by Theo Baxter
I still refrained from actually dialing Melissa's number. I held my phone, staring at it as though hoping for some divine intervention. I would settle for a bit of inspiration as well. I wasn't picky at the moment.
Okay, Dean, you can do this, I encouraged. I had only one chance to make this right, so I needed to do this perfectly. It was simple, really. All that was required from me was to convince her of my intentions, or all was lost. But no pressure.
"Here we go," I mumbled, pressing the dial button.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself as my heart raced like I was running. I wished I were running, running away from this, from my life . . . Stop it.
Waiting while it continued to ring felt like an eternity. Come on, come on, pick up, I urged.
And then it hit me. What if she doesn't take my call? Fuck. That was something I hadn't considered. I was so confident she would that it never occurred to me that she wouldn't.
Well, there goes this plan, I thought miserably. As I prepared myself to hang up, already envisioning sharing this fabulous, epic fail with Detective Michaels, I finally heard Melissa's voice.
"Dean?" She sounded surprised.
To be perfectly honest, I was too, for an entirely different reason. I felt like cheering, relieved since she picked up, which was a strange feeling to be having toward a woman I fully despised.
"Hello, Melissa," I replied, not trying to hide my relief that I was speaking with her. "It's good to finally hear your voice."
Was that too much?
"You're not supposed to call me, you murderer," Melissa snapped in return.
I got my answer. It was too much. At the same time, she was clearly intrigued, or she wouldn't have picked up my call in the first place.
"Come on, it's just the two of us speaking now. There's no reason for things like that."
"Things like what?" she replied, clearly on guard.
This wasn't going well.
"I know seeing me like that wasn't easy, so you jumped to the wrong conclusions, but I forgive you," I delivered calmly.
"What?"
I completely took her by surprise, which I took as a good sign.
"We both know Dad had a lot of enemies. I was framed, Melissa. Deep down, I know you believe I'm innocent like I know you would never kill him either."
I was hoping like hell that this would work.
"You were covered in blood. Dean, you killed him," she insisted stubbornly.
I was afraid of that yet wasn't losing hope. This was all an act as far as I was concerned.
"Please, Melissa, you know me. Be honest, do you really believe I’m capable of something like that?" I pleaded.
"Why did you call me, Dean? To insist on your innocence?"
"I'm calling because I'm scared, Melissa. And I'm scared for you as well."
"Scared? Scared of what?"
I almost smiled seeing how she was hooked, and I knew I had to remain in character.
"The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced one of the father's associates did this."
"Why?"
"To gain control of the firm, of course," I said matter-of-factly.
My father was no Boy Scout. He was associated with some pretty shady people, and Melissa knew that as much as I did, so that was why this lie could work.
"But he's dead." Although she tried to mask it, she was starting to get nervous, if not afraid.
"That doesn't mean the work is done," I insisted. "I fear whoever killed Dad will come after you next."
"Why do you think that?"
"Well, with me out of the picture, you're in charge of the company, and whoever is responsible for this can't have that."
It was a stretch, but I still hoped she would accept it as the truth.
"So, you want me to give you control of your father's company?" She raised her voice ever so slightly.
I made a face. "Of course not. I'm simply warning you. Please be careful."
"And you care why?" she challenged.
"You know why," I replied gruffly.
She made a little noise of disbelief before replying. "The last time we saw each other, you said the worst things about me," she pointed out.
This was it. I knew it would come to this and I had to convince her I still felt something for her. Don't go overboard, I warned. She would know I was lying if I tried to push too hard.
"You're right," I confessed. "I was a complete dick toward you. I was angry, but that's no excuse to treat you like that. I'm sorry."
"Dean."
"Please, let me finish," I pleaded. "Now I see, after some time passed, how I made a terrible mistake. I treated you badly, and for that, I'm truly sorry and hope you will forgive me."
Melissa remained silent after my heartfelt apology. That got me worried. Was I blowing it? Did I go too far? What if I hadn't said enough? My mind went into hyper-drive.
"So," I pressed further, "Although you have every right to hate me, I really wish you wouldn't, because you're the only woman who ever meant something to me."
Please, please, please, God, let this work. I prayed with all my might.
"What do you want, Dean?" she asked eventually. Despite her words, her tone wasn't harsh.
That wasn't precisely what I was hoping for, but it was clearly better than nothing.
I sighed. "I'm scared, Melissa. I'm all alone in this, and I need you, I need your help."
"Oh?"
I didn't like the sudden skepticism in that single word, but sadly, there was no going back now. I had to press forward and hope for the best.
"You need me to help you deal with this threat, and I don't want to end up in jail."
"So that is the real reason you're calling," she accused.
"No, Melissa, you're getting all this wrong. That is your hurt speaking, and I'm begging you to see the truth."
"And the truth is?"
"You're the only person who gets me. You're the only person in this world I trust, especially now."
She sighed deeply. "And you believe this threat is real?" she asked.
