by Naomi West
"What the hell is this?" demands my father, the two of us now pulled out of our chairs and surrounded by suited agents.
"Iwan Nowak, you're under arrest," says Agent Potter, looking over my father.
"You …you fuckers!" he shouts. "You'll pay for this!"
Then his frantic gaze settles on me.
"You …you did this!" He shouts, pointing at me. "Betrayed by my own son!"
His voice is equal parts anger and pain.
But before he can say anything more, he's pulled out of the restaurant, the eyes of all of the patrons on him. Then, he's taken out of sight. Seconds later, the normal din of the restaurant returns, and aside from the strewn flatwear around where my father was sitting, it's like he was never there.
The eyes of the patrons are still locked onto me and Agent Potter, who's standing at my side. I'm taking slow, deep breaths, trying to come to terms with what has just happened—with what I've done.
"You did the right thing," says Potter.
And I know he's right. As we leave the restaurant, I try to think of the girls whose lives I've saved. The image of those lifeless eyes—that girl in the alley, her body limp, appears in my mind. But now, for the first time, the image fades, as though it were nothing more than the haunting traces of a nightmare.
# # #
Two weeks have passed, and Alina and I have been in protective custody. We've been staying at a small apartment outside of the city center, the kind of pre-fab place that a twenty-something would get after getting hired at his first real job out of college. But I'm happy. Alina and I spend our days making love and enjoying one another's company. We're on nearly twenty-four-hour-a-day surveillance; all of our comings and goings are monitored, and the pair of black cars that trail behind us wherever we go become a typical sight.
Soon, the trial begins and the date of my testimony looms over my head. Alina stays by my side, reminding me that two years will pass just like that and soon we'll be able to be together. I can't help but be anxious about the term that awaits me, but her words reassure me. Two years is a small price to pay for what I've done.
In a quick blink of time, the day of my testimony arrives. Alina has been told to stay at the apartment, and I've requested that more agents than usual be posted. Potter is happy to accommodate.
"Don't worry about it," he says on the way to court. "You have no idea of the trajectory you're putting my career on with getting your father put away; I'd put a goddamn tank in front of that apartment if they'd let me."
"Glad to see your heart's in the right place," I say, my eyes on the city passing outside of the car, the morning light clear.
Potter smirks next to me and slaps my thigh.
"You're doing the right thing. Don't you ever forget that."
It's no small consolation; knowing that I'll never have to be party to what my father has done ever again gives me a feeling of lightness that I've never before known—not since I was a little kid, at least.
We arrive at court and I'm to wait in a small room until I'm called to the stand. Though I know the world will be better off having my father put away, I still can't shake the feeling of my betrayal. The look on my father's face—that expression of shock mixed with anger as he realized what his son had done to him—I know it will stay in my mind for the rest of my life.
"It's time," says Potter.
I'm led down the hallway of the court, finally arriving at the room where my father's trial is being held. The room is packed full of press, police, and those just there for the show. I figure there must be a hundred people there, easily. Scanning the room, I see the corpulent form of Eamon. He looks at me with a knowing smirk, and I'm a little surprised to see that he's showing his face.
Then, I pass by my father. Sitting amongst his lawyers, he's dressed in one of his expensive suits, a blank expression on his face. When his eyes finally settle upon me, he looks at me like I'm no more than a low-ranking goon; it's as though he's disowned me.
I'm sworn in and given the battery of questions that I expect. As I go through the years of crimes that my father has committed, his face stays blank; he shows no reaction to the fact that each word out of my mouth, his own son's mouth, all but guarantees that he'll never be a free man.
Soon, my testimony is over, and as I'm led out of the courtroom, I spot my sister.
She's sitting in the crowd, dressed all in black, a smirk on her face. I knew that she'd walk free—after all, she'd hadn't yet done anything. But as her eyes settle on me, I know exactly what she is thinking.
Revenge.
She looks at me hard, her steely-blue eyes narrowing above her smile. I don't know what she has planned, but as I'm led out of the courtroom, I know that I'm not entirely out of the woods.
Soon, I'm back at the apartment. Alina throws her arms around me.
"Is that it?" she asks. "Is it over?"
I consider telling her about Danica, but think better of it. No need to worry her in these last few days before I'm sent to prison.
"It's over. At least, my role in the trial is."
Alina looks me over, her gray-blue eyes wet with tears.
"Thank you," she says.
"Thank me when I'm out of prison," I say.
"I can't describe what you've done," she says. "I can only promise you that I'll do my best to make our life together wonderful."
I know she's right. But inside, I'm already counting down the days until I'm free again.
The trial continues for another week, and it becomes more of a media circus by the day. I watch it with curiosity, but also with creeping anxiety; I know that as soon as my father is sentenced, my prison term begins.
