“Thanks,” I smile as I look at it. It’s a simple painting, a family from the back holding hands, a little girl between the mom and the dad - a beautiful garden spreading out before them as though the world has all the possibilities in it. It makes me happy and sad all at once - that’s a juxtaposition that I’ve just learned to embrace, that I’ll have to continue to embrace, I think now for the rest of my life.
“It makes me happy,” I say, but my voice certainly doesn’t sound happy. Amanda takes my hand, and we walk to the couch. She sits me down. She flutters away to the kitchen. She can do that apparently in any house, not just her own. She grabs some ice cream and two spoons and sits down beside me.
I always make sure to keep ice cream on hand for Amanda’s visits.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says.
“Did you run all the way here to tell me?” I reply with a grin.
“Ha, ha,” she rolls her eyes. “No, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I just - I didn’t know how to broach it. I still don’t know how to broach it, but… I think it needs to be said, and I’m going to say it.”
“I’m going to need ice cream for this, aren’t I?” I scoop a bit spoonful of ice cream and shove it in my mouth.
She laughs nervously. She takes a deep breath, “Look, I know this isn’t where you intended to be. Pregnant, with the father of your baby dead.”
She’s making it really hard to focus on how delicious this ice cream is. I let her continue, taking another spoonful.
“I think it might be time for you to move on, Laura. Find another guy… There are lots of good people out there who’d be happy to take you in and your baby - continue living your life so that this child also has a father.”
“Well, they’ll have a father figure,” I mumble. “I mean, my brother will be around, so Uncle Dan’s going to be popular.”
“Yes…” Amanda says. I take another spoonful of ice cream. She’s right, I’m not liking this at all. “But to have someone invested the way that a father could be…”
I cut her off, “My child has a father, Amanda, that father is Chris Heed. Whether he’s here or not, doesn’t matter. I don’t need a man to do this. I had a good one, even if I didn’t know him for long, and I’m happy to let things stay like that.”
Amanda looks like she’s trying to find words to continue. I sigh.
“Look, Amanda. I know you mean well, but the reality of it is, I’ve never been much of a dater. I don’t like that many people to start with. You know this is true. I’m particular with my friends and even more so with my partners.”
My mind flashes back to Chris’ face, laughing, encouraging me, listening. I close my eyes.
“The truth is, I don’t want to just settle for anybody else. If I can’t have Chris, then I’ll just wait to see if I meet somebody else somewhere down the line that makes me feel like he did that night. And if I don’t get that? I’m okay, Amanda. I have a good brother, a good family, I have you… and soon I’ll have this child.” I’m looking her in the eye now, making sure she listens to what I’m saying, “I will not be lonely, because I’ll have all of those things. It’s not going to be traditional, and it certainly won’t be a nuclear family unit, but it will be a good family, and I will make sure that this child is loved. That’s going to have to be enough because that’s all I can do right now. That’s all I might ever be able to do, Amanda.”
I can see tears glistening in the corner of her eyes. She nods and bites her lower lip, and then she gives a soft laugh.
“That’s more than most people can do, let’s face it. You’re right. I’m sorry, I just really want you to be happy. You’re my BFF, you know?”
“You’re mine, too.”
We each grab a spoonful of ice cream, knock them together in a toast, and then we eat the rest of the container in silence, each contemplating what the future has in store, as the baby kicks and dances around inside me.
I smile and rub my belly.
The baby likes ice cream. That’s good. The baby is going to love their Auntie Amanda, of that, I have no doubt.
11
Chris
Six months ago.
The first indication that something is wrong is a muffled pop in the distance. I look up from the file I’ve been engrossed in. I’m finally seeing all the connections of how this network has been built, where the money has been going. We’ve even found some of the mob’s accounts. Although we’ve given them no indication of it and won’t until we’re ready to go to trial.
It’s only been a few weeks, but - in a way - being forced into retreat and bringing us all together to only focus on this and nothing else has proved to be a blessing. With all of the material witnesses I need in one area, and all of the files I didn’t have access to beforehand, this case is building itself much, much more quickly.
Which is great. That means I get to go home soon. I get to call Laura again. I get to hang out with Dan. I get to sleep in my own bed.
Pop. A second pop which completely breaks my concentration from the file I’ve been reading. I stand up. I walk towards my window and look down, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. My window faces the courtyard, as most of them do - an extra security measure.
From the second floor, everything looks okay, except a few of the clients in the middle of the courtyard are looking up towards the west.
Another pop. And then a scream.
I see Miriam grab Ruth and start running towards another door. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. Before thinking better of it, I run out of my office and I’m heading down towards the courtyard to help them with whatever’s going wrong.
I turn a corner, and one of the FBI agents here, one of the regular guards, is face down on the floor, blood pooling around his head.
I look wildly around. Nobody else is here. Whoever did this is moving inside the building. I don’t know how to get everyone out; we haven’t discussed a contingency plan for being under attack.
