by Claire Adams
And then the question that Victor had told me he was going to ask came. “Did you ever suspect that Phil was doing drugs?”
“No,” Megan replied.
She didn’t hesitate, and she didn’t blink. She answered as though that were the only answer she could possibly reply with, which was what made it harder for me to believe she had genuinely believed Brent over me.
“And yet, you believed he was guilty when he was arrested?” Victor asked.
She paused for a second, and I saw her mouth open, but no sound came out. Then she looked towards me, so I looked down immediately, unable to handle direct eye contact at that particular moment. Then she started speaking.
They were beautiful words, and I felt myself respond to them. But then I reminded myself of that phone call I had made to her right after my arrest. She hadn’t even allowed me to explain properly. She had jumped straight to suspicion, and she had stayed there without once questioning the circumstances surrounded my arrest. Still… I couldn’t forget those words.
Family was a term that held a lot of meaning for me, perhaps more so because I never had a functional, loving family atmosphere growing up. To hear her say that she was wrong meant a lot to me, but I realized my pride and my feelings had been so deeply hurt that I wasn’t sure if there was any coming back from that.
As the defense attorney peppered her with questions, I realized he was making a valid point. If the person who I spent the most time with outside of work believed I was guilty, didn’t that mean that something was going on? It was a smart question to put forth, and if the amount of evidence against Brent hadn’t been so overwhelming, then I would have been scared.
I remembered the one moment when my disappointment and nervousness had dissipated into anger. It was when Brent took the stand to speak. I searched his eyes for remorse, for some sense of apology. Yes, things had been strained between us for the past couple of months, but we had been friends. We had known each other for years. That had to mean something.
But apparently to Brent, it meant nothing. He sat there, his expression devoid of emotion and his eyes ranging over the people in the courtroom. I could sense that he only wanted to save himself and was willing to throw anyone under the bus if it meant he could be set free.
Victor approached him slowly and addressed him politely, but I knew he was trying to lead him into a trap so that his true personality would come through. I knew Brent well enough to know he was immature and short-sighted. If Victor was smart, he could expose Brent for the lying coward he was.
“Mr. Jacobs, is it true that you and Mr. Roberts were friends?” Victor asked.
“Yeah.”
“And, he was in a relationship with your sister?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you meet Mr. Roberts?”
“He was my drug dealer,” Brent replied, without skipping a beat.
“I see… Except for the fact that your story doesn’t match my client’s description of how you met.”
“He’s lying.”
“I see.” Victor nodded. “What if I offered proof?”
I could see the worry on Brent’s face for just a moment.
“Would you like to hear my proof, Mr. Jacobs?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know someone by the name of Harvey Samson?”
Even from my distance, I could see Brent’s face pale at the name. “No.”
“No?” Victor asked. “Strange… Because he was convicted a few days ago, and he mentioned meeting you several times over the last few years. In fact, he said that the two of you were planning on starting your own business…something to do with drugs?”
“He’s lying,” Brent said immediately. “He’s a liar.”
“You just said you didn’t know him,” Victor said. “How can you know if he’s a liar or not?”
“I… We may have crossed paths…”
“According to Mr. Samson, you did more than just cross paths. You were going into the business of drug dealing together, and you were planning on stealing away customers from the man you used to buy drugs from. Is any this ringing a bell?”
Victor went through a detailed synopsis of what had happened in the last couple of months. Apparently, once Brent and Harvey succeeded in stealing away a few customers from Johnny Devon, he made it his mission to destroy them. It got to a point where Brent had started to get nervous, and he had decided to frame me for the crime so that he wouldn’t be in the line of fire. Of course, he never copped to any of this, but Victor’s questions were well placed and well argued.
Brent’s lawyer objected a few times, but each time his objections were overruled. In the end, I could see realization dawn on Brent: he was going to jail. There was too much evidence against him, and Harvey had given the cops enough information and proof to convict him. I saw his anger start to show on the stand and when his eyes caught mine in a coincidental moment of chance, they blazed with fire.
“He was your friend,” Victor reminded Brent.
“He was never my friend,” Brent shot back. “He liked keeping me around because he felt more ‘respectable’ by comparison. I was his loser friend. I was the pathetic friend who could never hold a job or get his life together. He was the noble firefighter, the brave firefighter. And he thought too much of himself.”
“Apparently, many people do.”
I saw Brent repress the urge to roll his eyes, but Victor continued quickly. “So is that why you framed him? You were jealous?”
“I didn’t frame him,” Brent maintained till the last.
“You were jealous of him, though, weren’t you?” Victor asked. “Was that your motive?”
“I didn’t have a motive because I didn’t frame him.”
“No?” Victor sounded almost amused. “But you were involved in a drug pushing business with Harvey Samson?”
“Phil was in on it, too,” he lied seamlessly.
“Funny, because Harvey never mentioned Phil,” Victor said. “In fact, he mentioned that Phil had nothing to do with your deals, at all.”
“He’s a liar.”
