Picture Perfect

Chapter 21

Andrew enters Roscoe and Associates with his head held high, entirely committed to the prospect of avoiding Maria throughout the day. As he intently strides past his secretary's desk, Andrew gulps down the unusual dread that begins to claw at his throat. Although he's grown accustomed to the sensation, the cognizance of his fear does little to prevent its fire from searing his airways. The intimate acquaintanceship between Andrew and the discomforting feeling leaves him feeling breathless. Regardless, he refuses to relent to the pain or give his anxiety the satisfaction of consuming him in the workplace. Ignoring his former mistress's invasive and inquiring stare as it follows him, he quickly closes himself into his office; the enclosed space provides immediate comfort, surrounding him with a soothing sense of peace.

With the ugly beast that had been stirring to life within him temporarily tamed by his escape from Maria's obsessive and overtly possessive gaze, Andrew expresses a sigh of relief. Resolute on surviving the day stress-free and with minimal incidents, he swiftly sets to work, submerging himself into his caseload. His attention unswerving, Andrew soon realizes that he may yet have a chance to succeed at appropriately defending his client; he can uphold both his reputation and his winning streak. The reassurance swells in his chest, releasing the strain his heart had been harboring. Diligently, Andrew continues to perfect his courtroom tactics with tenacity, silently praising himself for remaining unaffected by his life's inconvenient disorder.

Entirely engrossed by the case before him, Andrew neglects to notice the stranger entering the room. Disturbed by the tumultuous noise of a throat clearing aggressively, Andrew's focus shifts upward. Perhaps people in Chesterton haven't been properly introduced to the concept of knocking before entering someone else's space; it's far too common an occurrence around here. He studies the uninvited guest with a stoic expression, unwilling to relay a single emotion to the intruder. Carefully, Andrew's gaze flits over the man, assessing the potential danger of the unexpected visit.

The stout man is dressed neatly, his designer suit expertly pressed and perfectly tailored. His hands are stuffed nonchalantly into his pockets, his posture emitting a non-threatening vibe. His face, however, delivers a much different impression. The stranger's balding head reflects the room's artificial light, inadvertently shining directly toward Andrew's eyes.

Standing from his chair, Andrew steps around his desk, prepared to meet whatever obstacle this man provides. As he nears his guest, hazel eyes lock onto hauntingly familiar brown pools, stirring a combined recognition and discomfort of the stranger's presence. Swallowing back the urge that lurks in his esophagus to immediately dismiss the man, Andrew asks, "Can I help you, Sir?" The words taste bitter, vile, as they practically spit from Andrew's mouth; it's almost as if the words themselves are poison. Nonetheless, his charade remains unbroken.

"Andrew Dalton?" the man asks simply, offering no other response. His baritone voice is crackled slightly with age but also filled with the robustness of strong emotions.

Forcing himself not to waver or show weakness, Andrew replies with a curt nod as he narrows his eyes. He doesn't yet verbalize with the unknown man, silently collecting the details of his unexpected appearance before irrevocably engaging in whatever this man's purpose is.

"I am Hector Ortiz," the stranger introduces himself, standing taller as if to appear more intimidating; however, unfortunately for Mr. Ortiz, his actions have no effect on Andrew. "I hear you've impregnated my daughter."

Andrew bites the inside of his cheek as he formulates the best retort to the forthright accusation. The past months have been an entire rollercoaster of emotions; such sudden changes to his mood are likely detrimental for both Andrew and especially any visitors unfortunate enough to be in his presence during the drastic shifts. With his lips pressed firmly together, Andrew breathes deeply through his nose, trying to assuage the capricious storm raging within him. "Mr. Ortiz," he says, repressing the vocal fluctuation threatening to betray his anger. "Such unwarranted allegations should not be so carelessly thrown around."

Something sparks within Hector's brown eyes as a smirk slowly overtakes his face. "I've come with a message," he replies, his gaze never wavering from Andrew's. "Proceed with caution, Mr. Dalton."

"Is that a threat?" asks Andrew, his fury boiling over, ready to explode. "Am I supposed to be afraid of you?" Stalking toward Mr. Ortiz, Andrew can feel the cords tethering his control snap one by one. "Do you expect me to cower before you? To plead for leniency? Beg for mercy?" The words fuel the fire spreading wildly within, urging Andrew forth from the precipice with brute force.

Hector Ortiz flounders in his place, his mouth sputtering like a fish. Try as he might, he is unable to articulate a response. Sweat dampens his forehead as the looming figure gets closer, the hair on the back of his neck rising. He had come to Roscoe and Associates to intimidate Andrew Dalton into rethinking his treatment of Maria. After realizing the man that Andrew is, however, Hector wishes he would have kept his nose out of his daughter's business; he's never been so petrified in his life.

Darkness encroaches on Andrew's vision until all he can see is blackness. As it consumes him, time seems to cease to exist. When his sight finally returns, he's amazed to find the lifeless body of Hector Ortiz lying in a puddle of his own blood on the floor.

Huh.

Well, this wasn't exactly how Andrew had expected his day to turn out, although he can't say that he isn't thoroughly satisfied with the outcome. There's a thrilling and yet somehow exhausting electric sensation flashing through his veins; it's almost addicting. He basks in it for several moments, allowing it to flow freely through him, appreciating every second of the overwhelming but incredible pain. Retrieving his phone from his pocket, he quickly dials his good friend, Richard Nelson; at moments like this, he is indeed grateful to be close with the city's police chief.

"Richard," Andrew says into the phone, "I need your help."