by Holly Hart
She nodded, though it was like her neck was moving through wet cement. Her lips seemed locked together, she was struck dumb.
"I'm going to go in there now," I said, still measuring my words. "And get him. I want you to know that nothing's going to happen to you, okay? Mister Victor," I said, copying her name for him. " Isn't going to be a problem anymore. Not for you, not for anyone." I could tell she didn't believe me. But I knew she wasn't going to stop me.
I stood up and walked for the bedroom. Alina didn't follow. I turned the handle, and the door opened to reveal a room full of five or six kids who looked like they were trying to pretend as if they were doing anything but listening to every word of our conversation. I figured Alina must be the neighborhood childminder. Made sense. The oldest kid, a girl of perhaps twelve years old, with pretty emerald-green eyes and light brown hair that fell almost to her waist, cradled a bundle of cloth in her hands. The head, just peeking out, was topped with a light covering of sandy hair.
"Hey…" I said softly. "You mind if I take over?"
"Hey, boss lady!" Massey cried out. "High five!"
I looked pointedly at the sleeping five-month old baby boy cradled in my arms.
His face fell. "Oh, yeah," he stumbled. "You're right. Maybe not."
I started walking down the stairs. I kept my eyes trained on every one, ears peeled for any hint of trouble. I knew Ellie would kill me if I returned her baby with so much as a hair out of place.
"Oh, and Massey?" I called back.
"Yes boss?"
"Make sure that lady's taken care of."
"Yes boss," he barked. There was a slight pause, and I realized the sound of footsteps from behind me had died away.
"Massey?" I said, turning to face him – eyebrow already raised in question.
"Yes boss," he said – again – as he started walking down. “Only, boss?"
"Yes, Massey," I hissed. "What is it?"
"I was just wondering," he said, scratching his elbow awkwardly. "Whether you want her taken care of, like getting her a new car, not living in a shithole; or, you know – taken care of."
I stared at him with dumbfounded amazement. When I finally regained the power of speech, I spluttered. "Massey, if I ever find that you've killed a nice old lady who gave me a steaming hot cup of a drink my grandmother used to make me," I gasped. "You'll be taken care of!"
"Yes, boss."
38
Ellie
Six weeks later…
"Your honor, in the light of the unprecedented levels of public interest in this case, the arrests we have seen over the past month and a half, and with full respect to statutory whistle-blower protections as laid out in section 73, paragraph five of the criminal code, the state does not feel that a prosecution serves either the state or the public's interest at this time –"
The rest of the prosecutor's short, planned speech was drowned out by a panoply of cheers that rose as one, combined, joined forces and began to echo off the roof like a drum beat. The courtroom was packed to the rafters, with dozens of reporters – some I recognized, and many more from out of town; jurists, legal scholars, and dozens, nearly 100 members of the public. Every single person in the room, even the prosecution team, was wreathed in smiles, and I saw more congratulatory handshakes, hugs and even kisses than I'd ever seen in one place.
I felt like I'd won the Super Bowl.
But out of all that mess, I only had eyes for one person. Well, two.
But Roman had the small bundle of blue cloth clutched so tightly to his chest that he was practically one with it, so hard my heart began fluttering – hoping he knew what he was doing.
Chill, girl. He saved that kid's life. He's hardly about to hug the boy to death…
"Order, order…" The judge cried out, banging a small wooden gavel against his lectern. The sound barely penetrated the pandemonium, and before long he placed his head in his hands, shrugged, and massaged his temples. I felt sorry for him. I doubted many of his cases gathered this much attention.
I leaned over toward my lawyer. Like the rest of his high-powered team, he'd shown up one day out of the blue. Compliments of Conor and Maya. "What now?"
He shrugged, and attempted a long-suffering sigh, but his lawyerly act wasn't fooling anyone – least of all me. The grin that stretched from ear to ear on his face, like a preening Cheshire cat, showed it for the lie it was. "We did it!" He cried, gathering me into his arms. I grinned. His elation was contagious. But still, none of this felt real. I was dazed and confused, walking through a dream without a guide.