“Or maybe you’re the liar?” Victor suggested.
“Objection!” Brent’s lawyer jumped to his feet, and the motion was sustained.
The judge declared a small break, and half an hour later, we were back in the courtroom, and the jury announced their decision. I was exonerated of all charges and was free to leave, but Brent was sentenced to ten years in jail. With good behavior, I knew he could get out in eight years, but I knew that even eight years was a lifetime in prison years. A part of me pitied him, but I was still too raw and hurt to feel anything more for my former friend.
I watched him being escorted out in handcuffs and my automatic reaction was to look for Megan. But no matter where I looked, she was nowhere to be found. I left the courtroom with Victor beside me, and despite my newfound freedom, I didn’t feel as elated as I expected to.
I got out of bed, showered quickly and headed into work. Sarge had given me the option of taking a few days off, but I had declined. The best thing for me right now was to work, especially because it took my mind of Megan. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her since the verdict two days ago, and already I felt her absence so keenly that it hurt.
As I walked into the station in a sour mood, I noticed that the place was practically a graveyard. Then I walked into the day room, and the place burst into cheers and applause and hooting. Even Sarge was standing there, between Kendrick and Mel, clapping along with the rest of the men. There was a makeshift sign that had been hung up, and I recognized Kendrick’s untidy scrawl. His sign read, “We’re glad you’re not a drug dealer and you’re not going to spend the next ten years in jail.”
The sight of the sign made me smile, and I realized that there was a lot in my life I had to be thankful for. The boys took it in turns to congratulate me, and I took the opportunity to thank them for being there for me, for believing in me, and for supporting me through the whole process
.
Sarge clapped me hard on the back. “You’re a good man, Phil,” he said. “I’m glad to have you back.”
“Thanks, Sarge.”
“I would have invited your girlfriend, too, only no one knew her number,” he told me.
I hesitated. “That’s… We’re not together anymore, Sarge,” I said, choking out the words.
He sighed. “I thought it might be something like that…”
“She didn’t believe I was innocent.”
“I heard she fought for you in court.”
“Too little, too late,” I said harshly.
“Is that your pride talking?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Well, figure it out,” he told me commandingly. “Your pride is not worth losing a good woman over.”
A part of me knew that was true. But another part of me couldn’t quite get over the hurt. Added to which, Megan hadn’t tried to make contact with me since I’d been released. Maybe she wasn’t as invested in our relationship as I had originally thought.
I wanted to speak to her…but I had already been burnt once, and I wasn’t willing to taste fire again.
Chapter Thirty
Megan
“Megan?”
Marta’s voice reached me as though from a great distance, but I was grateful that she had interrupted my thoughts. These last couple of days, I felt like Alice falling through the rabbit hole, but there was nothing at the end to break my fall.
“Yes?”
“Honey, you don’t look good,” Marta observed, with concern. “You haven’t been yourself for the last few days.”
“I just… It’s nothing.”
“You’re still thinking about your brother, huh?” she asked. “Or is it Phil?”
And that was all it took—just the sound of his name, and I was a weeping puddle of tears with no control and no way of stopping myself. Marta looked startled for only a moment before she ran around her cubicle and came straight for me. She wrapped her arms around me, and I sunk into her warm embrace, feeling comfort for the first time in what felt like forever.
“There now,” she said, in a soothing maternal voice. “You just go ahead and let it all out. Cry until you can’t cry anymore.”
And that’s exactly what I did. It lasted almost six minutes, but when I was done crying, I felt both tired and relieved.
“Feel a little better?” she asked.
“A little,” I admitted.
“Good girl.” She nodded as she passed me a tissue.
“You’re very different from my mother,” I said. “Whenever I was upset about something, she always told me to toughen up and handle it. Tears didn’t solve anything, so there was no point in crying about it.”
“Hmm…then I’m glad I’m not like your mother,” Marta said bluntly.
I smiled. “Me, too.”
“You know what, though,” she said. “My mother said the same thing to me when I was upset about something. And it made me realize how important expressing your feelings was. Which is why I always let me children cry when they needed to. It’s cathartic.”
“Is it ever.” I nodded.
“Now, do you feel up to talking?” Marta asked.
And surprisingly, I did feel up to talking. I nodded once, and she gave me a smile and a reassuring pat on my arm.
“Tell me what’s on your mind?”
“Phil,” I said immediately.
“Have you spoken to him since the trial?”
“No,” I replied. “And I don’t think he wants to talk to me, either.”
“He’s hurt—”
“And he’s entitled to be,” I said.
“Then maybe you should try a little harder,” she suggested. “Staying silent now is not going to prove to him that you care about him.”
“I don’t just care about him, Marta,” I said helplessly. “I love him… I am in love with him, and I’m terrified that he won’t be able to forgive me.”
“You won’t know until you’ve tried, Megan,” Marta pointed out. “I know you’re scared, but try anyway.”
“It’s more than just about not believing him,” I said. “My own brother set him up… What must he think of me?”