I forced myself not to break into the dance since she was finally relenting.
"I know my father. Trust me, the threat is real," I said with urgency then hoped like hell I’d managed to convince her.
My reasoning was simple. I had to find a way for her to see a reason for needing me. If I could make her believe there was a danger to her, then maybe she would agree to see me if only to find an angle on how to use me further.
She remained quiet, clearly thinking of my words. It was time to test my accomplishment. Do or die, Dean.
"Please, Melissa, you're my only hope." And then I added in a small voice, "Can we meet?" As though I was desperate, hopeless.
"Meet?" she repeated like it was a foreign word to her.
"Just to talk. Please."
"Fine, I'll meet with you, Dean," she replied eventually as I saw fireworks inside my head.
I did it.
"But only so I can see you beg in person." And with that, she hung up.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The moment I ended my conversation with Melissa, I wanted to call the detective to share my good news, but before that, I took a moment for myself. I did it, I thought, wearing a big smile on my face. It was true that in the end, Melissa sounded like a jerk, superior, yet I figured she needed that ego boost to accept seeing me. A win was a win.
When my phone pinged announcing a text, I started laughing wholeheartedly. Once I settled, I called my partner, so to speak.
"Hello?" Detective Michaels answered after the first ring.
"I called Melissa. She agreed to see me," I said all in one breath, too excited to even greet her properly. I figured this was much more important than decorum.
"That is excellent news, Mr. Andros." She shared my enthusiasm. "When?"
I had that information as well since I got a text from Melisa with the details after she hung up on me. It was obvious she disconnected, needing a dramatic end to tha
t conversation, but remembered that we hadn't set a time or place. As I said before, Melisa was a lot of things, crazy, manipulative, bloodthirsty, but stupid wasn't one of them.
So, I told the detective I was to meet Melissa the next day in the local park. The park that was closest to my father's house, actually. I instantly figured out why she asked me to meet her there. It wasn't like we shared some history there. It was purely logistical. The park was far enough from the house so no one could see her meeting me, especially not the help, and close enough that she could get there on foot. As I said, smart.
"Good, this is really great news," the detective repeated.
I really hope so. There were still a lot of things that could go wrong. I continued to doubt that I could actually elicit a confession out of her, but I would give it my best because I had to.
"Do you have any advice for me?" I asked in return. She was of such help before that I hoped she could help me again.
"Some, but tell me, would you agree to wear a wire?" she asked instead.
I didn't even have to think about it. "Of course." To me, that was precisely the reason I was doing all of this in the first place, to get a confession I could actually use to put Melissa behind bars and clear my name. That sounded like too much, except that was what I needed to be able to do to continue with my life.
"Okay, that's good to hear." She sounded relieved, which I found peculiar.
Did she expect that I would decline, after everything? That felt ridiculous to me. I didn't linger on that since it was of no importance at the moment. This was clearly her past experiences messing with her head and I left it at that.
"If you don't mind, I'll drop by your hotel room a couple of hours before your meeting to get you wired and prepared."
"That sounds perfect."
Perfect? I was such an idiot. I felt like I was always saying the wrong things in front of the detective. This teenager's routine was tiring. At the same time, it was the stress messing with my head, I tried to rationalize. With all that settled, we disconnected.
The next day, I was anxious, highly stressed, and nervous as I waited for the detective to arrive to put the wire on me. And possibly give me some last-minute advice on how to handle this meeting with Melissa. Lying to her over the phone was one thing. This time, I had to do it in person. That was a game on a whole different level.
I barely slept, and when I did manage to fall asleep, I dreamed of Melissa. In my dream, she saw right through my lies and killed me.
I woke up in a pool of sweat. "Calm the fuck down, you asshole." The last thing I needed was to cause myself an episode. If I seized now, then the meeting was off, and I was sure Melissa wouldn't agree to a second one. This was my one and only chance to prove my innocence.
"Pull yourself together," I continued with my pep-talk.
After a long shower, I started feeling like myself again. Nervous yet functioning, but as the time passed, my anxiety levels started to rise again.
When I heard a soft knocking against the door, I sagged in relief.
"Who is it?" I had the presence of mind to ask. Perhaps I was being a little paranoid, but I couldn't rule out Melissa hiring someone to harm me.
"It's Detective Michaels."
Finally. I opened the door for her without further delay.
"How are you holding up?" She eyed me, clearly assessing.
"Not so good. I feel like I'm about to throw up," I replied honestly.
This meeting with Melissa was stressing me out on a couple of different levels. I was afraid she would see right through me. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to learn anything from her. Most importantly, I was afraid she would change her mind and decide not to show at all, which would mean all was for nothing. Of course, I had additional stress that I would start seizing since I was unable to calm the fuck down.
This was all too much for me. Maybe I should just give up, I thought in a moment of weakness. You can't, the other part argued. I needed to see this through.
She offered a small reassuring smile. "I felt the same way the first time," she said.
