I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into a firm embrace. She started sobbing with her head on my chest.
“I do love you…I do,” I consoled, rubbing her back. “I am sorry, Rachel.”
“I j—just want you to be safe,” she sputtered as she cried.
“I know. I promise everything will be fine.”
She continued to let out all of her tears. Her groaning caused me to well up because Rachel’s emotions were now linked to my own. After last night on the beach and all of the events leading up to it, I loved her, and it was real.
I ran my hand down her long hair, smoothing it. The feeling of her chest heaving against mine as she cried tore me apart. Then, it hit me. Despite all the chaos that had transpired since my framing, I found her. The extent of her knowing me would have been limited to the TV screen. I would never have met Briana, her cousins, and her mother. This moment existed only because I chose to be her copilot that fateful morning at the coffee shop. For a moment, I imagined never being framed, sitting next to Cole on election night, jubilant of our victory over the traditional parties and having some whiskey on the rocks. I tried to remember the feeling, though, of going home every night to my apartment alone. Or, if I did bring home a woman, the feeling I felt after she left, lying on my back staring at the ceiling wondering what did I ever do to become such a loner, was terrible. I was famous. I had money…but inside, I was miserable. I craved the day of the elections so that I could take a deep breath for the first time in years. The glamor of my title had long faded, and even then, sometimes I wished I was just normal again.
Although, I wouldn’t have said this situation was normal, or even remotely close to ideal…but when I was with her, everything was all right. Yesterday was gone, and tomorrow didn’t matter. All that existed was the present moment, and in that moment, we had each other.
Would I have traded her to be able to go back to my old life?
No. The answer was no.
“Please, Owen, stop with all these promises,” she pleaded. “You have no idea what will happen if you step out on camera.”
“I know I don’t…but I promise you, I know I’ll be fine.”
“There you go again with the promises. You might be fine, but what about me? What am I supposed to do while you are locked up?”
I tilted my head down to where my chin rested on my chest, and I stared into her amber-brown eyes. Hers darted across mine, and within them I saw pain and uncertainty. I held my grasp on her with one arm and let go with the other, using it to cup her face gently.
“Write. You’re supposed to write,” I answered softly. “I heard your conversation with Ian, and I can tell the story is coming together. Now you have Viktor’s piece, mine, and whatever he said he has. No matter what happens, Rachel, you have to write your story. Veronica needs to be exposed to the world as a traitor. Justice needs to be served.”
She nodded, and her lower lip quivered.
“I know,” the words barely came out. “I will.”
“You want to know something else?
She shrugged and nodded yes.
“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
The amount of joy in her expression was practically overflowing. Her lower lip quivered, and the tears began to flow once more.
“You mean that?” she asked in her silky-smooth voice.
“More than anything I have ever said. I love you, Rachel, with all of my heart. Please don’t stop loving me if I get locked up tomorrow. I want to get to know you better once all of this is over, and it will be over. Don’t doubt it for a second.”
“I love you too, Owen. This feeling is so empowering. Yet at the same time, it is overwhelming. I have so many mixed emotions running through my head about Grey’s plan. If you love me like you say you do, and I know that you do, please, sleep on it before you decide what you’re going to do tomorrow. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me.”
I paused before answering, and that caused her happiness to fade.
“Owen. Please.”
“Of course,” I submitted. “I’ll sleep on it.”
- 17 -
I quietly opened the back door and stepped inside. Mom always locked the front one when she was home alone. She did it on purpose, so that I had to pass by her to get to the stairs and to my room. I peered to my right. There was no one sitting at the dining room table.
Whew, thank God.
I could sneak through the dining room and walk through the living room to avoid the kitchen. I wanted some chocolate milk so bad, but I would wait. I didn’t have a good day, and I knew Mom would notice. I would just play Super Nintendo until she went to the grocery store. I stepped on the stairs.
“Owen! Is that you?” my mom called from the kitchen.
I closed my eyes and let out an aggravated exhale.
“Yes,” I huffed.
“Can you bring me your hamper? I’m doing laundry.”
I rolled my eyes. Mom was always doing laundry. I tried to avoid her, but it didn’t work. I trudged up the stairs and walked to my room. I grabbed the hamper and dragged it downstairs. It clunked against every step. I slid it across the hallway.
“I can hear you, you know! Pick up that hamper, Owen. It’ll scratch the wood floor.”
I grabbed it with both hands and awkwardly carried it into the kitchen. I set it down to get my grip again, and I carried it the rest of the way to her. She was facing the washing machine.
Smile. Smile and act normal.
She popped her head out from behind the doorway that separated the kitchen from the utility room.
“How was your day, honey?”
“Good.”
I relaxed my face from the smiling. Did I sound like I was good? I hoped she didn’t notice. Crap. Her forehead and nose scrunched up like she was smelling stinky feet.
“Is something wrong?” she asked the question I was afraid of the most.
“No,” I said meekly.