Soon, the trial concludes. The jury needs less than a day to decide on their verdict—guilty on all counts.
The word stirs up conflicting emotions. I know that with based on what my father is being charged with, it's unlikely that he'll receive anything less than a life sentence. And I know that it is my testimony that all but guaranteed this.
But with the verdict having been reached, I know that my time as a free man is drawing to a close. I receive a call from Agent Potter letting me know that tomorrow morning I'll be taken into custody to begin my two-year sentence, and Alina will be put into the witness protection program.
We stay up all night, making love and talking about our plans for the future—anything to forget about the morning to come.
"Where do you think you'll go?" I ask Alina as we lay in bed, her blonde hair draped over her face.
My house has been sold, and I've transferred half of my assets to her; she's free to go wherever she wants.
"I don't know," she says, looking away. "I don't want to think about these years without you."
"Just think about it as a vacation," I say with a smile. "You can go anywhere."
She looks away in thought.
"Maybe …California?"
The words sound lovely to my ears. I imagine after two years in federal prison in upstate Pennsylvania, sun and warm weather is exactly what I'll need. The sun soon rises, the bedroom of the apartment filling with soft light. A stern knocking sounds at the door, and I know that my time has come.
The sight of Alina's tear-streaked face is the last thing I see as the door shuts, the words "I love you" ringing in my head. I'm piled into a nondescript black sedan, the morning cool and quiet, heavy with the anticipation of autumn. I'm driven upstate to a prison in the middle of the woods, and over the course of the next few hours, I'm processed and checked in, no possessions to my name but a small calendar with the words, "September 24’th, 2019 written in black ink—the day of my release.
I acclimate myself to my new surroundings, staying out of trouble. My reputation as a fierce, uncompromising mob enforcer has proceeded me, and most potential troublemakers stay out of my way, unsure how exactly what I'm capable of. After a week or so, I learn that my father has been sentenced to life with no possibility of parole and sent to serve out his sentence at some f
orgotten prison. I keep the calendar close to me as I watch the news on the cafeteria TV, reminding myself that there will eventually be an end to all of this.
Alina writes me a constant stream of letters, and I await each one with almost childlike anticipation. One day, I receive a letter with a return address listed as some place called San Louis Obispo, which I learn is a city on the California coast. I learn that she's enrolled in a local college, earning her degree in accounting, and sometimes picks up few shifts at a restaurant in town to pass the time and make some friends. I'm happy, truly happy, to see that she's finally finding her place.
Soon, a year passes, and Alina's letters never stop coming. I read each one over and over, my eyes lingering on the words that end each one: "I love you," followed by the number of days left in my sentence. She sends me pictures of the home she’s rented, which is a small, cozy house near the water, the rooms always seeming to be filled with bright, warm sunlight, her beautiful, smiling face always somewhere in the frame. I kept each one of these photos, flipping through them like a small book whenever the reality of my circumstances feel too dire to bear.
The number at the bottom of the letters dwindles as time goes on, and soon, only a month remains. Alina and I are now actually planning for the future, and her letters became filled with lengthy descriptions of the beauty of California; I smile while reading them, her motives as clear as the sky above her in the pictures of the beach she sends to me.
Finally, only a week remains, and I'm able to receive a phone call from her. Her voice is the sweetest sound that I can imagine hearing. I want to talk for hours, to press her for details on her life, or to simply sit and listen to her say anything and everything. But we only have a few minutes to speak, to plan our reunion. She tells me that she'll be flying into Pittsburgh, the closest major airport to the prison, where she'll rent a hotel room and come get me. My stomach is quaking and hot with excitement as she describes her plans; I can't believe that in only a few days I'll be free, back with my love.
The plan is set, and I hang up the phone. The days that follow are the longest of my life. Each of the seven days seems to pass at a crawling speed, and the prison seems to shrink by the day. Soon, the day comes, and just like the day before I was sent away, I can’t sleep a wink. The morning soon arrives, and a pair of guards appear at my cell, the two schlubby men in oversized, blue uniforms the most wonderful sight I can imagine.
They lead me to a small room, where I wait for them to do my outgoing processing. The hour that it takes is the longest hour of my life; I expect them to find some error in my paperwork, some sentence that I didn't know about that had gone unnoticed, or some sort of issue that results in them turning me right back around to serve out more time.
But this never happens. Soon, I get the all clear, and they bring the clothes that I wore on the day I arrived. I step into my outfit, my hands shaking with anticipation, knowing that in only a few minutes I'll be back with my love. They lead me down one last hallway, the door at the end opening onto the outside of the prison grounds, the light at the end as bright as I imagine the gates of heaven.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alina
Outside of the prison complex, I pace back and forth, my shoes crunching against the gravel. Overhead, the sky is a slate gray, the clouds a thick blanket over the sky. Winter seems to be coming early to Pennsylvania this year. Being back here reminds me with painful clarity of my time working for Michal's family, and part of me worries that Iwan has somehow broken out of jail and is lurking in the forest that surrounds the prison, just waiting for Michal to arrive so he can exact his revenge on us both.
