As Jason wrote down the address to the funeral home, Michael continued to think about the look he had given him. He didn’t want their pity—Jason’s or his family’s. He knew it was his own fault, though. He had let himself get so deep into the hole that was now his life, that even he wasn’t sure how to dig himself out, or if he would even be able to. “We’ll be there at 10:45,” Jason said, sliding the paper in Michael’s direction.
“I’ll see you there,” Michael said, taking the paper and studying the address.
“Great,” Jason said turning to leave.
“Hey, Jason,” Michael asked him before he could leave the kitchen. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, anything,” Jason said turning back to face him.
“Did you ever let Rachel borrow a backpack?” Michael had been wanting to ask Jason about the backpack since the day he found it, but he hadn’t had the chance until now.
Jason shifted his weight back and forth and thought to himself. “I think I did,” he said slowly, staring into the distance as he remembered. “Probably about a week before…”
“Did she tell you why she needed it?” Michael asked before he could finish his sentence.
“Something for work,” Jason said turning his attention back to Michael. “It was actually with her in her office that night. The company gave it back to us. I had forgotten about that. What made you ask?”
“I found it in her apartment.”
“You went to her apartment?” Jason asked, surprised. He hurried back into the kitchen and sat at the table, waiting for Michael to join him.
He did, taking his seat to Jason’s right. “Yeah,” he said slowly.
“How, um… How did that go?”
“Fine,” Michael shrugged. He didn’t want to tell Jason about the man who attacked him, or the real reason he was asking about the backpack.
“Did you take anything?” Jason asked, concern heavy on his voice. Once again he had the sad, worried look written across his face.
“No,” Michael replied, turning away from his almost patronizing stare. “But, back to the backpack,” he tried to turn the topic back around.
“What about it?” Jason asked, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hand.
“It was empty,” Michael noted.
“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “Hamilton & Lewis said that there were work things in there. You know, confidential client files and such that they needed to keep.”
“Interesting.”
“Why are you so interested in this, Michael?”
“No reason,” Michael replied quickly. “I just thought it was weird. Rachel never carried a backpack.”
“Does this have anything to do with the gash on the back of your head, or the broken nose you’re doing no good at hiding?” Jason asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“No,” Michael answered abruptly. “Those are thanks to a little bar fight I got into the other night,” he lied, knowing that even though it would cause some reaction, it would still merit less concern than the truth.
“You got into a what?” Jason asked his mouth hanging open in shock.
“I’m fine; he’s fine. Everyone is fine, Jason,” Michael replied trying to brush it off.
“This is getting out of hand,” he began to scold him.
“I don’t need your input on what I do when you’re not around,” Michael replied defensively.
“Apparently you do!” Jason shot back at him.
Michael pushed himself up quickly. “Well, it won’t happen again,” he said trying to calm the situation, and himself.
“You’re going off the edge!” Jason continued to scold him. “Look, Michael, we’re all still hurting, but you can’t use it as an excuse to keep doing these things! You have to get your life together!”
“I don’t remember asking you!” Michael was yelling now. His blood pressure had risen, and the pounding in his head increased with it. “I don’t need you to tell me how to move past my fiancées death, Jason! I don’t need you to tell me how I’m supposed to react to something like that!”
“She was my sister!” Jason yelled back, standing to his feet and taking an aggressive step in Michael’s direction.
“This isn’t a competition,” Michael replied, still letting the anger flow through his words. “And neither is moving past it. I’m glad you’ve been able to do so well. But that doesn’t mean that I have to, too!”
“I only said those things because I care about you,” Jason replied, his tone still harsh, but wrapped with a sense of compassion at the same time. He sighed deeply as he observed Michael. “I just hate seeing you like this.”
“I hate feeling like this,” Michael said with a feeling of self-loathing. “But I promise, Jason. I’m working on it, okay? Just give me time. I’m getting better.”
When Jason left, Michael wandered around his empty home. As he looked, he remembered what Lindsey had said—it was empty. He had always known it was empty, but now he felt it. It wasn’t the same dull ache of emptiness that constantly consumed him; it was the blank, lifeless air in the house. No wonder he was still living in the moment of Rachel’s death. His life had frozen in that time. He lived in it every day; he had no escape.
Walking into the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror. In the last eight months, he had aged at least five years. His eyes were sagging, and barely visible under the layer of hair that had grown to cover his ears. The beard covering the lower half of his face was unkempt and matted. Despite the fact that he had slept in his car, he knew that this was how he always looked. It’s no wonder people pitied him when they saw him. He looked like he needed help.
Rummaging through the small collection of items on the shelf next to the sink, he grabbed his razor. Running it under the water, he tried to scrape off the little bits of rust that had formed on it due to an extended state of misuse. He didn’t have any shaving cream. Lathering his hands with soap, he spread the slimy substance across his face. The first pass of the razor was rough, and did little to rid his face of the thick layer of hair that was covering it. Another pass, and he leaned back. There was one line of skin that had appeared down his left cheek. “No going back now,” he said as he leaned forward and continued the process.
