by A J Rivers
When I get to the end of the hall, rustling in the living room catches my attention. I head in that direction, and a sudden blast of movement from the side of the room startles me. I don't have a chance to process what I'm seeing before a mass hits me, and I land on the floor. My phone lands by my hand and bounces a couple of feet away. I scramble over to it and hit the other one just before getting a hard kick to the back of my head.
Whoever kicked me either knew exactly what they were doing or didn't know at all because it wasn't enough to cause any serious damage. But it was enough to make consciousness tighten down from the corners of my eyes like a tunnel getting narrower.
I'm only out for a few seconds, it seems. The next thing I know, I feel hands grab me. As they pull me up off the floor, I turn and swing a punch.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says. “It's just me. Calm down.”
My vision goes clear, and I'm able to focus on the face hovering over me.
“Gabriel?” I ask, blinking away the darkness. “What are you doing here?”
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, slowly coming back to my senses. “Somebody was in my house. He kicked me.”
Gabriel helps me sit all the way up.
“Are you okay? You think you can stand, or do you need to sit there for a few more seconds?”
“I'm going to sit here,” I say. “I called 911; they should be on the way. What are you doing here?”
“I was going down the street to visit a buddy of mine, and I saw a guy burst out through the front door and run down the street. I realized it was your house after I saw him, so I was worried. I came in here to check on you and saw you passed out,” he says.
“Did you see the guy clearly?” I ask. “Could you tell who he was?”
Gabriel shook his head. “No. I mean, I could see that he was wearing jeans and a red sweatshirt. That's it. I didn't see his face or anything. Did he just come in here?”
“He broke in through the back door,” I say. “I was in my office, and I heard the glass break.”
“Where's your car? It doesn't even look as if you're home,” he says.
“It's in the shop,” I say. “Sam took it in this morning. He must have either already come back for his squad car or had somebody else bring him back by to pick it up while I was in the shower. I've been gone so much, and without the car here, it probably does look as if I'm not here. That would be why he decided to try to break in now.”
“Did he get anything?” Gabriel asks.
“I don't think so,” I say. “He was only in here for a few seconds, and he just went from the kitchen into the living room. It doesn't look as if he tried to take any of the art or collectibles. The TV hasn't been touched. But, again, he was only in here for a few seconds. He really didn’t get an opportunity.”
“What about the drawers?” he asks.
I look over and notice the drawers and the sideboard are standing open. Glancing behind me, I notice the drawers in the buffet in the dining room are open, too.
“I don't know,” I say.
“Are they like that in the kitchen?” he asks.
“Honestly, I didn't even look in there. When I was coming out of the office, I heard somebody in the living room, so I came this way.”
“You sit here,” Gabriel says. “I'm going to go check.”
He heads into the back of the house and a few seconds later returns, nodding.
“They're all standing open. There's stuff all over the floor, as if whoever it was tossed everything out of a couple of the drawers.”
A second later, lights and sirens announce the arrival of the police. Sam rushes in first and drops down in front of me, holding my face in his hands.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“I'm fine,” I tell him. “It just startled me more than anything. Took me by surprise.”
“The guy kicked her in the back of the head,” Gabriel says. “She was out for a few seconds.”
“Seriously?” Sam asks.
I roll my eyes. “I'm fine. My head hurts, but I'll be okay. He didn't aim for any of the really soft places.”
Sam takes my hands and helps me up to my feet. He kisses both hands, then holds them to his chest and leans down so he can look into my eyes.
“You will do anything to make me come home from work early, won't you?” he teases.
I laugh. “Absolutely. That was my plan all along. That guy was just from the high school theater department.”
Sam kisses me on the forehead and leads me over to the couch so I can sit down. Three EMTs armed with what looks like a mobile hospital packed up into red bags rush inside.
“Guys,” I call over. “It's fine. Stand down. There's no blood." I slide my eyes over to Sam and lower my voice under my breath. "There's no blood, right?"
He peeks at the back of my head and shakes his. "No."
"There's no blood," I say, lifting my voice up again.
One of the EMTs, a young man I have encountered a couple of times before, lets out a sigh of relief.
"It's always a concern when we find out we're getting a call involving you," he says.
My mouth opens, but no effective sounds come out, and I close it.
"Thank you, Miller," Sam says. "I appreciate it that you guys rushed out here. Emma seems okay, but I would feel better if you would give her a quick once over. Just to be sure."
I sit on the couch while they shine a light in my eyes and have me follow it back and forth. Another of them presses her fingers into the back of my head to find the tender spot.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" Miller asks.
I shake my head. "No. I'm fine. Not the first time I've been knocked out for a few seconds."
"And probably not the last." He packs up his materials and smiles at me. "Have a good day."
My eyes slide slowly over to Sam as they leave.
"Resounding endorsement of me," I mutter. "Just kind of in general."
“If everything's okay, I think I'm going to go ahead and go,” Gabriel says.