I start at the gate leading onto the prison grounds, waiting for Michal to arrive. Checking my watch, I see that it's thirty minutes past when he was supposed to be released. Fear begins to simmer in my stomach; I wonder if there's been some kind of mistake, or if he isn't actually to be released today—or ever. Pacing back and forth, I cast side glances to the men in the booths, hoping that they can give me some sort of indication on Michal’s status—anything that could put my fears to rest. But they're still and silent, their mirrored sunglasses hiding any expression.
Then, a buzzer cuts through the still autumn air, followed by a heavy clanking of a gate lock being unlatched. A door beyond the prison walls is open, and I see a figure step into the light.
It's him. I can tell right away that it's him.
He steps out of the light, and my heart begins to sing as soon as I realize that it's really Michal. Two guards are at his side, and he walks towards me at a brisk pace, a bag slung over his shoulder. He approaches the fence separating us, and I run to him, my hands on the crisscross of iron between us. I stare deep into his eyes, our skin touching for the first time in years.
Another buzzer sounds and the gate grinds open. We both rush to the opening, Michal stepping off of the prison grounds and into my arms. His bag drops to the ground and we kiss like we've never kissed before. I take in his touch, his smell, and the feeling of his hands on my body. Tears form in my eyes as we kiss, and I feel as though I'm in the middle of a dream that I'm going to awaken from at any moment.
"I've missed you," I say, my voice weak.
"I've missed you, too."
We kiss again briefly, and he pushes me away.
"As much as I want to do nothing but kiss you, right now I want to put as much distance between me and this goddamn place as possible."
I smile, nodding my head as tears dart down my face. We rush to the car and he gets in, shutting the door behind him quickly, as though they might decide to put him back in at any moment.
"Let's go," he says.
Soon, we're on the long, winding road leading away from the prison. I don't say anything at first; I'm unsure of how to speak to a man who's just spent two years of his life in a cell. But soon, he breaks the silence, asking me about my life in California. I speak hesitantly at first, but once I realize that he's still the same Michal who I've known—the man I've missed, the man that I've written letters to, and the man I’ve sent pictures to every week for the last two years—I become comfortable. Soon, we're talking as though it had only been a few hours since we'd last seen each other. He asks me about the house where I've been living, the restaurant where I've been working, and my classes. I tell him everything and the conversation lasts the entire drive back to the hotel.
I think to ask him about what he's been through, but I realize quickly that his questions are likely just as much about forgetting what he's been through as they are about knowing how I've been.
We arrive soon at the hotel, and Michal looks up at the towering, downtown building with a boyish look of excitement in his eyes.
"You said to get the nicest hotel in the city," I say with a smile.
"You did well," he say.
We check in and enter the room, which is a stunning suite that looks out over the city, the décor of the space an old-fashioned, luxurious-style of gilding and antiques.
"I wanted the place most unlike a prison you could find," said Michal, walking into the room and looking around. "You did well."
I smile, pleased at his happiness. Then, without another word, he runs to the bathroom.
"Shower, now," he says.
I'm more than happy to oblige. I pull my shirt over my head as I walk to the bathroom, and before I can even make it there, Michal is all over me. He covers me in kisses, putting his lips on every inch of exposed skin. We pull each other's clothes off as we slowly make our way to the shower, the hot water filling the air with thick steam. His cock is as hard as I've ever seen it, and as soon as we're in the tub, he's on top of me, turning my body and pressing me against the glass of the shower. I brace as he enters me, his long prick sliding up, deep into my body.
As soon as he's buried himself into me, he holds still for a moment, as if savoring the feeling of being sheathed to the hilt inside of a woman.
"You have no idea how much I've been waiting for this," he
says over the hiss over the shower.
I say nothing, instead looking at him over my shoulder with a sensual smile that sends the clear message that the feeling is more than mutual. Seconds later, he's bucking into me hard, the orgasm that I've been waiting years for on the verge of arriving after only seconds of him being inside of me. I grab onto the side of the shower for dear life as he holds onto my hips, and I don't even bother to hold back the screams of pleasure that his cock is forcing out of me.
Soon, I cum, my knees shaking and my legs barely able to support me. My face tightens as the orgasm explodes through my body. Michal comes immediately after, unloading himself into me. After we're done, we simply stand there for a moment, letting the hot water rush over our bodies as he stays inside of me. Then, he pulls out, and we begin the slow process of cleaning and washing one another, taking care to pay special attention to each bit of the other's body.
