Landon: FBI Special Agent: FBI Brotherhood Book #3

by Ann, Bry

  “There’s that.”

  “Okay, Essie,” I say softly.

  She nods stiffly. “Is Ellie on her way here? I don’t have all day. I don’t—”

  “Essie.” Her angry green eyes snap to me. “I get what you’re doing. I get you have to be hard. But Ellie’s on her way in. Just… know I’ll be here for you after. You don’t have to be hard in front of her to survive it. I’ll be here. That’s all I'm gonna say.”

  She stares at me, but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. I know she heard me and will do the right thing.

  Sure enough, two minutes later, the door is being pushed open by Shiloh, who yes, has officially adopted a stubborn, hurting six year old.

  Before Shiloh can even greet us, Ellie is running forward with a sob.

  “MISS ESSIE!”

  Before Essie has time to wrap her mind around anything or prepare herself, Ellie is slamming into Essie’s waist and squeezing as tight as an insanely blonde-haired, blue-eyed six year old can.

  “Thank you for being my hero when Mama couldn’t even though you were sick.”

  A weird sound comes out of Shiloh’s mouth. It raises my attention, so I glance over. She’s emotional. When she catches me looking, she sends me a death glare. I quirk an eyebrow. She flips me off and I laugh before looking back at Essie and Ellie.

  Essie is now down on one knee, holding Ellie tight. Essie meets my eyes with tears dripping off of her eyelashes. I nod at her.

  Just a little longer. I got you. You get her.

  She hisses out a breath between her teeth and gently pushes Ellie back a bit so she can face her.

  “I heard you did such a good job for…” Essie trails off, choking on her words.

  “Mama,” Ellie cries softly. Essie just nods. “She loved flowers and chocolate and funny music. We didn’t have the money for those things when we were a team, but she loved them. So…”

  “You got all you could for her.”

  “Yes. Do you think she would have liked it? You knew my mom, right? I can tell. You love her, too.”

  To add to Essie’s already fragile emotions, Ellie wipes the tears from Essie’s eyes.

  “Is that ‘cause you love her?”

  Essie doesn’t respond. Her hands are fisted so tightly that her knuckles are white, so I go over and place my hands on her shoulders. Her muscles relax under my fingers.

  “I need someone else to love my mom! I need to know you loved her, too!”

  Ellie starts to sob.

  “She was the bestest in the whole entire world. Did you love her?!”

  “Very much, Ellie. Your mom was my sister. She knew another girl, too. And Sage loved her, too. You know your mama’s hippo?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, your mom gave it to Sage when she was sad. Sage sleeps with it every night.”

  “Why isn’t Sage here?”

  Essie goes completely rigid, so I jump in.

  “You know how Essie can get sick sometimes?”

  Ellie nods.

  “Sage is sick a lot and being here would make her so sad, it’d make her sicker. Your mom wouldn’t want that.”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” Ellie murmurs. “I’ll pray for her every day. Maybe one day she’ll want to meet me.”

  “She definitely will,” Essie whispers. “Look, Ellie, I can’t be there today, but I wrote your mom a letter that Landon is gonna read for me.”

  “‘Cause you’re sick, too, and the bad men hurt you?”

  “It’s adult talk, but I want to be there. I just… I…” She’s losing it.

  “It’s okay,” Ellie says, seeming to catch on. She hugs Essie again. “I’ll get you some of the flowers and the chocolates. I can’t wait to hear your letter.”

  Essie grunts. Ellie pulls away, smiling gently at her.

  “You’re so much like her, Ellie. Your mom would be so proud of you.”

  Ellie’s eyes fill with tears. “That means so much to me, Miss Essie. Thank you.”

  With one last hug, Essie and I are alone and she’s back in my arms.

  * * *

  I take the stand, letting a deep breath out between my teeth. I'm surrounded by the overwhelming smell of lilies. There are about a million chocolates in the room where we’re holding Pamela’s wake. There’s really upbeat music playing and pictures of the stunning, courageous woman all throughout the room.