But, I know that I at least have to get everyone to safety, that has to be my primary concern. I run towards the courtyard, but I’m a little bit more careful when I turn the corner, in case there’s a gunman waiting there. I don’t know who’s here, but I can take a good guess.
This must be the Malcon family’s doing. They’ve somehow found where we are, and we need to get out. I think back to the files on my desk - all of the evidence that I need is piled there. If I don’t get that, it’ll take me so much longer to rebuild my case. But, I can’t go back. It’s either that or the clients, and even though all of their confessions and testimonials are written in those files...to let them die? For this? No. I promised I would try to keep them safe, and I intend to keep my promise.
A few people are running towards me now, and I see Ruth and Miriam.
“This way,” I shout. There’s a utility room just off the main access. The doors to the outside are generally kept locked, just in case someone panics, so I’m not sure we can get out. But we can certainly take cover. We need a room without immediate access to the outside, that can lock from within. I’m not sure this is the room, but it’s going to have to do, because I’ve just heard another pop down the corridor, not far from here.
“Quickly, quickly,” I whisper. I don’t want to draw more attention to myself. Ruth and Miriam are with me as are a couple of others. We all crowd into the utility closet, and I close the door, which automatically locks.
It’s dark in here, and I hush them all quiet. Ruth is crying softly. I put my hand on her shoulder, “Shh… quiet now.”
A pop, not far from the door. I’m standing in front of the door, just in case they decide to riddle it with bullets. Let them hit me first, and not the people I’ve sworn an oath to myself to protect. Not them, who are innocent people who just want to live their lives. They’ve done nothing wrong, except open up shops and buy homes in the wrong neighborhood.
We’re all trying to be quiet, to hold our breath as much as po
ssible or at least calm it down. I’m focused solely on trying to hear what’s happening out there.
Footsteps. I’ve no doubt there’s someone near. Someone near with a lot of hatred and a lot of bullets.
There’s rustling, the handle moves a bit. Ruth whimpers. I squeeze her shoulder, and she grows quiet.
The air around us becomes thick with anticipation. I don’t think any of us are breathing. The door handle loosens again, and then they re-try it.
Click click click click click.
It doesn’t budge. If they try to kick it in, they’re going to hit me. I don’t have far enough to go into the utility closet to avoid it. But if I throw myself against it, I’ll be able to stop some of them from rushing in or starting to fire right away.
I take a step towards the door, put my hands against it and close my eyes in the darkness. I’ll be their second door, keeping everyone in here safe for as long as I can. I’ll take the bullets or the kicking of the door. I’ll take it, and I’ll stop them. I vow to myself that no matter what, they’ll not get past me.
I hear shuffling outside. Someone is doing something. There are murmurs, low voices.
And then, another shot. A grunt. Something falls right outside the door. I stay near it. I wish I could look back and give everyone a comforting look, but I can’t because it’s so dark in here. All I can do is hold the door and wait for impact.
I hear some screams. I think I hear someone scream, “FBI. Stop.” Then, there’s running, a lot of running. Then the corridor is quiet. We can’t stay in here forever. It’s safe for now, but for how long?
“Stay here,” I whisper over my shoulder. I take the handle and open it gently, careful not to make a sound. Even the soft sound of the door opening is too much. But I crack it nonetheless. I take a peek. I see shoes there. Shoes from someone who’s fallen over. I look back, catch all of their eyes, make sure that they know to stay.
Miriam nods to me and holds Ruth more tightly.
I take one step outside and look up and down the corridor. It’s empty now. The man, wearing all black, is down on the ground, having taken a shot near the heart and bled out. His eyes are vacant as he looks up. He’s definitely not FBI, and unless I’m mistaken, this man is from the mob.
I don’t want to mess with the body. I’ve represented enough court procedures where somebody’s messed with the body trying to find something, and the evidence is thrown out of court. I step over it gingerly, and then I look up and down the corridor again. Nobody else is here.
My heart stops as a shadow appears to my left. But it’s Gerald, one of our regular FBI officers stepping forward. He’s coming through the main access corridor. He looks ruffled, but none the worse for wear.
“It’s all clear now,” he shouts down the corridor. “Two gunmen. Not even sure where they came from.” He looks frustrated, annoyed, guilty. But not guilty because he had anything to do with it. Guilty because he couldn’t stop it.
“I don’t know what they were hoping to do exactly… I mean just come here and shoot everyone? There was no way they were going to get away with that.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?” I shout back.
He nods, “Yeah, we did a perimeter sweep. We’re good now, and we’re in lock-down. Nobody else is getting in.”
“Great,” I say and step back in. Just as I’m about to invite the others to come out, a concussive blow resounds through the entire building. The air seems to suck out for a second, and then it slams into me, throwing me into the utility closet, the entire building shaking around us, as though an earthquake is devouring it.
The shock knocks me into the back wall, where I hit my head. I want to tell them to run. I want to tell them to stay safe. I want to tell them it’s going to be okay. But before I can do any of those things or figure out exactly what’s going on, I pass out, the darkness swallowing me whole.
Six Months Later.