That intrigued me. "You've worn a wire?" I wondered why she needed to do that. It wasn't like it was mandatory for detectives unless in special circumstances.
"Yes, when I worked undercover," she explained.
That made sense. "And did you throw up?" I only half-joked.
"No, I haven't."
"I don't know if I can do this," I confessed.
"You'll be just fine," she tried to reassure me.
"How can you be so sure?" I felt like I was bound to fuck up in one way or the other.
"Because what you're feeling right now is perfectly normal. Human. And everything will fall into place if you only remember why you're doing this in the first place," she advised.
I'm doing this because I have to prove my innocence. I'm doing this because I have to destroy Melissa. As I continued to repeat those things to myself, I actually started to calm down.
At some point, I took a deep breath.
"Better?" she asked.
I nodded. "Thank you, Detective, that was helpful."
"My pleasure."
Once I stopped being such a nervous wreck, the detective took out the recorder and the mic from her bag.
"Could you please remove your shirt?" she asked.
Suddenly, I felt nervous all over again for a completely different reason. I wished I'd done a couple of dozen push-ups before her arrival if I knew I would be undressing. Stop, you idiot, I snapped at myself.
Naturally, I did as I was told. Despite my mental slap, I held my breath just a little self-consciously about my figure. Although I was tall and somewhat slim all my life, it wasn't like I had a six-pack or anything.
The detective looked pretty impassive and unimpressed, which could only mean my first assumption was correct. I was an idiot. She was a professional, and the only reason she asked something like this from me wasn't so she could gawk but because she needed to put a wire on me and hook me up.
"I think it's admirable, your seeking justice for yourself," she said conversationally while she worked, completely taking me by surprise.
I was seeking revenge, but I didn't feel the need to correct her.
"Thank you?" It should not be a question, but it came out like that regardless. "It's not like I have a choice in the matter," I said with a small shrug.
Detective Michaels looked me straight in the eyes. "You always have a choice, good or bad. Since you chose to do the right thing, then that's a testament to what kind of a man you truly are."
That was pretty high praise that stunned me, and I didn't know how to respond.
"I believe we're all capable of doing good or bad depending on the situation," I replied eventually. God knew, I did a lot of bad things in my life, but I tried to be better.
She nodded. "I suppose." The detective looked haunted for a moment, but she recovered quickly. Before I could ask what the matter was, she announced, "All done."
I buttoned up my shirt in haste, feeling exposed and like I’d unintentionally shared too much. Apparently, I wasn't the only one.
I checked the time. The meeting was less than an hour away. Looking about, I found my bottle of pills and took one even though I took my dosage that morning.
The detective looked at me questioningly.
"I'm concerned I'll have an episode because of all the stress," I explained, feeling somewhat self-conscious.
I tended to react in such a manner while speaking of my illness. My father drilled into me from an early age how that was a testament to my weakness. No matter how hard I tried to eradicate that, some residues remained.
Detective Michaels looked thoughtful for a moment. "Do you want to call this meeting off? Because you can," she offered, which surprised me to no end. "You're not forced to do this."
As it turned out, that was precisely what I needed to hear. "I know, Detective. I want to do this."
"Are you sure?"
; "Yes, I am."
"Do you perhaps have a ritual of some kind to relieve you of stress, or would you prefer to meditate before departing?" she asked.
I was impressed that she knew so much about it. "I normally meditate, but I don't believe it will help at the moment."
She looked concerned.
I added, "I'll be fine."
"Really?"
"Just tell me something to distract me for a minute or two."
She obliged. "You know, a similar kind of seizures runs in my family as well."
I was shocked she’d decided to share something so personal. Did that mean . . .? I really looked at her as I started to wonder if she experienced them as well. "Really?"
"Yes. I never developed them myself, but watching my father and my baby brother go through them and suffer while feeling completely helpless to aid in any way is always hard. So, in a way, I understand how you feel, and just know that you don't have to go through this alone. I'm here for you."
"Thank you, Detective," I replied, genuinely touched.
I started to realize something after this revelation. Detective Michaels had treated me differently from the start. Not like I was less in any way, weak because of my illness, but like I wasn't sick to begin with. Although she knew of my condition, that was never shown in her mannerisms or behavior toward me, which was rare.
People tended to treat me like an invalid, a precious, breakable thing after hearing I could seize up at any moment. I was grateful the detective wasn't one of those people. Sure, she expressed concern all the same, but that concern had merit. It was based on knowledge and experience, not fear.
"I mean every word," she insisted.
That gave me the strength to move on. "I can go now."
She simply nodded then decided she had something else to share with me. "You know, even if Melissa did use your illness to force you to kill your father, she will still be the one responsible for the murder and will be the one going to prison," she reassured me.
That put me more at ease than any pill ever could. Who knew?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Slowly, like I wasn't panicking, I walked to the park. The confidence I was exuding was completely fake, of course, but nobody needed to know that apart from me.