Her lips tightened, and she shook her head side to side.
“Something happened today, didn’t it?”
I stared at her and blinked. I shook my head no. She chuckled and tossed the towel she was holding into the machine. She knelt down so that she was eye level with me. Her blonde hair fell past her neck, and her blue eyes were like mine. I had a pretty mom. That was what my friends would say.
“Owen, how about this,” she began in a whisper. “You are going to tell me what happened today at school. I won’t get mad. I promise.”
“How did you know?” I asked. “I tried my best to hide it.”
“Because I am your mother. I gave birth to you, Owen. I can tell when you are upset. Something is bothering you. Now spit it out.”
I felt like there was a rock in my throat. I didn’t want to retell the story at all.
“Owen, don’t make me take away your Nintendo,” she warned.
“There was a fight today at school.”
I felt so much better just from getting that little bit off my chest.
“Were you involved?” Her tone was accusing.
“No. I wasn’t.”
She stood up from her squatting position.
“Then what is wrong?”
“I feel bad,” I mumbled.
“What do you feel bad about, honey?”
I kicked at the tile floor and jammed my hands in my pockets.
“Owen,” she pressed. “I’m going to need to hear the whole story.”
I was looking down at my feet, and I played with my hands nervously.
“Ricky called Josh a loser when they ran into each other in the bathroom. Josh gets picked on a lot. He wears these glasses that have white tape wrapped around the part that sits on your nose. Josh just tried to wash his hands and ignore him, but Ricky didn’t let him.”
“How old is Ricky?”
“I don’t know. He’s in sixth grade. Josh is in my class. Ricky is a lot bigger than us.”
“Go on,
” she said.
“Ricky grabbed Josh by his shirt and pushed him up against the wall. He called him a pussy for not fighting back. He wanted him to fight back, but Josh wouldn’t. So he brought him to the stall and gave him a swirly. I could hear Josh choking on the water and trying to push back. I felt so bad, Mom.”
“Where were you during all of this?”
“In the stall next to them.”
“What did you do?”
“I tried to stay quiet, but once Josh left the bathroom, he heard me. He threatened to beat me up if I didn’t come out, and when I did, he told me that if I told on him he would do something to me way worse than what happened to Josh.”
“Owen, did you tell your teachers?”
“No,” I muttered. “That’s why I feel guilty.”
She shook her head and let out a long sigh.
“Come sit down with me at the dining room table.”
My stomach hurt from hearing that. I knew I was probably in trouble.
I sat in the wooden chair diagonally to my mom’s. She placed her hand on top of mine.
“Owen, honey, why didn’t you do anything?”
I swallowed hard.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Because you were afraid…” She repeated the words. “Giving into fear is almost always easier than showing your courage. Doing what is easy isn’t always right, and doing what is right isn’t always easy.”
I cocked my head at her saying.
“Were you friends with Josh?”
“Not really,” I said. “I’ve only talked to him a few times.”
“Well, what if it was one of your friends? Or, what if it was someone you loved? Like me—what if Ricky put my head in the toilet?”
“I’d be angry.”
“Would you do anything, then? Would you stand up against him for me?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Then, what you’re telling me is, that the only reasons you didn’t help Josh were because one, you were afraid, and two, you didn’t really care about him.”
“But I—”
“No buts,” she cut me off. “Owen, your fear should never be stronger than your courage because when that happens, you live life afraid of everything, and bad things will happen all around you and you will feel worse and worse for not doing something about it. Just because there weren’t any people who cared about Josh enough to help, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. What happened today honey, was practice for life—and you failed.”
I felt my lip tug into a pout.
“People like Josh need someone to fight for them, so that one day they can fight their own battles. As your mother, I don’t care if you come home with a black eye, or if you told the teacher and then got a black eye. I would be less mad at you then, than I am right now because you did what was right. You stood up to the bully and showed him that he can’t just do whatever he wants. There are so many bullies in this world, Owen. When you’re older, you’re going to have to have the courage to do what is right. You might have to defend your wife, your job, or maybe even your country.”
I nodded as I continued to listen.
“That’s what Dad does, you know. He stops the bullies around here in town from doing bad things. If he were afraid of them, they would do whatever they wanted. Just like what will happen if no one were to stand up to Ricky, he will just continue bullying other kids and giving them swirlies, too. Do you want that?”
“No,” I said.
“Imagine if you were in Josh’s shoes. Wouldn’t you want someone to stand up for you?”
“Yes.”
She rubbed my hand with her thumb lovingly and leaned in closer to me, looking at me in the eyes.
“There are a lot of bullies in this world, Owen…and unless you want to live your life afraid, you have to gather up the courage and stand up to them. You have to take that courage and face them head on. Remember my advice because one day you will need it. Keep it in your head at all times, and if you do, the world you leave behind will be a lot better of a place than the one you came into…”
- 18 -
“Wow. I don’t know if I can get used to this.”
