Tension

by R. L. Griffin

  Stella just stared at the middle-aged woman in her navy skirt suit and navy heels. Her tan hose were sorely outdated.

  Just then, George burst through the door. “You okay? I just saw…” He pulled up short as he saw the two suits at her bedside.

  “Yes, he was just leaving as Agent Harris and Assistant Attorney General Peterson came in,” she stared intently at the door hoping George would follow her lead.

  “Ms. Murphy, we need to discuss the investigation,” Ms. Peterson declared, looking pointedly at George.

  “Look, I want to get these guys as much as you, but I just woke up and I’m still a little cloudy. I’d rather George stay in here just because he’ll be able to tell you if I’m going off the rails.”

  Ms. Peterson glanced at George and nodded. “At this stage, it’s fine, but once we get into details, we’ll need to proceed differently.”

  George sat down and handed Stella a cup of coffee. “Fine with me,” he agreed.

  Agent Harris pulled out his pad. “So, can you tell me everything you remember?”

  “Sure, with the understanding that I’m hazy and things will probably change or get clearer. I’ll do my best.”

  “Start at the beginning,” Ms. Peterson prodded quietly.

  “Well, I got to the office pretty early that day because I was still on DC time. I’m not sure the time...”

  George interrupted. “She texted me at 9:00 am Eastern Time and she hadn’t

  gotten to the office yet.”

  “We’re going to need that text, sir,” Agent Harris demanded.

  “I can forward it to you now,” George agreed, pulling out his phone.

  “So you headed to the office early. Did you get any coffee? Did you stop anywhere on the way there?”

  “No.”

  “When you got to the office did you notice anything out of place?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Walk us through it.”

  “There were only a few cars in front of the office. I got out of the car and walked into the office through the front. I nodded at Special Agents Trey Williams, Jeffery Riggins, and Peter Richardson. I put my bag and laptop at my desk and walked to get a cup of coffee. I sat down at my desk and the entire front of the building blew off. It knocked me out of my chair and onto the floor.” Stella closed her eyes, silently counted to three, and tried to remember. “I couldn’t hear anything after the explosion.” Opening her eyes, she grabbed George’s hand. “It was so surreal. I was trying to figure out if I was injured. I...I felt these hands grab my arms from behind and pull me up.” She shuddered, remembering the feel of his hands on her.

  “So you were knocked to the floor?” Agent Harris confirmed.

  Stella nodded. “Yes, didn’t I say that already?” She looked at George and he squeezed her hand. “He was big, very round. His fat stomach and gun were pressed against my back. I still couldn’t hear. I could see his lips move, but I couldn’t hear anything.”

  “What did he look like?” Agent Harris was scribbling furiously on his pad.

  “He was wearing all black and a mask. I couldn’t see his face. He ripped my shirt and spoke to me, but I couldn’t hear him.” George squeezed her hand again and then put his other hand on hers. “He grabbed my face and yelled something at me. Then I saw another guy.”

  “Anything on him?” Agent Harris asked.

  “Same black outfit and mask. They were all wearing the same thing.”

  “How many did you see?”

  “Three,” Stella answered.

  “There were three?” Ms. Peterson butted in. “All in black with masks?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what?” Agent Harris motioned Stella to continue.

  “The big one pushed me on my back and starting ripping my pants off. I kicked him in the face with my boot. I started crawling away and he pulled me back and flipped me over. Then he ripped the button off my pants. It was then the third one came up behind the big one. They exchanged words and then the third one shot me.”

  “Did the third guy look any different?”

  “No. It’s fuzzy. They were all in black with masks.” Her mind released a flash of all three around her when Jamie shot her, staring directly in her eyes while he did it.

  “Do you remember anything after being shot?” Agent Harris inquired.

  Stella shook her head. “That’s it.”

  Chapter Three

  Tabloid Fodder

  George had gone for a run with Cooper and Stella splayed in the sun on a lounge chair, positioned right where the water would kiss her feet as the waves rolled in. She was reading a great book about a married couple that couldn’t stand each other because the wife was psycho. Reading helped her block out all the thoughts running through her head. Becoming immersed in someone else’s life and someone else’s problems was an escape from her real life.

  When Stan had come into her room, she was hazy from all the pain medication and she couldn’t quite remember if he knew that Jamie shot her or that he was once her fiancé. Then the FBI had come in, asking all those questions, and she just told the truth, with the exception of who actually shot her. She couldn’t explain not telling Agent Harris it was Jamie. It would’ve been so easy to tell, they would find him and that would be the end of the entire nightmare. Now that it’d been months and she’d kept her mouth shut about it, she knew she was going to have to solve her own problem. Ending Jamie’s life would help her get through this other person who’d grown inside of her, this person she didn’t recognize and didn’t really like.

  She ran her fingers through the cool sand hidden in the shade of her chair and remembered when she realized that Jamie had not only shot her, but completely ruined her life. Again. Life as she knew it was shattered for everyone to see, examine, and comment on publicly.