It took three times as long as it should have, but eventually, his face was once again as smooth as it had been before Rachel’s death. Observing himself in the mirror, he still felt that he had the lost, pathetic look. Squinting at his reflection, he still couldn’t see himself in the image looking back at him. Reaching back to the shelf, he found a pair of scissors. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed a handful of the hair falling around his face and snipped it away. He did this again, and again, and again. He didn’t stop until the sink was filled with hair, and his face was free of it.
Looking at himself again, he felt a sense of familiarity rush over him. Even though his hair was chopped sloppily in places, he still felt like the simple act was symbolic. Trying to trim up the patches that were still sticking out around his ears, he let a sense of freedom wash over him. The pain of Rachel’s death was still there, but the heavy all-consuming burden that came with it was slowly beginning to be lifted. It was a small step, but Michael felt a little better. There was a small part of who he used to be that was slowly working its way to the surface, and he knew that the closer he got to solving the mystery the more it would find its way out of the hole he had put it in.
Chapter 9: Renewed Purpose
The air at the funeral was heavy with grief. Michael arrived at 10:45, the time he had arranged to meet Jason and his family. When they saw him, their mouths dropped open, but no one made any reference to his new look. They still eyed him carefully, not sure how to take the sudden change. “We’re over here,” Jason explained, ushering him over to the seat they had saved for him.
“We’re glad you could make it,” Ruth smiled at him between her tears.
“Me too,” Michael replied respectfully. Taking his seat, he scanned the
faces of everyone around him. They were all tear-stained and blotchy. The scene reminded him all-too-well of Rachel’s funeral. He felt the tightening of his chest and the turning of his stomach that he often experienced when remembering the day he had to say goodbye to Rachel for the last time.
Turning his attention back to the front of the room, he stared at the casket. It was closed. He assumed the accident had caused Joy an immense amount of injuries. It was better for everyone that the casket was closed—they should remember how she was before. “Ruth, Thomas,” he heard Susan’s voice greet their group.
“Susan,” Rachel’s mom said, turning quickly and standing to her feet.
Michael did the same, feeling a sudden weight of worry form in the pit of his stomach. He looked closely at Susan Reynolds. Her face was swollen and red from crying. But now, her eyes were dry.
“Thank you for coming,” she said to Rachel’s parents.
“Of course,” Ruth said, wrapping her arms around her neck and giving her a long, comforting hug. “This is Jason,” she said when she pulled back, “our son. And this is Trish, our daughter.” Susan exchanged quick hugs and hellos with them before Ruth turned her attention to Michael “And this is Michael,” she said, reaching out and gesturing for him to greet Susan. “He was Rachel’s fiancé,” she explained quietly.
“Michael,” Susan smiled at him kindly. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Michael felt a sense of relief wash over him. “You too,” he said, extending his hand to her. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he added sincerely.
“I’d love to have a chance to speak with you after the ceremony,” Susan said, looking directly as him as she spoke. She quickly turned her attention to the rest of Rachel’s family, however, so as not to make her request too apparent.
“We’d love that,” Tom said, taking his seat again and looking at the rest of the group for their approval.
When they had all given their condolences to Susan, she moved slowly to the front of the church to take her seat. The ceremony was as pleasant as a funeral could be. The room was filled with a reverend silence as the speakers took their turns talking about their time with Joy. The message was moving, and seemed to hang in the room.
The pastor spoke of life and love, of family and friends. He spoke of the importance of living in the moment, and never taking the ones around us for granted. He reminded the mourners that Joy would live on through them, and it was their responsibility to carry her memory with them. He gave words of encouragement to her family, and words of wisdom for those who were mourning. “Do not fear, children,” he said loudly. “You do not carry your grief and burden alone. As Isaiah 6 says, ‘To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn.’ God will give his peace to all of you!” As he finished his sermon, the room filled with a charge of hope and meaning.
Michael sat, listening to the quiet sobs of the people around him. “The day of vengeance…” he said to himself under his breath. That was his charge. No one else seemed to feel it, but he did. He knew that one day, he would get the answers he was looking for, and he would do whatever it took to make sure that the men responsible for Rachel’s and Joy’s deaths would pay for the pain they had caused.
As the people filed out of the church, Michael felt something he didn’t expect to feel after attending the funeral—drive. He had a renewed faith in what he was doing; he knew he was doing the right thing. It didn’t matter that Rachel’s family and his friends didn’t believe him—he knew.
“The lunch is just down the street,” Jason informed Michael when they got to their cars. “You’re coming, right?”
“Of course,” Michael said, pulling his car door open and sliding into the driver’s seat. “I’ll see you there.”
When Jason had gotten into his car, Michael waited to follow the line of cars out of the parking lot. Driving along, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts return to what Mickey had told him the night before last. Someone from some low-level gang had hired Walsh to get the backpack that was in Rachel’s apartment. Whatever was in there before was now in the possession of Hamilton & Lewis. What could it have been that related back to the gang? Why would the Lords want it? Hamilton & Lewis covered a wide range of cases. Could it be that they were working on something against one of the members of the gang that they wanted to get at? Could there have been evidence in there to convict one of them?
