by J. L. Sutton
“Morning Hadley,” Jim Stevens said in his usual clipped tone when I picked up the phone. Jim was a lawyer I worked with for almost two years now. Rarely interesting as far as jobs went, but he gave me a steady flow of odd jobs. “I was hoping to catch you at the office. I have a job for you.”
“I’m listening?” At this point I’d probably take anything vaguely resembling work to keep myself occupied, but he didn’t need to know that. Always seem busier than you really are.
“Long story short, my client, a Mr. Porter, is filing for divorce. He also plans to take full custody of his daughter. It’s not often fathers are able to get custody, but he’s genuinely concerned for the welfare of his child.”
“He thinks she’s an unfit mother?” I asked skeptically, knowing all too well people getting divorced made a lot of dangerous claims about their spouses.
“Definitely. He suspects she is promiscuous, so if you can get any evidence of that it may help with shaking up her credibility, but it’s secondary here. What I need from you is solid proof of her narcotics use.”
“I’ll do it.” It was that simple. There was no question I’d take this job—no child should ever have to live with that. I may not get up every morning and keep the streets safe like the police, like I used to, hell sometimes it felt like all I did was everyone else’s dirty work, but this mattered.
I met Jim at his office a little later in the day. We went through the details over a cup of coffee before he ran off to make it in time for his next appointment. I grabbed a burger and fries for lunch before making my way back to the office, itching to get stuck into something I could actually make progress on. I climbed the stairs to the second floor, mulling over the best way to start my task as I unlocked the glass double doors. The laptop on my desk thrummed to life as my hands flew over the keys. Eager to delve into the life of Mrs. Porter I reached for a pen on my desk, my gaze drifting across the room to the potted plant next to the filing cabinet.
The leaves were noticeably drooping, and the color seemed a little off from when I watered the plant this morning.
I shot up from my desk, knocking over my pen holder as I searched around the room. Nothing looked out of place, so after flipping through the drawers of my desk I systematically went through my filing in alphabetical order. I didn’t have to go far.
The notes in the file I started on Dawn were missing—replaced by a single white page folded neatly down the middle, with four words written in a small, perfect cursive hand that made my handwriting look like a drunk doctor’s by comparison.
Do not pursue this
A woman’s writing, no doubt. She broke into my office. It had to be her. But how? Both the door and the filing cabinet were still locked when I arrived. How did she even know about the file, or where I worked? And I was gone for less than ninety minutes. She had to have known exactly when I left, and slipped in and out incredibly quickly. And how did she manage to get in without being noticed? Wait, that’s it.
She was noticed, she had to be. I strapped my laptop onto my back and grabbed a few essentials before rushing out of the office, part of me wondering why I even bothered to lock the door.
Getting copies of the building’s security tapes was unbelievably easy. It took me less time to convince the building manager to hand them over than I spent on the drive home. Setting up my laptop on the kitchen counter I popped the CD into the drive, quickly sorting through the files. There was a camera positioned over the stairs going up to the second floor, the only way into or out of my office, and I watched myself leave the building just before one this afternoon, then sped through the footage until my return. Only four people used the stairs during my absence—three men, and one woman.
The woman wasn’t Dawn.
I replayed the footage of the woman a second time. She was a tall, middle aged blond that strode confidently off to the left of the stairs. Speeding up the tape again until I arrived just over fifty-five minutes later she still hadn’t come back down yet. My office was the only business in that direction—surely if she was there to see me she would’ve come back down soon after? Something was off here.
I watched the same footage of her walking past the camera over and over again, desperately trying to make sense of what I was gazing at. Then later I fast forwarded to see if she left at any point. I had almost given up when something caught my eye, and backing up the footage again I watched her movements, frame by frame, stopping the tape as she reached the top of the stairs and almost looked straight into the camera. There was no way to be certain, even with all the tweaks I made to the image by zooming in and enhancing the frame, but looking at those eyes I just knew.
Black eyes—just like Dawn’s.
The smart move here would be to take the advice of the four words left for me in that file. It would be the easiest thing in the world to forget about all of this—you obviously have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. Maybe that’s exactly why you can’t let this go. Maybe you’re really just not very smart after all.
7. Push
I just stepped out of the shower when I heard the knock at the door.
“Be there in a minute!” I called over my shoulder as I hurriedly toweled myself. Slipping on a pair of sweats and the first T-shirt I could find I jogged to the door, almost skidding into the kitchen counter on my slippery feet.
Officer Parker stood in the doorway, looking years younger in his streets. “Morning Benjamin, I’m sorry to stop by so early.”
“No worries Oliver, come on in. Coffee?”
“Sure.”
“So, what brings you over to this side of the world?” I asked, taking a seat opposite him at my kitchen counter.
“You’re not going to like this. Got a call last night from a buddy down at the station—the charges against Hyde were dropped.”
“How, what happened?”
“All three of your pals have recanted their statements that he hired them. Probably got paid off, or maybe he got them decent lawyers. Who knows? Either way without their statements, we have nothing.”