"Seriously, Paul – what's the deal?" I pestered. Much as I was enjoying the public celebrations at my supposed freedom, right now it wasn't everything it was cracked up to be. What's that phrase? Freedom isn't free? It sure as hell felt that way to me…
I'd have sacrificed all of this madness for just one more second with Roman – and for my first ever meeting with my son. At least, my first meeting not separated by a glass shield and two black telephones. I just wanted to hold him, to cradle him, to kiss him on the head and press him to my breast.
I knew why Roman held him so close.
"Ahem," Paul stuttered, pulling back and tidying his hair, as if to smooth over his momentary lapse of professionalism. "Quite, of course. Well, the protocol would normally be for the judge to rule the case closed, but as you can see –," he paused, and gestured out into the courtroom, which resembled a sports arena more than it did a firnament of the law. "It's a bit busy out there."
'A bit busy' was the understatement of the year.
"So you're telling me," I said, repeating it slowly, just to be certain. "That until everyone in here shuts the hell up, I'm stuck behind this damn screen, with my hands and feet chained together like a chain-gang worker?"
"Ah, yes," Paul said with momentary chagrin. "I can see how that would be a little… Galling."
I rolled my eyes at my lawyer's East Coast, upper-class understatement and studied my reflection in the plastic plexiglass screen that separated me from the rest of the courtroom. I grimaced at the picture my eyes showed me. My head hadn't seen a stylist's scissors in months – or even conditioner; my face looked tired and didn't bear even the slightest trace of makeup, and worst of all – most glaringly of all – the orange DOC jumpsuit radiated its fiery color back at me, brighter than the setting sun. I decided that it was up to me. And besides, it couldn't get any more embarrassing than this, having to wear an outfit that made me look like a giant lollipop…
I stood up. For all that everyone in the room was supposedly celebrating my freedom, I couldn't help but notice that there was barely an eye on me. In fact, only two – Roman's.
I cleared my throat, and Paul's curious eyes now joined Roman's. A two-man audience, now. Not impressive, but a start.
I rapped my knuckles against the glass screen.
"Excuse me," I squeaked, a plaintive sound that didn't reach so much as 5 feet into the crowd, and didn't turn a head.
I sighed, and tried again. This time with gusto. "Excuuusseeee me!" I bellowed, squeezing more air out of my lungs than I would have believed they could hold. The room fell silent in waves, like a gust of wind blowing across a field of golden wheat, rippling through, quelling pockets of sound that pushed back up on others, and then, finally, you could have heard a pin drop.
And now, every eye really was on me.
"That's better," I said softly, slightly embarrassed by the attention of the crowd. Even the judge's eyes were glued to me, which I was pretty sure wasn't the way things were supposed to work. I wanted to sink away, find a hole in the ground and crawl right into it, but I pulled myself up, until like a yoga pose my back was ramrod straight, and my chin parallel with the ground.
"Thanks…" I croaked, cleared my voice, and continued. "I was kinda hoping we could get on with this?" I raised my hands, and the handcuffs linking them clinked as they rattled against each other. "It's just these things aren't the most comfortable…"
&n
bsp; The crowd looked, as one, embarrassed. The judge, somewhat belatedly, brought his gavel down twice and said, "order," into the silent room.
Roman's eyes warmed, and his face split into a warm smile. His was the only reaction I cared about. It was like he was beaming one message through the air at me – atta girl.
The judge smiled. With a grin that reached the graying hair by his ears. "Bailiff, you can set her free. Case closed." Once again, he brought his gavel down, and once again the sound was lost to a roar of exultation.
I slumped back and closed my eyes.
It was over.
39
Ellie
The door to the anteroom closed, and took the courtroom's hubbub with it.
We were alone, together, at last – and my tongue was tied in knots. There was so much I wanted to say to him, so much I wanted to tell him – and I wanted to hold him so much it almost hurt, but I felt as though my legs were locked in drying cement, my tongue had forgotten how to move, and my lips sealed with superglue.
Roman looked at me uncertainly. "Are you," he ventured. "Okay? You're looking a bit white. Do you want to sit down?"