Hearing his voice startles me a little. I had almost forgotten he was even in the house. Sam looks over at him and nods.
“Thank you for coming in and helping her,” he says.
“She didn't really need my help,” Gabriel answers with a smile. “Emma can handle herself.”
“She can,” Sam agrees. “But that doesn't mean it isn’t good to have backup every now and then. If you don't mind, would you stop by the police station whenever you have a chance and make a report?”
He looks a little hesitant. “I didn't really see much. But I'll tell you everything I know.”
“Thank you,” Sam says. “Sometimes, it seems as if you don't have any information that could be helpful, and it turns out to be critical.”
“Thank you, Gabriel,” I say. “I really do appreciate you coming in here like that. And it was good to see you.”
He smiles. “You, too.”
He leaves, and Sam gets up to close the door and lock it.
“Tell me what actually happened,” he says.
“I did,” I say. “That is exactly what happened. I came out of my office because I heard glass breaking, I heard somebody in the living room, and I got knocked on my ass. Then I started to get up and got kicked in the head. That's really all that happened.”
“And you didn't see anything else?” he asks.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Because you're famous for leaving out details so you can figure things out for yourself.”
“That's not what I'm doing this time. My car, as you know, isn't here. It looks as if I'm not home, and I haven't been for weeks. Somebody was probably just watching and thought this was a good opportunity, not realizing that I'm here.”
“But what were they looking for?” Sam asks.
I shake my head. “That's the thing. He was only in here for a few seconds. But all the drawers are open. It's
as if he came in and just systematically opened every drawer he came across as he walked through the house. He dug through them and tossed stuff out. He was looking for something specific.”
“And small,” Sam says. “Something that would fit in a drawer.”
“Only one thing I can think of might be catching somebody's attention,” I say.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Maybe it wasn't random,” I say.
I get up and go to the kitchen. Running my hand over the counter, I look on the floor, then on the table. I go into my office and search the desk and the carpet.
"What is it?" Sam asks.
"The key," I tell him. "It's gone."
Chapter Ten
“Somebody knows what that key is to," I say. "And it was important enough for them to break into my house to get it."
“How could they know?” Sam asks. “You just picked it up from the police.”
“I know,” I nod. “But it was obviously important. Now I have to figure out not just what it unlocks, but who would want whatever it is enough to steal the key.”
"The key was setting on the kitchen counter, right?" Sam asks. "Then why go through the drawers in the other rooms?"
"I don't know. Maybe looking for the same thing I was. Direction."
My phone starts ringing, and I look around, trying to remember where it ended up when I hit the ground. I see it and scoop it up just as it's about to cut off.
“Hello?” I say.
“Griffin? Are you okay? You sound terrible,” comes Creagan’s voice.
“Today is just a fantastic day for making me feel good about myself,” I mutter.
“What?” Creagan asks.
“Nothing,” I sigh. “What do you need?”
“I need you to get your ass back here to Harlan,” he says.
“Why? Is something going on?”
“Just a hearing tomorrow,” he says.
“What hearing?” I ask.
“What's going on?” Sam asks. I shake my head. “It's Creagan,” I mouth.
“Xavier Renton,” he says.
That's all he needs to say. My eyes light up, and I reach for Sam. He stands up and comes over to me so I can grab onto his shirt and hold it tight to keep me steady.
“He's getting a new trial?” I gasp.
“The decision just came down,” Creagan explains. “They're willing to do a hearing tomorrow afternoon to determine the next steps. I think if you're here to speak on his behalf, it could make a major difference. Oh, and while you're here, maybe you'd like to use the search warrant I plan on securing to go to the temple.”
I let out a cheer.
“I leave for two days and everything happens," I say.
"Maybe we just needed you out of our way," he cracks.
"What the hell is going on today?" I ask Sam, turning my face away from the phone. "Everybody is just dancing around on me."
"Griffin? Griffin, are you listening?" Creagan asks.
“Yeah, I'm here. Sorry. Tell me what happened,” I say.
“Some of the details that Xavier told you turned out to be right. I can't really get into it a whole lot more than that, but it was enough to convince the courts to grant him a new trial, and I'm all but positive I'll be able to get us a search warrant. You need to get back here as soon as you can,” he says.
“I thought I was in your way,” I say.
“Shut the hell up, Griffin, and get your ass back here.”
“Lovely speaking with you, too, Creagan.”
I hang up the phone and throw my arms around Sam's neck.
“Can you believe it? They're going to give Xavier a new trial. His hearing is tomorrow. I need to be there to speak for him. I need to be able to tell them that they should release him from the facility until his new trial date,” I say.
“Do you think that’s best for him?” Sam asks, worry clouding his features.
My face drops slightly. “Why would you ask that? How could you possibly think it would be better for him to stay in jail?”
“He's been in custody a long time, Emma,” Sam says. “Maybe he's not ready to be out in the world. And would he be okay in Harlan, where all the power players have knives out for him?”