I stare at the notes in the piles of papers. Every file that was lost in the bombing of the old community center has been reconstructed to the best of our abilities. Thankfully, the original investigative reports were kept in the various precincts where the accusations had happened against the Malcon family.
As it happens, the evidence is showing that the Malcons traveled from city to city over time, and there are three different sections of the family, as far as we can tell. The main section is located in my city, while the other two are in other big cities.
But it looks like we have enough to bring down the entire organization. We could just bring down the one in my city now, but that would mean that one of the other arms would come and reclaim that territory for themselves, leaving our clients in a more dire situation than they are now.
Of course, the bombing was dire enough. I’m still exhausted though my head is fine now. It took about a month for the headaches to stop - the concussion had been so great. A few burns on my back, but nothing too serious. I was lucky. If I hadn’t been stepping back into that utility closet at the time, I’d be dead.
They’d made that clear to me. Gerald hadn’t been so lucky, trying to tell us everything was safe he got blown to pieces.
The two gunmen had only been there as a distraction while they set the bombs in the four corners of the building. At least the FBI agents had detected the fourth bomb, which was the one closest to us and would have seen us all dead if they hadn’t disarmed it. But still, eighty-four people died in that explosion.
Agents. Clients. Mobsters. All gone, just like that.
But that’s not what the newspapers reported. For the newspapers, it was just a vacant community center that had blown up for unexplained reasons because we couldn’t afford for people to know what was going on exactly - especially that there had been survivors. Not many. Seventeen had survived, altogether, including Miriam and Ruth, for which I am grateful.
I can’t imagine the nightmares I’d have now if not for at least those two surviving. And I have enough nightmares as it stands.
All I’ve done so far is try to protect them. To keep them safe. To make sure that they have a home to go back to. And I just seem to keep failing, over and over again.
First, they had to leave their homes, and then the place they called safe got destroyed. And now, the FBI hasn’t put us all back together, that’s for sure. Now, I have to travel in vehicles with tinted windows, not knowing where I am going. Sometimes we drive for hours to get to my clients to interview them.
The only two who’ve been allowed to stay together are Miriam and Ruth. Ruth ran into my arms the last time I saw her, probably the last time I’ll see her, too, unless I can win this case.
I lean back in my chair and stretch. My back hurts, and I’m starting to get a headache. I notice that it’s dark. I’ve been working long hours, trying to get this done. I’d been so close to getting home again, after weeks in that place. I’d had everything I needed to finally bring them down. But that had been six months ago… six months.
Whatever hope I’d had of just stepping back into my life were withering away. What were the chances that Laura would still be waiting for me? I wish I could call her. I wish I could pick up my phone and we could chat about stories, and cases, and laugh about stale jokes, and even discuss paintings. I don’t care, as long as it’s with her.
Just to feel loved and really seen, not just as a lawyer out to get the people, or whatever it is people say about us, but as someone who’s trying to make a difference, as someone who cares about people. That one night I’d spent with her, that’s how it felt. Like she could really see who I am and accept me.
Maybe it was her writer’s imagination, seeing more than just the cover after all. But I think it was more than that. It was an empathy that she shared with her brother. Something that made her see beyond the surface. I miss that. It’s not all that I miss, too.
So many nights alone, dreaming about her, wanting to hold her, to be with her again. It was frustrating, to say the least.
But I had to focus
on this case. The more I focus on this, the quicker I get to see her again, and hope that she waits for me, somehow, even though she probably thinks I’m dead. I know they told my law firm I’m dead. If Dan knows, and if she asks at all about me - which part of me hopes she did - then she thinks I’m dead too. Who waits for a dead man?
Still, this case… it’s easy enough to focus on it seeing as there’s absolutely nothing else to do. I have cable television, sure, but there’s nothing on tv, this much is clear.
In a couple of weeks, I should be able to bring the full case forward and slowly step back into my old life. The plan is pretty simple - bring everyone together who can help from my law firm - the people I trust the most. Then we go to court directly after two days of intense training and bringing everyone up to speed in a closed environment to keep everyone safe - then we hit the courts hard and fast.
As far as the Malcons are concerned, no little people are going to fight back. The Malcons’ goal is to not leave anybody alive that could build a case against them. We want to take them by surprise. If we can do that? Throw them off their game and bring enough evidence to find them, at the very least, guilty of racketeering and corruption, and at most, criminally responsible for the deaths of eighty-four people? Maybe even more, if we look into past cases? That would be perfect.
Then, they’d be behind bars, and I’d be safe to step back into my life. And hopefully, to step back into Laura’s life.
12
Laura
In my mind’s eye, I still see myself as a very graceful individual. Well, more or less graceful - someone who manages to turn on a dime, who can walk like a normal person, and who does not, in fact, look like a giant beached whale that waddles like a duck.
But, unfortunately, I’m pretty sure I’m more of the latter rather than the former at this point. At eight months, I am feeling this child.
Forbidden Neighbor: A Contemporary Romance Boxset (Forbidden Saga Book 2) Page 36