The truth was, I was overwhelmed. Just looking at Roman, dressed in neat, fitted black jeans, a white cotton oxford shirt rolled up past the elbows, and a sleek, expensive-looking stainless steel watch clasped to his wrist was more stimulation than my eyes had seen at any point in the last six weeks, during my stay closeted in the dull, gray concrete walls of the Alexandria County Jail.
The smell of baby powder tickled my nostrils. "Can I," I stammered. "Can I –, hold him?"
Roman grinned, looking for the first time like the man I had fallen in love with, and not a concerned good Samaritan. "Are you kidding? Tim and I have been waiting –"
I cut across him. "You named him?" I said, the words passing through my ears without ever seeming to settle.
Roman fell quiet, and a look of concern wreathed his face. "Yes, I mean, no –. Just something I called him when I was changing him, you know? I didn't mean to –. It was just like I was talking to my brother again, and –." He stuttered to a halt, leaving a trail of half-finished sentences in his wake.
I grinned, a real, honest-to-God beam that stretched cheek muscles that had almost forgotten how to smile during my stay in the county lockup. "Don't be. It's perfect. Really, I wouldn't have it any other way."
He looked at me anxiously. "You're sure?"
I nodded. Roman reached his left arm around me and hugged him into me, cradling Tim between us. We looked down as one, and the tiny, sandy-haired baby yawned and opened his icy-gray eyes, as if on cue. He had his father's eyes. "Thank you," he whispered into my ear. "It means a lot."
"Can I –?" I ventured, barely able to form a sentence. Tim smelt so clean, so fresh, so innocent it almost brought a tear to my eye. It certainly stilled my tongue. To be so close, after so long, it was almost too much to bear.
Roman lifted Tim up and gingerly offered me his tiny, onesie-wearing, cloth-wrapped body like a gift. It was such a bizarre sight, the huge, hulking beast of a man, whose arms were almost wider around than my legs, treating such a thing so carefully that I had to hide a smile. It was as though Roman thought Tim was an unexploded bomb, that any sudden movement might hurt him, and ruin all our happiness.
I reached out and clutched my baby to my breast. He gurgled, and for half a second I pressed my eyes closed, fearing he might start to cry. After all this time, no matter how natural and inevitable the sound of the baby's cry is – I wasn't sure I could take it.
Tim laughed.
I almost cried.
40
Roman
The baby car seat that on my way to the court had sat pride of place on the opposite backseat, where I could check up on Tim in the rear view mirror now sat empty.
Beside me, in her pride of place, Ellie sat cradling him in her arms. I didn't even mention its existence to her, knowing that there was a greater chance of hell freezing over than prying her son out of her arms right now. And it was exactly as it should be. Our family was exactly as it should be – together.
I glanced to my right, and saw the maternal glow lighting up Ellie's fresh, clean face. Every tired line that had accumulated in her hard weeks in jail had vanished, replaced by a vivacious, elated smile. It was slight, unintentional – but it tickled her cheeks all the same.
I turned left.
As if sensing something was off, Ellie looked up, and at me. "Where are we going?" She asked, but I could tell her attention was focused elsewhere – on Tim, as it should be.
"Not far," I grinned, molding my face into as mysterious an expression as I could muster. But my attempted jibe didn't hit home. Ellie simply shot me an accepting, trusting smile, and looked back down at the bundle of joy in her arms.
Not two minutes later, I pulled up in front of Drummond Tower. As the big, safe SUV glided to a halt, she looked up again. "No, seriously, what are we doing here?"
My answer was as grand as it was simple. It was all I could do to keep a triumphant grin off my face as I hopped out of the car. "Coming home."
"No –." Was the last thing I heard as the driver's door slammed shut behind me. I jogged around the big, gray, German SUV – Maya's recommendation – to open up hers, so she could keep both hands on Tim.
"– way." She finished, her mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish, except without the bubbles. "Roman, are you serious?"
"Deadly," I grinned, picking Tim's fetching, baby-blue changing bag out of the passenger footwell. "What? You thought I was going to let the pair of you live in an abandoned factory? Yeah right. You know how hard it would be to baby-proof that place?"