Sneaky little bugger, I’ll give him that. I might have even made this happen when I went over to the prison. “Guess I should’ve seen this coming.”
“You don’t seem very upset about it.”
“No point really.” I shrugged. “We both know how . . . malleable justice can be, and it’s not all a loss after all—I’m still getting a front row seat to watch his wife take him for just over ten million.”
Oliver whistled loudly. “Explains why he went through all the trouble.”
“Yeah, and he’s not the type to take no for an answer.”
“You’re a better man than me,” Oliver said, chuckling. “I’d have taken the money.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.”
“Maybe you’re right. You think he’ll try anything else?”
“Who knows, but it didn’t work out so well the last time, did it?”
“True. Anyway I better get home and fix the kitchen cupboard before my wife gets home, or I’ll be the one in real trouble.”
“Let me know if you need backup, officer.” I grinned. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Oliver was right about one thing though—I really wasn’t as upset as I should’ve been. Not only were the bruises across my body barely healed, but Hyde wasn’t sweating. He was a colossal ass anyway you looked at it, but honestly I had other things to worry about, and if I didn’t hurry up I’d miss the chance to see my sister today.
As we walked down the narrow corridor to Lisa’s room the orderly warned me she was having a bad day. There was no reply when I rapped my knuckles twice on the door. Taking a deep breath I cracked the door open a few inches, careful not to startle her as I poked my head through the gap.
“It’s me Lisa,” I said softly. The room was quiet, except for the faint sounds of my sister’s sobs. She was tightly curled into a ball on the bed, her head hidden under the pillow. It was something she often did when she wa
s frightened. I moved slowly, and Lisa made no move or protest as I took a seat at the foot of the bed. “I’m here lil’ sis.”
The silence seemed to stretch on forever as I watched her shallow breathing. I knew better than to try and coax her out though. She would come when she was good and ready. The crying faded slowly into a whimper, and before long she wiggled her hand out from under her chest and stretched it tentatively towards me. Taking her hand gently in both of mine I gave it a little squeeze. Her head slid out from under the pillow ever so slowly, like a child shying away from impending punishment.
I couldn’t help smiling as she pulled herself up. “There she is.”
Lisa’s eyes were bloodshot from crying, the traces of moisture still clinging to her cheeks, and her hair was tangled and wild. Her gaze darted around the small room, frantically searching for the phantoms only she could see. Thanks to medication she usually knew they were only illusions, but on days like this she had trouble separating them from reality.
“My head hurts,” she finally said, her voice raw and strained.
“You want the doctor to give you something for it?”
“Don’t let anyone else in,” she pleaded, eyes darting to the door before burying her face in my shoulder. “Liars, all of them. They want me to blow out the candles, but I won’t do it. I won’t!”
“It’s alright Lisa, I’m here. Everything is going to be okay.” I rocked her gently back and forth, trying my best to soothe her fears. The truth was I just couldn’t think of anything else to say. On days like this I felt pretty useless, and with no real way to relate to her condition the only thing I could offer was my weak reassurances.
“Do you remember when we went camping together as kids with dad on the Appalachian Trail? We stayed in this little spot in the middle of nowhere, and it rained buckets for almost three days. I think you just started high school. Yes, I can still remember you arguing with dad about letting you wear make up on the drive over.”
She peeked out from my shoulder, staring at me wordlessly as she waited for me to continue.
“When it finally stopped raining you were so fed up with the whole trip you stormed off into the woods, dragging me along with you halfway down the mountain so you could get a signal for your phone. We hiked until we were miles away from the camp, stopping every hundred yards to “rest” while you hopped around on one foot for a signal. The ground was still wet from the rain, and we were barely on our way back when you tripped over a big branch covered in moss and sprained your ankle. It was the first time I ever heard little Lisa curse.” I grinned. Hearing the string of oaths tumble out of my sister’s mouth that day was one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard.
“You carried me all the way up, up the mountain on your back.”
I nodded eagerly, glad to see she still remembered. “And do you remember what I told you, when you were so worried we wouldn’t make it back before dark?”
“‘Don’t worry lil’ sis—won’t let anything happen to you’.” She smiled weakly, her imitation of me at seventeen spot on.
“That’s one thing that will never change.”
“I’m always so afraid, so afraid. It felt so real this time. I couldn’t get it out of my head. Why won’t they leave me alone, Rabbit?”
“What did you see that got you so riled up, hmm?”
“You were gone,” she murmured, her words choppy between her sobbing against my sleeve. “I don’t know what happened to you, and no one would tell me. I was all alone.”
“You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m here now, so it couldn’t have been real. Right?”
She nodded, seemingly believing me for the moment. “Kay.”
We spent the next two hours talking in hushed tones on her bed. Whenever I tried to move away to grab a chair or get her some water she would start hyperventilating, almost like she was having a panic attack. When she had episodes like this she would barely eat, so I tried everything I could to persuade her into getting something substantial into her system. Seeing Lisa like this was incredibly taxing, and it was disheartening that even after all these years I still felt woefully unqualified to take care of my own sister. Her moods were difficult to gauge, swapping back and forth between the world in her mind and the room we were in at break neck pace. If she got any worse tonight they would most likely resort to sedating her.