  For weeks after she woke up, all she could do was lay in her bed and watch her life be investigated, turned sensational, and then be blasted over the air waves repetitively—TV, radio, internet; she was everywhere. An unfamiliar feeling had entered her body the first day she woke up and it continued to spread. She now recognized that feeling as abhorrence for the man she once knew better than anyone. The pain medications numbed her emotions and were probably the only reason she hadn’t lost her sanity. However, even the medications didn’t block out the rage she felt toward Jamie for everything he’d done, nor the hate she felt toward herself for being in this situation, and definitely not the mortification she felt now that her life was fodder for water cooler conversations.

  The website she used to love, perezhilton.com, now held her own images. A few pictures seemed to be favorites of the media, mainly the tattoo parlor photos and Jamie’s favorite picture of her in a tiny bikini that’d been on his Facebook page. Holy shit, this is insane. Reporters interviewed anyone that would talk to them, even people she hadn’t spoken to since high school. It was all so surreal.

  The hospital had even been forced to do a press conference when she woke up to give the entire world a status of her condition. Like it’s anyone’s fucking business. Then she was treated to the media speculation on who was with her when she woke up. The conjecture turned to when Stella would do her own press conference and be able to leave the hospital. Talking heads guessed she was still with George and wondered whether Billy and Patrick had seen her yet. She felt vulnerable in a way she never imagined.

  While Millie didn’t come out to Montana, they spoke on the phone and texted every day. Millie had set up a Twitter account for her and she was trying to keep tabs on the rumors about her, but it was almost laughable. There were things on Twitter that were outside the realm of reality, but Millie had explained it was a good way to know things prior to it making the national media. Millie was sending out factual tweets about her condition, but the tweets she was tagged in ranged from messages of support to marriage proposals. Thank goodness for Millie and her media savvy.

  Every day, Stella and her mother walked four rounds through the ha
lls on her floor. All the nurses knew her mother and would smile and wave at them as Stella shuffled past the nurses’ station. They’d been working steadily up that to that number and Stella was actually starting to feel proud of her progress. Every time she completed a round of the floor she allowed herself several seconds to feel the hatred that flowed through her. The hate made her feel a little more solid, like it was actually holding her up. It seemed like there were two separate people growing out of this injury: the one that wanted everything to be okay and the one full of rage who wanted to rip shit down and tear it apart at the injustice of it all.

  She was hoping for good news from the doctors; news that she could soon be transferred either back to DC or to Atlanta. Her parents were lobbying for Atlanta so that her mother could take care of her since she’d be in a rehab facility for a few weeks. After they’d made their rounds around the hospital floor, she was back in her bed and her mom was sitting on the couch, leafing through a magazine. Stella had already decided she was going back to DC for rehab, but hadn’t mentioned it to her parents yet; she didn’t need the additional drama.

  “Did you know, Mom, that after Jamie died I went into an alcohol-filled stupor?”

  “Actually, I did know that,” her mother responded, her feet propped on the end of Stella’s bed. She’d muted the television; they’d both heard the story enough. Pictures of Stella silently flashed on the screen.

  “Did you know I almost didn’t make it through law school?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  A picture flashed on the television she hadn’t seen. A heat rose to her cheeks and tears pricked at her eyes. It was of her lying beside Jamie’s grave with Cooper. She grabbed a plastic bowl from the table near her bed and threw up. Her mother was up in a minute and rushed to the bathroom for a wash cloth.

  “I mean, who the fuck gave them that picture? That is so...” Stella’s voice cracked.

  “Ruthless?” her mother finished for her.

  “And intrusive. And heartbreaking...” She never knew how devastated she’d looked the day of Jamie’s funeral. God, it seems like a lifetime ago. Her hair had been pulled into a messy bun, her face without makeup, but her red heels stood out in the picture. Stella barely remembered the funeral and she certainly didn’t remember wearing her red heels.

  “It was tragic then and it is now.” Her mother sighed. “They’re splashing all the details of your life around so callously. There’s got to be something we can do about it. I feel so helpless. You father had to work this week, but he’s meeting with your Uncle Rick tomorrow to talk to him about our options and see if one of his colleagues can represent you and your interests.”

  “Well, hopefully they’ll stop with me and leave everyone else in my life alone.” Stella took a sip of water, trying to rid her mouth of the vomit taste as her mother took the bowl over to the other side of the room.

  “You know I hate your tattoos, right? I didn’t even know about the other one until those pictures came out.”

  Stella was quiet.

  “But, those pictures are beautiful, the ones from the tattoo parlor. I like the second one... the one about being the hero of your story.” Her mother put her feet on the floor and turned to face Stella. “You are, you know. A hero. Not because you were shot, but because you’re getting better. You still have your wits about you. There aren’t many people that could’ve gone through this and not gone crazy by now. “

  “Who says I’m not?” She smiled weakly.

  “All you have to do is put one foot in front of the other. You’ll make it through this, too. I know it.”

  “I didn’t do it by myself, you know. No one is that strong.”