Rachel angled her head and blow-dried her hair. She used her fingers to comb through it and isolate its sections.
“Me neither,” I said, staring back at my reflection in the tiny excuse of a mirror in the bathroom of our hideout. I was crammed in with Rachel in a space the size of a linen closet. I rustled my fingers through my jet-black hair, and every time I glanced at Rachel it was like I was looking at a different person. The black accentuated even more of her Hispanic side, but it was fitting. Her new hair color looked natural. Mine made me look like more of a goth with my paler skin.
Every other second I was having flashbacks of the dream I awoke from. I hadn’t dreamed of my mother in over six months…and it was so vivid. Rachel said I was shaking in my sleep, and that I was very distressed. She said I kept muttering ‘I will’ over and over again. I didn’t tell her the details of the dream, only that it was about my mom. It startled me that I would have a dream like that the same night Rachel had asked me to sleep on my decision. I woke up breathing heavily, and I announced my decision before I even became coherent. I had to stick to Grey’s plan. I felt like the dream was my mom subconsciously screaming at me to stand up for myself and what was right. It was hard to shake off the feeling it gave me from having talked to my mom in the dream because it wasn’t just a dream, it was a memory.
Rachel was disheartened, but she soon let it go. Perhaps, it was because she was the one who helped me break out of the dream. She saw how much it affected me. I didn’t remember muttering anything, and I didn’t remember shaking…but she did. Whatever the reason, she had finally cooled off from last night, and I was glad. The last thing I wanted was for her to hold something against me. If I did get locked up, I didn’t want to have that weight on my mind, knowing that she was angry with me.
We met eyes in the mirror, and a smile tugged at her lips. I returned it with a playful smirk.
“You know, we look like international spies or something.”
I chuckled.
“Bonnie and Clyde turned secret agents?” I played along with her.
“I can roll with that,” she said.
Natasha and Grey were on their computers, and Briana was sitting by Viktor, but they weren’t making much conversation. Besides talking about his framing, I couldn’t imagine it being easy trying to make small talk with someone who had been alone for two years. I walked out into the room, and Grey shook his head at my darkened hair.
“You could pass as my brother,” he said.
“Sure could,” I agreed.
“So, Owen,” Viktor began. “Are you ready?”
I nodded yes.
If only I would have known what was to come. Then, I would have answered no. There was no way I could have ever been ready for that.
The clicking of Grey’s computer keys was the only sound in the car. They were such soft sounds in the silence that it was unnerving. Nervousness began to settle in. Viktor had parallel parked into a spot, and we were sitting across from the CNN building. I was staring at it out of my window.
Natasha and Briana stayed back at the hideout. The car only fit five, and Viktor didn’t want Briana staying there alone, just in case the owner came downstairs. Rachel sat beside me, and she was holding my hand, delicately rubbing her thumb across my skin. It was so cool against mine, and the sensation was refreshing. I tried to imagine that this might be the last bit of time I got to spend with her. I would almost certainly be in handcuffs by the time all of this was over. I recalled the feeling of saying goodbye to her at the airport, and this was ten times worse. In Miami, I was escaping to gain freedom. Now, I was telling the world the truth to lose my freedom.
Losing mine was worth saving theirs. My dream was a sign that I should follow through with Grey’s plan. I had to stand up for what was right, even if I got a little roughed
around in the process.
“All right, I am in their security system. Over fifty cameras—that’s a lot to keep up with.”
“After what you did in Miami, it should be a piece of cake,” I encouraged.
“Should be,” he said. “Should being the key word.”
“I don’t doubt you for a second.”
“Why thank you, Owen. Viktor, can you hand him the stuff?”
Viktor turned around and handed me a plastic baggy with a white cloth inside, and with his other hand he gave me a latex glove.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Chloroform,” Grey answered. “And I suggest wearing that glove unless you want to accidently knock yourself out with the chemical.”
“What? Who am I going to use it on?”
“Well, the newsroom is on the fifteenth floor. From what I can tell from the security cameras, the elevator opens right up to a hallway beside the newsroom. You would be visible from offices and such that encircle it. Now, on the other hand, it looks like right now on the first floor there is a maintenance man taking his break in a mechanical closet.”
“Grey, do I really?”
“Yes, really,” he replied. His beard was already filling in. It amazed me how fast it grew compared to my own. “You will take his keys and his uniform, if you’d like, and then, those keys will have access to the service elevator for the maintenance staff. According to the blueprint we found in the public records, there is a storage closet just behind the newsroom. On the security feed, it seems like there is a set of double doors that connects the newsroom to the storage closet.
“I see…” I mumbled.
“You don’t have to do this,” Rachel whispered.
‘There are a lot of bullies in this world, Owen…and unless you want to live your life afraid, you have to gather up the courage and stand up to them.’ My mom’s voice echoed in my head.
“I do,” I said flatly.
“Why? What happened to sleeping on it?”
“I did sleep on it, and I had a very vivid dream of my mother.”
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