“You didn’t set him up,” she pointed out.
“But still…”
“You and your brother are two different people, and I think Phil knows that. He can’t judge you based on your brother’s actions,” Marta said. “And, didn’t you go to court that day to bat for him against your own brother? That has to count for something.”
“I thought it might.” I nodded. “But he never even looked at me. It was like I wasn’t even there. He looked so… hurt and angry.”
“You might need to do more than just make that kind of declaration in a courtroom, Megan, honey,” Marta told me gently. “You need to talk to him, make him understand where you came from and that you made a mistake.”
“And then what?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked, with a frown.
“I mean, what if he doesn’t accept my apology?” I asked. “What if he says he still can’t forgive me and that he doesn’t want to be with me anymore?”
“Then you tried.”
“I can’t live without him, Marta,” I said.
“Don’t be silly now,” she said in a measured voice. “You’re young… If Phil can’t forgive you, you will move on one day and meet someone else. But if this man truly is the love of your life, then you need to fight for him—otherwise, what is the point?”
I nodded slowly, feeling scared and vulnerable. But I knew that Marta was right. I had to fight for Phil if I wanted to make things work with him. The only problem is I had no idea where to start. I walked home that day wondering how on earth I was going to approach him. I practiced the speech in my head, but every time I started, it came out differently.
I walked into Brent’s apartment in a fog of thought. The police had done a full sweep of the place just before the trial. Once it had been found to be clean, the landlord had given me the option of either keeping the apartment and taking over the rent payments or moving out at the end of the month. I had thought about it long and hard, but I wasn’t sure I could afford to keep this place without a roommate to share the cost of it.
In any case, I didn’t really want to stay in Brent’s apartment. It smelled of him, it reminded me of him, and at the moment I wanted no reminder. It wasn’t love that was compelling me to find a place of my own. It was disgust and disappointment. I was ashamed that my own brother would do things so despicable, especially to the man I loved. I was even more ashamed of myself, for falling for his lies and believing him over Phil.
I sat down on the sofa and stared out the window for a full twenty minutes. My mind was scattered, and I knew there were several things I needed to get done, but I had no inkling of how to go about any of them. I decided to take baby steps and start with something I should have done days ago. I dialed my parents’ landline number and waited for someone to answer.
The last time I had spoken to them had been almost a month ago, before shit hit the fan, so to speak. They had no idea what was going on, and I knew that I had to tell them. I had post phoned this conversation long enough.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom,” I said.
“Megan?”
“Of course it’s Megan,” I said. “You have only one daughter.”
“Where’s Brent?”
“Brent…” I stammered.
“I’ve been trying to call that boy for two days now, and he’s not picking up,” she replied. “Hold on; Dad’s here too. I’ll get him to pick up from his study.”
I heard her yelling for my dad, and a couple of seconds later, I heard a click, and my dad’s breathing became evident.
“Megan?” my dad said. “Where’s your brother?”
I sighed. “I have something to tell you both,” I started slowly. “And it’s…difficult and requires a bit of explanation
. Are you two sitting down?”
“Megan, what are you talking about?” Dad asked.
“So dramatic, as usual,” Mom added.
I gritted my teeth but forced myself to be calm. “I’m not being dramatic, Mom,” I said. “I’m trying to handle this as sensitively as possible.”
“What are you handling?” she asked. “And where is your brother?”
“That is what I’m trying to explain to you,” I said. “If you’ll hear me out, you’ll know where Brent is.”
That shut both of them up. I started my explanation from the very beginning, but when I got to the part about Brent dealing drugs, that inspired an interruption.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Megan,” Mom cut in. “My Brent doesn’t do drugs.”
I sighed inwardly. “He wasn’t just doing drugs, Mom,” I said as gently as I could manage. “He was dealing them, as well.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Dad said with absolute confidence.
“There was proof,” I said, as my heart beat rapidly against my chest. “A huge amount of proof, actually. Brent even tried to frame Phil so that he wouldn’t be caught with drugs.”
“Phil… Is he the boy you’ve been dating?” Mom asked.
“Yes.”
“The policeman?”
“The firefighter,” I corrected.
“I’m sure it was him,” she said, without any information. “Police officers are always mixed up in shady affairs. And they meet criminals on a daily basis; he must have set Brent up.”
“What are you talking about?” I said, in annoyance. “Phil is a firefighter! He is not a police officer. And even if he were, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He doesn’t do or deal drugs. The drug dealer here is your son!”
“How can you say that, Megan?” Mom asked tearfully.
“Because it’s true.”
“This is all just a crazy misunderstanding,” Dad said with certainty. “I’m sure they’ll clear him of all charges in a trial.”
“Brent’s trial took place three days ago, Dad,” I said, deciding to pull off the bandage. “He was sentenced to ten years in prison.”
There was dead silence on the other end of the phone, and then suddenly, I noise erupted. Mom was screaming, and Dad was yelling at her to be quiet because I was obviously joking.