  “You’re right. You should thank Patrick the next time you see him.”

  Patrick was one of her two roommates. He truly had been the sole reason Stella had survived after she got the news that Jamie died. He’d made sure she continued to live, work and eat. He’d kept her parents informed about her status during the entire year she took a break from life. He helped her through that first year, the year that allowed her to get back on her feet so that she could attend law school. That first year, he’d never once left her side.

  He’d also lied to her every step of the way.

  “Not going to happen. I’ve already thanked him for saving me.”

  “He didn’t save you. He just helped. No one could save you. You saved yourself. Just like you will now.”

  The news turned to another story and her mother turned up the volume. “What did he do?” she asked. “George mentioned a falling out.”

  “Oh, Mom. It’s so complicated. Let’s just say I can’t trust him.” Stella couldn’t tell her mother that her former fiancé was really alive, just undercover, and that Patrick had lied to her for four years. It would be considered treason due to the top secret nature of the information; a federal offense. She had to be careful, but her injuries and pain medication were making it so hard to think.

  “It must’ve been something big,” her mother murmured.

  “It was, and is.”

  They heard a knock at the door and Agent Harris walked in. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and yellow tie. “Ms. Murphy?”

  “Yes,” the two women responded at the same time.

  They laughed and Stella said, “Call me Stella. This is my mom, Miranda Murphy. She’s Mrs. Murphy.”

  The agent nodded at her mom. “Stella, I have a couple of questions for you about the investigation. You up for it?” Agent Harris didn’t do small talk.

  “Sure.” Stella didn’t think there was anything else that she could tell him.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” her mother smiled as she walked over to the door. Stella nodded as she stopped at the door. Then she closed the door behind her.

  “Stella, I need to show you pictures and you tell me if you recognize any of them.” Agent Harris pulled out five pictures from a file he was carrying. He took care in rolling the tabletop she ate on over to where she was sitting in her bed. Then he spread out four pictures of men she’d never seen before. The fifth picture was of Jack (Jamie), the undercover agent she’d met during the meeting with ATF and Stan.

  Stella pointed at that picture. “That’s the agent that briefed us prior to the FBI becoming involved in the operation.” Careful.

  “That’s the only one you recognize?”

  Stella took her time and looked at each photo. She knew from her criminal law class that eye witness identifications were inherently flawed. Sighing, she shook her head. “I don’t recognize any of these other guys. But, again, they all had on masks.”

  Agent Harris began collecting the photos and putting them back in his file. Stella’s finger on Jack’s picture made him pause. “What’s this guy doing in here? Isn’t he one of the good ones?” she asked Agent Harris.

  “Yes, but I just needed to make sure he wasn’t involved. ATF is cooperating with our investigation, but refusing to give us any information about their undercover agents. You should see what happens to these undercover agents, especially when they go under for so long. This guy has been entrenched in a drug and weapons operation in Montana for about four years. When agents don’t have contact with reality for that long they start to forget why they’re there in the first place. You know what I mean?”

  “I guess.” She reminded herself that she told the truth, just omitted certain details. She still had plausible deniability.

  “I mean, it doesn’t seem like that’s happened here. He was the one who contacted ATF with the fuck up in the first place. We’re worried the group he was working with found out and killed him. When he traveled to DC, it was a huge risk to the operation. ATF says it has to be careful in trying to contact him.” Agent Harris picked up the last picture and put it back in the folder. “Anything else you remembered since the last time we talked?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I wish I could remember more; it’s just that everything went black after I was shot.”


  “We understand, Stella. No one thinks you’re doing anything wrong. You just recover and be a good witness. These assholes will pay for killing the good guys.”

  “I hope so,” she said to Agent Harris’ back as he headed to the door.

  He stopped before he opened the door. “Your roommate, Patrick, is ATF too, right?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “You know what they say about DC. You can spit and hit a federal employee and a lawyer. My other roommate works for the DOJ. Go figure.” She shrugged.

  “How’d you end up living with two guys?” Agent Harris put his hand on the doorknob, but didn’t make a move to open it.

  “Are you telling me you haven’t been watching TV while you’re here in Montana, Agent?” she asked sarcastically.

  “So that’s true then, your fiancé died and you ended up living with two guys you hardly knew?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “You deferred law school for a year?”

  “Correct.”

  “Then you worked at GC’s office for the Marshals?”

  “Yep. The General Counsel’s office,” she confirmed. “All true, but, I made decent grades in law school. I didn’t ‘just barely make it’ like they’re reporting.”

  “Patrick your boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Billy?”

  “No.” He was really starting to piss her off.

  “Which one’s the boyfriend?”

  “You know that answer to that one too, Agent,” Stella retorted with an edge in her voice.

  “The bartender.”

  “George, yes.”

  “Glad you have a good group of guys around you for support.”

  “What exactly are you getting at, Agent?”

  “Nothing, just trying to figure out how you got sent on this assignment the second week of your job with the GC’s office.” He opened the door. “Got to put all the pieces together, you know.”