Lisa was just so trusting, so full of life even in her condition, that it damn near killed me to let her down, and it was even worse when I was forced to lie to her.
I brushed my hand across her face, slipping a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I need to leave soon. Visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago.”
She looked up from the plastic tumbler in her hands, a weary expression stretched across her pretty face. I hoped they would come with her medication soon. Anything to help her relax would be a blessing, but more than that, I think she needed to get some sleep.
As I reached out for my jacket hanging over the chair she spoke, her voice filled with childlike concern. “Be careful.”
“Why would I need to be careful?”
“I’m not sure, I just know. Listen to me.”
The look she gave me said there was no point in arguing, a hint of the family stubbornness showing through. I sighed. As if she didn’t have enough on her plate, now she was filled with misplaced concern about me too?
I put my arms around her, holding her tightly for a long moment before I slipped a square of bubble wrap into her hands. “I will.”
Lisa was quiet as I closed the door behind me, staring out the window like she always did when there was something on her mind. I think the idea that there was a world outside this building comforted her in some way—a reminder of better days. This disease took everything from her, and what little hope remained for my sister had slowly leaked away over the long years into these uncaring walls.
I planned to follow Mrs. Porter later tonight when she got off work, just in case she wasn’t headed straight home, but that was still a while from now. As I drove into the city I toyed with the idea of heading over to Eric’s place, and unsurprisingly his phone was off. Why did he even bother getting one in the first place? It was just after two when I arrived back at my apartment. There was little to do in the way of work, and with my investigation into Dawn hitting a dead end I was feeling pretty glum.
After a quick snack I walked aimlessly around the apartment until I dug out an old sketch pad from one of the unsightly piles in the office. Taking a seat at my desk I flipped through the pages of sprawling landscapes and unfinished portraits. It felt like inspiration was hard to come by lately. At least, that’s how I rationalized my aversion to picking up a pencil. I could still remember the day I met Claire in an art class, her second day at our high school. Her parents just moved from a small town in Kansas, and she was having a tough time adjusting. Of course it didn’t stop her from critiquing the project I was working on before she even knew my name. I couldn’t help but smile fondly at the memory, watching her work with a brush in her hand was something I would never forget.
The afternoon whittled away pleasantly while I lost myself in a world of black and white. I even managed to produce a half decent rendition of the disaster zone that was my desk. Jim called earlier asking me to send him an update of anything I was able to dig up on Mrs. Porter, and even though it wasn’t much after putting down my sketchpad I dutifully retrieved my laptop and pulled up the files. While I waited to see if Jim needed anything else from me I browsed through my inbox for anything interesting, and an email sent a few hours ago caught my attention. The message was blank, save for a single unnamed attachment. I briefly considered ignoring it before I opened the file, finding a time stamped picture taken this morning.
It was a picture of me, entering the Patrick Fords Psychiatric Institute.
I stared at the picture for a long moment, desperately wishing for another explanation than the only one I could come up with, the only one that made sense. Hyde
. He must’ve had me followed. Parker and I were both wrong—this wasn’t even close to being over.
Unbridled anger threatened to wash over me, surging just under the surface of my skin like a swarm of hornets. How could I have been so naïve to think someone like him would stop coming after me? With his track record, I should’ve known better. I could barely think through the rage clouding my mind as I numbly paced the living room.
Hyde set this up perfectly. Even if I could convince Oliver he sent the photo I knew I wouldn’t be able to prove it. Anyone with a rudimentary understanding of computers could have walked into an internet café, set up an email address and sent the photo. The thought that first Dawn, and now another one of Hyde’s hired men, so easily tailed me had me sick to my stomach. Was I losing my touch?
Oliver would still want me to call him. Maybe he could add some insight or point out something I wasn’t noticing in my anger. I pulled my cell out of my pocket and began punching in his number when another idea presented itself, one that in any other situation would’ve had warning bells chiming loudly in my head.
The phone lay silent in my hand as I considered my new option, and it took me less than a minute to decide I wouldn’t be calling Officer Parker after all. Hyde hadn’t been dissuaded by his near brush with the law. So if that didn’t scare him, I’d just have to handle this with a more . . . personal touch.
The last light in any window on the quiet street my car was parked on went out just after one. A quick glance at the clock on my dashboard let me know that was more than an hour ago. Even under my jacket with the windows rolled up I was bitterly cold, but I had gone the last few hours without turning the heater on. A few more minutes wouldn’t kill me.
Hyde’s house was just up the street. I had already driven around the block twice, thirty minutes apart, to make sure he was asleep before I settled in my spot around the corner. His wife Susan was a chatty woman, and it only took me a few minutes on the phone with her to learn since she filed for divorce he was staying alone. With a little luck I might just pull this off without any complications. This was a bad idea. I knew it, but that didn’t stop me. I rubbed my gloved hands together to flood some life into them before checking my pockets for the hundredth time, then with one last look at myself in the mirror I closed the door behind me and slipped into the empty street.