”

Suddenly the happy-go-lucky hook in front of them is nearly whispering, eyes glazed and clearly somewhere else. Marcella flips back over to their page and quickly scribbles down the sudden emotional shift before going back to Liam’s.

“Do they do that usually?” Marcella pries.

“No.” They still don’t look at her.

“I’m… very sorry to hear that,” Marcella offers. It’s not disingenuous, but it’s more of a thing she says out of habit than anything else. Still, Fidelity smiles. It’s a lot smaller and very subdued, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

“Thanks,” they say, sighing. “But snough’a that. There’s no time to mope when we should be busy trying to find them!”

And just like that, Fidelity is back to what seems to be their normal. Marcella nods.

“You said they haven’t been home recently. Do you know where they live?”

“Yeah! Right outside the city in a little shack their great something or other built. It’s really cool!” Marcella raises an eyebrow as she writes down the information.

“How’d they get clearance to do that? You’d think the city’d have a problem with it, yes?” Fidelity chuckles.

“Liam told me nepotism runs deep in their family. Some big business guy from the council or something let it happen and since they come from a pretty well off family, they keep the city officials at bay with some cash every so often.”

“Interesting.” Marcella takes note. “What do they do for a living?”

“Oh, Liam’s a computer whiz!” Fidelity smiles. “They go on these long business trips all the time for some big name guys.”

“Oh?” Marcella asks, furrowing her brows a bit. “Wouldn’t that make their disappearance routine?”

“No!” Fidelity shouts immediately, catching themself a moment later. “No,” they repeat. “‘Cause they normally at least text a couple times a day. Their phone’s been going straight to voicemail since they left.”

“You saw them off?” Fidelity shakes their head.

“No, but they sent me one last message before they went off. Here.” With a flourish of some kind, the hook produces their phone and taps it on. “Salexa, open Liam’s messages,” they command.

“Opening Liam’s messages,” their phone replies obediently.

With that, they push the phone towards Marcella, who picks it up. Lo and behold, while there are about a million messages to scroll through before reaching it, there is one last message from Fidelity’s friend. It reads simply, “got another trip. bbs, fi <3”. It’s dated three days ago.

“I see,” Marcella says slowly. “Do you mind if I take a picture of this?”

“Oh, just add yourself to my contacts and send it to yourself,” Fidelity grins. “I’ll need you on speed dial from now on anyways!”

“Ah, alright,” the marker says, a little subdued. While Fidelity was right, they were just so… friendly? Which was such an odd thing to have trouble with, but Marcella was nothing if not odd she supposed.

In silence she does as told, screenshotting the message and sending it to herself. In her pocket her phone trills. “I’ll be sure to add you back soon,” she assures, giving the phone back to its rightful owner. “I think that’s all the questions I can ask before we go out and start the search properly. Unless you have anything else to add?”

Fidelity puts on a really intensive thinking face for a moment. “Hmm…” Almost making a show of it, they tilt their head from side to side for just a moment before going, “Nope! Nothing I can think of right now, at least. I’ll text you if I do think of something though, ‘kay?”

“Alright,” Marcella nods, pocketing her notebook and standing. “I have to go and start a case file before anything else happens. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow?”

“Sure!” Fidelity beams, putting away their phone and standing as well. “I just wanna say before you go though, I really don’t know how I can thank you enough for hearing me out on this.”

“I can,” Marcella snarks before she gets the chance to think about it. She stiffens, worried that she may have thrown the gig already with her fast mouth, but Fidelity doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned.

“Oh? How?” they inquire, seeming rather genuine. Marcella bites her lip for a moment. Should she…?

Well. It was going to come up eventually anyways she supposed.

“My services start at 300,” she lowballs. Truthfully, she’d be asking for more, but she was hoping this would be open and shut enough that a tip would be given like usual. That, and if she asked for the 600 she normally would ask for out the gate, she was afraid of scaring away what might be her only ticket to staying homed.

To her relief, Fidelity doesn’t shrink back appalled or anything of the like. Instead they go, “Only 300? I remember seeing others ask for like a thousand to start off!” Marcella chuckles awkwardly.

“Heh… let’s just say I’m running a special right now.” Fidelity laughs.

“Okay! Whatever you say, Sharpie!” Then, without warning, they lean onto her in what she assumes is an armless hug. “Thank you so much!”

It takes every single shred of willpower Marcella has to not push them off. “No problem,” she grits out instead. She needed this job. Her personal bubble could be invaded for a moment if it needed to be.

After what felt like an eternity too long, Fidelity lifts up. “Catch you here tomorrow! Will you text me when?”

“Of course.”

“Awesome! See you, then!” And with that, Fidelity is off. With a quick goodbye to Carlie, the bell above the doorway jingles and the hook is gone.

Marcella pulls out her phone. She sends a quick, “This is Marcella Mark.” to the new number in her messages before registering it as Fidelity and saving the image. She would download it on her laptop later too for the case file proper, but a backup never hurt anyone.

Right. Time to go do that.

“Bye, Carlie,” Marcella calls as she passes by.

“Seeya, hun!” the owner calls back.

And out the door goes Marcella Mark, newly hired private investigator, back to her dinky apartment.

—

Keyboard taps fill the night air. Marcella has been at her desk since the moment she came home. Making a new file was no walk in the park. Sure, relaying the notes she took was easy enough, but then came the digging.

Liam was a quote unquote “computer whiz.” They had to have some sort of online presence. And sure enough, they did. But it was sparse. Like, stupidly sparse. For someone who did stuff for big names, there certainly wasn’t any boasting about it anywhere Marcella could find. In fact, there wasn’t much more than basic facts about them.

Their name, pronouns and species were all that was listed on the whopping three different accounts Marcella could find of them. Even things such as basic likes or dislikes weren’t anywhere to be seen. Just small details and the fact that they could, “fix anything or your money back!”

This was getting her nowhere. They had to have some sort of personal account somewhere, certainly? But how could she find it? She’d been on this search for hours! It wasn’t like there was anyone else who could–

Bzzt!

Oh. Her phone.

Marcella picks up her cellular and reads the message sent to her. It reads, “Sorry! I know it’s late, but I couldn’t sleep and I just wanted to thank you again. I hope you have a good night!”

Beside herself, Marcella smiles. It was kind of them to wish her a nice night. Certainly the first time a client had ever done that for sure. She quickly likes the message and puts her phone back down before pouring over her laptop again.

It takes maybe three seconds too long for her to realize her mistake.

“Oh, duh!” she sighs, hitting her head. If literally anyone would know of a personal account, it would be their best friend.

“Fidelity. Do you know if Liam had a personal account on any social media?”

The text back comes sooner than Marcella was expecting. It simply links to an account on BBApp.com. Marcella clicks on it…

Bingo.

The page is decorated extensively, as much as the website allows. The username is lopener98 and the icon must be none other than Liam Orion themself. Pictures of them and Fidelity flood the account. Little else is there save for scattered opinions on operating systems and movies and the like.

That’s more than okay, though. Marcella could work with this.

As she scours the account, she notices once again the last posts seem to be around the time they disappeared. But that wasn’t really important. What was, however, was the way BBApp processed the information of the posts hosted on their site.

Right under their last post, a picture of them holding a peace sign in front of a comically large check, had a location attached to it.

Marcella smirks at her screen. “Liam Orion,” she chuckles, “Prepare to be found!”