  Somehow, it’s perfect.

  Ellie’s in a frilly white gown with a pink ribbon in her hair, tied at the top. Her big blue eyes are filled with tears and it breaks my damn heart. Her blue eyes remind me so much of Evie as a girl.

  Turning away from her, I face the crowd before me.

  “Essie couldn’t be here today, so I'm gonna go ahead and read this for her.”

  I clear my throat and take another deep breath and read from the letter Essie wrote.

  I don’t really know how to begin this letter. Years ago, words came so easily to me, even if they came out wrong, but they don’t seem to anymore. I can never find the right words to say things.

  So expect this letter to fail Pamela on all counts.

  But I’ll still try for her. That’s all she would have cared about. That I tried.

  It took me 109 hours and 47 minutes to write this, and still, I can’t find the words.

  I only ever knew Pamela Reynolds as Pamela. I didn’t know she had a last name. I didn’t know she had a beautiful daughter.

  I didn’t want to. See, I was already broken when she was brought into my life by force. But still, Pamela made it impossible not to know she had hopes and dreams. Pamela had more fight, more strength than anyone I’ve ever met.

  She was constantly positive. Constantly fought. She never let the monsters win. She was the first and only woman to do that. Even her death was an “eff you” because she left pieces of herself behind. With Sage and her favorite stuffed hippo. With Ellie and the beautiful heart she gave her. With me and… what she gave me is different. Something only I can understand. A feeling of belonging that only she was able to give me.

  I hope she knew I loved her. Every night, I cry, wondering how I could have been so cold to the woman who was my every reason to live when I no longer wanted to.

  She took on Sage, just a girl at the time, and protected her as best she could in hell. I felt better knowing Sage had her, even if I got jealous sometimes.

  Pamela was a literal angel. I feel her loss every day of my life.

  Unfortunately, this is all I can say. I keep losing myself writing this letter. I wish that didn’t happen. I wish I could stay present and not drift off.

  But this is my reality without her.

  So I’ll close this off by saying, Pamela, I love you, sis. Sage does, too. You wouldn’t want her here, either.

  Thank you for saving me.

  Your sister ‘til the end of time-

  Tammy

  There’s not a dry eye in the house. Ellie is sobbing uncontrollably in Shiloh’s arms. I have tears streaming down my face. I don’t even know what else to say, so I walk off and take a seat next to Kyle and let someone else take over. I know it makes me a terrible person, but I just want to be checking on Essie. It’s all I can think about and it’s making me twitchy.

  * * *

  One Week Later

  This has been a tough week, but I'm focusing on the positives. Those being:

  One, Evie is still in treatment. Our intervention worked. No lie, I definitely sent all the guys Starbucks gift cards for that. Though they’d do it without my gifts.

  Two, even though Essie is struggling more than I’ve ever seen her, she’s trying to pull herself out. The talks of her going home were pushed back several days, but today is the day we’re having the discussion. First, with her treatment team, me, and her parents. Then, we’re going to approach Essie with options, once we have them.

  I meet her mother outside the office door at Dogwood. She’s pacing. Her father is literally biting his nails. First, I
greet them. I'm not gonna be an asshole.

  “Good to see you both again.” I muster up as much friendliness as possible, even though I'm not a fan.

  They both greet me back with half-hearted handshakes and mumbled hellos.

  “Have you two sought out the therapist I recommended?”

  I had a chat with them three days ago about being there for Essie. Even though they suck, I do think they’re gonna try. They’re just weak.

  “Yes, I started going.” Her mom’s voice wobbles. “It’s worth a shot.”

  Her father groans. “I'm holding off.”

  “For what?” I snap, maybe a little too harshly.

  He shrugs weakly. God, ugh, I hate him. What kind of man isn’t there for his child? I swear to fuck, I’d donate all four of my limbs if it meant curing Evie of her eating disorder.