Ellie's jaw hung open as she walked, zombie-like to the automatic, sliding glass doors that lead into the Tower, past the uniformed doorman, into the elevator, and up thirty floors in an instant. I resisted the temptation to lean over and push it closed. Tim gurgled with happiness as the elevator's upward motion halted, but even that wasn't enough to break Ellie's stunned silence.
The elevator's doors swished open silently, and I jerked my head. "Come on." She followed me into the small corridor, the thick maroon carpet drowning out the sound of our footsteps, and to one of only two doors. I waved my key ring over a small, disguised panel, and the door clicked open.
I turned toward her and grinned. "I'm sorry, I couldn't get the whole floor. You think there's enough room?"
41
Ellie
"No. Way." I said, choking on my own tongue as I spoke.
"Yes. Way," Roman laughed, copying me.
I prodded him with my elbow and pouted. "Stop making fun of me. How the hell did you afford this?" A shard of memory sparked to life, shrink-wrapped bundles of hundred dollar bills hidden in Roman’s factory safe house.
"You know that old phrase, crime doesn't pay?" He asked, cocking his head to one side. I nodded. "It's a lie. It really does."
"Apparently so," I said. The surprise, and the emotional turmoil of the day's events suddenly caught up with me, and every last iota of energy drained out of my legs. I collapsed onto the nearest sturdy object, an L-shaped couch that swallowed me up. Compared to the iron bunk I'd slept on for the past six weeks, it felt like lying down on a cloud. Hell, not just any cloud, but a goddamn fluffy white one.
I knew there was an incredible view to see out of the skyscraper apartment's floor to ceiling panoramic windows, but I also knew that I had a whole lifetime to see it. Right now, the only exploring I planned on doing was with my eyes, sitting right here. I patted the seat cushion next to me, and kept Tim clutched close to my breast.
"Come here." I even surprised myself by the longing I had in my tone, not sexual, just an unalloyed desire to have my lover close to me.
He sat, and I pulled my feet up onto the couch and rested my head on his thigh, high up enough to get a good view of the luxurious apartment. I drank it in, every gleaming kitchen appliance, every beautifully-upholstered couch and armchair, ev
ery inch of the long marble kitchen island and even. It was almost too good to be true. Hell, there was no almost about it. I felt like I'd fallen down the rabbit hole and ended up in Wonderland.
Sometimes, if I closed my eyes and concentrated, it was hard to believe that any this was real. In my cell, at night, startled awake by another prisoner's anguished cries for her daughter, or guards rushing in to prevent a suicide attempt, I'd wondered whether in fact I'd been damned to hell.
I blinked, squeezed my eyes shut, and cast those thoughts out to the trash heap where they belonged. I didn't need that kind of negativity in my life, not when Roman's comforting warmth underneath my head was so obviously real. On my chest, Tim's faint, shallow, excited breaths relaxed, and he drifted off to sleep.
Roman's clean, sharp scent filled my nostrils, and I took another breath, savoring it, and then I was uncomfortably aware of him underneath me, close to me – waiting for me.
"Roman," I asked softly, careful not to wake the sleeping baby on my chest. "Does Tim have a crib?"
A crib?" He asked, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. His leg vibrated as he spoke, and moved my hair which tickled my nose. "Of course. What – you think I'm some kind of animal?" He joked. "A crib, sleep monitors, the works. You name it, I bought it."
"How about we put him down for a nap?" I asked, speaking as seductively as I knew how.
"Are you sure?" He asked, surprise again creeping into his tone. "We don't have to go anywhere."
I tilted my head to face him and bit my lip. "Oh, I'm sure," I smiled.
Roman's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh…"
"Oh."
"In that case," he grinned, looking me up and down like a starving man might eye up a steak. "Follow me…"
I did as he asked, and padded behind him with my eyes locked so tight on his firm, sculpted ass that I entirely missed the panoramic view of Alexandria stretching out on the window to my left. I heard a click and frowned in surprise. "Roman? What the hell is that?"