“So, he should have to stay locked up forever? They captured him and threw him in a cage for something he didn't do. So just because he thinks differently from other people and sees the world in his own way, he should just stay there? Because they stole his freedom from him and altered how he's able to perceive the world around him, that should be his consistent reality now? It should be all he ever knows?”
“You're right,” Sam relents. “I'm sorry. That was really insensitive of me, and I shouldn’t have said it. I just don't want anything to happen to him. He’s been through so much.”
"I know. Neither do I."
He looks at me for a few seconds. "What is it?"
"It feels strange leaving here after all this just happened," I say.
"One thing at a time, Emma. You can't stay here hoping you'll figure out the key. I’ll take care of that and let you know what I find as soon as I can. They need you in Harlan."
I gather Sam into my arms and hold him close. I don't want to leave again. I want to be right here with him. But the need to finish what I started pulls me away from Sherwood and back to the hotel room I didn't even bother checking out of. Sam will be there soon. A few more days here in Sherwood and then he'll come back to help in Harlan.
I wish he could be there for the hearing. He doesn't know Xavier. He can't speak to his character or how he would manage once out of a facility. I don't want Sam there for Xavier. I want him there for me. But this is something I'm going to have to do on my own.
When I get back to the hotel and unpack, I call Dean. We talk about the whole situation, and by the time I get off the phone, I feel better. The night ahead of me seems long. But soon enough, tomorrow will come.
The next day, I know we won't be standing in front of Sterling Jennings when we go in, but my stomach still twists right before we step through the doors. It took this long for us to be able to secure a time to be in front of another judge. It won't change now. But I wouldn't be able to stand there and face Jennings, knowing what he did, knowing he would snatch away Xavier's chances.
We listen to the lawyer present Xavier's case and outline the new developments. Tension makes the muscles along the sides of my neck and behind my shoulders so tight they hurt. Finally, it's time for the lawyer to present our recommendation and the judge to come to her conclusion.
"I want to be clear here," she starts, her eyes scrolling over notes she has spread in front of her. "I have experience with Mr. Renton. I've seen his behavior and witnessed the difficulty he often has with communication and aligning his thoughts with the world around him. It is my understanding that before he was incarcerated, he received a considerable amount of assistance from friends, including Andrew Eagan."
Xavier draws in a deep breath that seems to drag him up a few inches, then he deflates. He looks over at me. I can see the expression in his eyes. The anxiety is creeping up. He wants to say something, but he's struggling to hold it back.
"It's alright," I whisper. "You're going to be alright."
"The lights," he whispers back. "They're too much."
I glance up and, for the first time, notice the intensity of the overhead lighting. It has always been bright. That's just part of the courtroom. But now I'm seeing how stark the lights are. Even more intense than the fluorescent lights in the visiting room at the facility where I see him.
"I know,” I tell him. “They’re a lot. But you can get through this.” I think for a few seconds and something comes into my mind. “Pretend you're in a vending machine. All the lights are surrounding you. Now, which one of those snacks is choosing you?”
He draws in a breath and left it out slowly.
“Pop Rocks,” he says.
“Which one do you want, though?” I ask. “
Tell yourself to be not what chooses you, but what you want. I know a potato chip would probably choose me earlier. Breakable, salty. But I would rather the cookie want to be me. So, I'm being resilient and flexible."
He nods.
"Excuse me. Ms. Griffin, I'm in charge of this hearing," the judge says.
I look around Xavier to her.
"I apologize, your honor. Xavier is feeling anxious, but we have it under control," I say.
"Do you, Mr. Renton?" she asks.
"Yes," Xavier says, nodding. He looks stronger now. "I'm ready to continue."
"Good. As I was saying, some of what I've seen of Mr. Renton concerns me. While I understand his intelligence is considerably above average, he has challenges with perception and basic life functioning that make me wonder if he will be able to assimilate into life outside of the structure of the facility," she says.
"Yes, we understand that, your honor," the lawyer says. "Which is why we came up with the plan we presented. I believe it will properly respect Mr. Renton's rights while also giving him the opportunity to grow accustomed to the world he will be living in again, once his new trial proves his innocence."
"And you are in agreement with this plan?" the judge asks, her eyes moving to the side of the table.
Dean stands, adjusting his suit jacket. He gives a firm nod. "Yes, your honor."
Chapter Eleven
“Thank you for agreeing to be my handler,” Xavier says to Dean as we walk out of the courtroom.
“That's not what I am,” Dean says.
“Yes,” Xavier says. “It's exactly what you are. You're going to live with me and help me do all the things I'm supposed to do every day while I get used to the world again, so I don't wander off or fall apart. Because apparently, that's what the judge believes I will do.”
“I hate the way she was talking about you,” I say. “All of them. They were all acting as if you can't function, as if you can’t get through a day without someone there to help you.”
“Why does that upset you?” Xavier asks.
“Because it’s not right,” I say.