  Regardless.

  “Well, if you want any kind of relationship with the daughter you have, then you better get it together.”

  “I mean, do we even have a daughter anymore? You’ve heard her. She’s insane. All that God-given knowledge and it’s useless.”

  My body goes rigid, and surprisingly, so does Essie’s mother’s. Before I can react, her manicured, ring-clad hand is swinging open-palmed right into his face.

  “If I ever hear you say that about our daughter again, I’ll leave you. Goddamnit, Richard!”

  She turns and faces the wall, breathing heavily to try to collect herself. Maybe I misjudged her?

  “Come on, it’s half past ten, let’s get in there.”

  I open the door for each of them when I really want to slam it in Richard’s face and lock him out. But that’s petty. And if there’s one thing I'm not, it’s petty. I hate that shit.

  We all take a seat around a round, wooden table. Edna’s there. Along with Essie’s two therapists, her psychiatrists, her bodyguard (just in case), a few random staff members that I'm sure have titles, art therapy, things like that, the facility director, and then, obviously, me and her two parents.

  “Thank you for coming,” the facility director, Dr. McGoggins, begins. “Essie’s process to recovery will be on a long-term basis. Her team and I are recommending outpatient care because we’ve done all we can for her in inpatient. Physically, all that can heal has. She’s got some internal damage, but there’s nothing more that can be done there. Unfortunately,” he adds on a murmur.

  “She’s still underweight, but she eats her meals. She in no way is purposely restricting herself. Again, it’ll take time to get her back up to a healthy weight, but we’ll monitor that in outpatient. Then there’s her psyche.”

  He sighs.

  “Unfortunately, the trauma sustained means the issues she faces will be, again, long term. It won’t be a 30, 60, 90 days to recovery type deal. She’ll always struggle with staying present. No one on my team or any of the contacts I reached out to has seen the exact struggles Essie faces, but we have seen similar ones. It’s been an enlightening journey, learning from her. And again, she’ll be here all day still. She’ll just go home at night. We are basing our recommendation for outpatient on these three factors: one, she’s aware of her episodes and no longer wants to be in that place. Personally, that’s the biggest thing I was looking to see before we released her.”

  He glances at me briefly, and I know what he’s saying, but I can’t face it. Not yet.

  “Two, she’s not a harm to herself. She hasn’t harmed herself since that one unfortunate event,” he whispers, clearly disturbed that neither he nor his staff were there to stop it.

  “Lastly, I think the biggest healer for her is happiness. Experience. Good experience. We will be strictly monitoring what she does because she’s still so fragile emotionally, as well as physically, but I want her to see that the world isn’t all bad. Based on what I’ve seen, that has been Essie’s greatest healer.”

  … And he’s looking at me again.

  “Well, we’re her parents. We should, of course, take her in,” her mom mumbles.

  “With all due respect, I—”

  The doctor cuts me off. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for Essie to be in her childhood home. It may be traumatic for her to be back in a place that holds so many memories.”

  “Where the hell is she gonna go, then?” Richard asks, resigned.

  “Does she have any close friends, outside of family?”

  “No one outside the family,” her mom sighs, “but she did have one friend. A Jenny Rogers, I think.”

  I stiffen. “She was murdered,” I mumble.

  Dana’s hand flies up. “Oh… God. The same men?”

  “I believe so,” I whisper.

  Her hands curl around her stomach.

  “Oh… God. Poor thing,” she chokes.

  “Moving forward. Landon, you seem to have the best connection with her. I want her input on this. Would you be willing to ask her, and where do you think she’d be the most comfortable?”

  “Of course I’ll ask her. As for where I think she’ll be the most comfortable…”

  With me. But I can’t say that.

  “I have to ask her. My recommendation rides very highly off her preference.”

  I swear the doctor smiles, but it’s so brief that I could be wrong.