When they reached the restaurant, Michael parked and followed Rachel’s family inside. Most of the others were already seated, and the group made their way to a semi-empty table and sat down. They were sitting with Joy’s aunt and uncle, who had come into town for the funeral. The conversations going around the room were superficial and forced. Everyone seemed to be putting on airs, and the fake smiles and half-hearted laughs made Michael feel sick.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said after he had taken just about as much as he could. “I’m going to run to the restroom.”
Pushing his way past the tables, out of the corner of his eye he saw Susan get to her feet quickly and begin to follow him. “Michael,” she said to him in a hushed whisper when they reached the small hall leading to the bathrooms.
“Susan,” he said quietly. “If you would like, I can come by your house tomorrow or the next day. I know you’re probably not up to this today,” he said hurriedly.
“No,” she said looking over her shoulder. “That may be too late. They may come back.”
“Come back? Who?” he asked, inching closer and leaning in so they could speak more clearly.
“Some men, they came by the house yesterday asking for Joy’s things.”
“What?” Michael asked, furrowing his brow and leaning in to make sure he was hearing her correctly. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “They said that some of the cases she was working at Hamilton & Lewis were confidential, and they needed to make sure they confiscated all the information she had on them.”
The story seemed too similar to the situation surrounding Rachel’s backpack for Michael’s comfort. “Do you know what they were looking for?” he asked.
She looked up at him, her eyes red and filled with fear. “No,” she replied quickly. “But they wanted her phone.” As she spoke she reached into her pocket and revealed a cell phone. “I told them we didn’t have it. That it was in her car when she crashed.” She handed it to him, her hands shaking. “It wasn’t. She had left it at our house that morning. She came over to drop off Josh before work. The babysitter was sick.” As she spoke Michael could see that she was reliving the last moments she had spent with her daughter in her mind, as if they were playing in front of her like a movie. “She came in, dropped off Josh with his toys and some snacks, and then her phone rang. She answered it. It was Hamilton & Lewis. They were mad because she was running late. She rushed out of the house in such a hurry that she left her phone sitting on our kitchen table.”
Michael took it from her, staring down at the blank screen. “Why are you giving it to me?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said sadly. “But I figured if there’s something on there important enough that they would want it, maybe you can use it to… you know… figure everything out.”
“You haven’t told anyone about our meeting?”
“No one,” she assured him.
He clicked the home button, which illuminated the screen. There, staring up at him was a picture of Joy and her son. “It’s locked,” he noted as he tried to unlock it.
“The code is 02-27,” Susan said quietly. “Joshua’s birthday.”
“Thank you, Susan,” he said, turning off the screen and sliding the phone into his pocket. “If there’s anything on there, I’ll find it.”
“Thank you, Michael,” she said wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly. “Oh,” she said when she had pulled away. “And I really like the new look,” she added smiling at him before returning to the dining roo
m.
The rest of the lunch seemed to drag on. All Michael could think about was the phone in his pocket and the questions in his head. He exchanged pleasant, shallow conversation with Joy’s relatives and smiled kindly as they told stories of the time they had spent with her.
It wasn’t until a few hours later, when he was once again safely tucked away in the privacy of his own home that he dared retrieve the phone from its hiding place. Sitting at the kitchen table, his hands shaking, he clicked the phone on. The screen once again illuminated, the faces of Joy and her son staring up at him. Quickly he punched in the code, wanting to escape their stares.
When he had gained access, he wasn’t sure where to start. He didn’t even know what he was looking for. He started by flipping through her call log. The data only went back a few days, and nothing seemed unusual about it. She had made a lot of calls to her mom, someone named Macy, and a Chinese restaurant to order take-out.
Moving next to her text messages, he still couldn’t find anything that he thought was worth Hamilton & Lewis’ interest. It wasn’t until he had scrolled through months and months of archived messages that he found something that made his blood run cold. There were messages between Joy and Rachel that had been saved. Slamming the phone down on the table, he rushed to his room. In the nightstand next to what would be Rachel’s side of the bed, he kept her phone. He grabbed it quickly, trying to turn it on. “Damn it!” he yelled. The battery was dead.
Rushing back to the kitchen he found a charger and waited very impatiently for the screen to light up. As he did, he scrolled down the messages the two women had exchanged. One specific conversation caught his eye. “Did you count your fat grams today?” Joy asked.
“Not too many, only ate 2 for lunch,” Rachel replied.
“What?” Michael asked, shaking his head. Rachel wasn’t on a diet. She didn’t count fat grams or even read the labels of the food she ate! She was as thin as a rod, and it didn’t make sense that she would pay attention to something like that.
“What about you?” Rachel asked Joy in return.
Unforgiven: A Conspiracy Thriller Page 6