  “I understand. Why don’t you go talk to her, then. If it’s okay with everyone, can we reconvene after lunch?”

  “Fine with me,” Essie’s mom assures the doctor.

  “Fine,” Richard mumbles.

  “And it’s fine with my staff. We’ll make it fine. Go on, Landon.”

  And, well, I'm up and out of that chair in 2.5 seconds flat.

  * * *

  Please be with me. Please be with me.

  “Knock, knock. It’s me. I'm comin’ in, doll.”

  I push the door open and glance in. Essie is seated, dressed, picking on her covers.

  Dressed.

  She got dressed and ready. Her clothes are simple, a black hoodie with black jeans and, well, a black beanie. It’s very 90s emo, but it fits her small, pale frame very nicely.

  “You look fuckin’ beautiful,” I greet her, taking a seat.

  She glances over at me, eyes sad, but clearly appreciative of the compliment.

  “Thanks. Figured I’d get dressed.” She shrugs.

  “Is the black theme new or did you always love the emo thing?”

  Her lip quirks up a bit at that. “Mostly new.”

  I nod. “Looks good.”

  “Didn’t have much of a choice in what I wore before,” she mumbles. “This is my choice.”

  “Even better, then.”

  This is probably the exact opposite of what they made her wear in that hell hole. After a long silence, Essie tucks her head into her chest, fidgeting worse than I’ve seen her.

  “I need a favor,” she whispers, clearly terrified to ask.

  “Sure, anything. What’s going on?”

  “I… After Pamela’s funeral, I… um… it…”

  “It’s okay, Essie. Take all the time you need.”

  She glances at me quickly, green eyes raw and vulnerable.

  “Jenny was my best friend. Pamela was my sister, yes, but Jenny was my best friend. First person to ever see me for more than a brain,” she mumbles, ripping apart the covers now with her nails.

  “She deserves a funeral, too. Her dad was Simon and her brother was Zaid, Z. Sh-she deserves something.”

  “Of course,” I whisper. “Of course she does.”

  Essie seems to slink deeper into herself.

  “What is it, Essie? It’s okay. You can ask. I won’t be mad.”

  “Promise?” she murmurs, like she hates herself for being afraid, but can’t fight it.

  “On my life, sweetheart.”

  “Jenny wanted to be a reporter.”

  Her voice cracks. Gosh, all the loss she’s had to endure…

  “I, um…” She starts to rip at her fingernails ‘til they bleed, so I put a stop to that while she contin
ues. “If a reporter could be there, watch one of her videos, say a few words… We could make Jenny’s dream come true the best we can.”

  She shrugs, but it’s anything but careless.

  “Essie, come here.”

  Her green eyes flicker over to me. I already knew they’d be wet with tears, but it kills me seein’ ‘em.

  “Come here, baby,” I repeat softly.

  She flies off the bed and into my arms and… sobs. Breaks. Crumbles into a million tiny pieces. Shredded pieces of herself those monsters tore apart.

  “Why did I survive? Why me?” she sobs. “I was the worst one there! They were so good. So, so good.”

  “Shh, shh. None of this was your fault. Not one damn thing. You all deserved to live.”

  “I didn’t want it to be me.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “I know, Essie.”

  Her cries renew and I hold her. Just hold her. I don’t try to fix it. I don’t deny her feelings. I just let her feel them. She deserves every single damn one of them. Even though sitting here, witnessing the depth of her pain, is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to endure.

  “I got you. I got you, Essie,” I whisper.

  “I couldn’t stop it. I just had to… train. Oh God!”

  She curls over my arm and starts scratching at her skin, my skin, anything she can get her hands on. She wants to hurt herself. She needs violence.

  Making a split second decision, I push both of us to our feet, being sure to keep one hand on her ‘til she’s steady.

  “Punch me. Just aim for my chest, please.”

  She blinks. “What?”