TEARS OF RAGE

Chapter 45

When a person finds themselves submerged in a sea of scandal and ruin, it's like the feel of hands strangling the life from the body.

It becomes difficult to breathe in the face of asphyxiation.

Desperation can make a man do things that he never thought possible.

As word of Nathan Briggs' murder reached him, it was as if he were being drugged to the gallows.

Guilt whispered to him that it had not been a coincidence.

Every hour after he had seen the news footage, of the lawyer's murder, judge Johnathan Weatherby could not shake the feeling of dread and anxiety that consumed his thoughts.

He was restless with worry.

How could he explain to his daughter that he had been responsible for the murder of her mother, he mused in silent misery.

He had to wonder if her safety could somehow be in jeopardy.

His days were filled with an expectation that death or exposure would come knocking at his door.

Trapped within a prism of paranoia and madness, Johnathan Weatherby felt the squeeze of condemnation.

With the investigation of his wife consuming him, he felt on the verge of losing it.

The unknown suspense of not knowing what to expect was driving him crazy.

He could not confide his secrets to anyone, he knew.

But, being in such a precarious predicament had him worried.

Lemario Mitchell was still on the loose, and there had been no word of him since Nathan Briggs dropped him off, to murder Melissa.

He had gone to get his daughter from Augusta after the deed had been done.

It was hard to face her grief, and maintain enough empathy to console her; especially knowing that he was guilty of her mother's murder.

Everyone expressed some measure of condolence, but it all felt hypocritical.

He played his cards close to his chest, but the wait for exposure had him restless.

As he sat in his chambers, surrounded by legal books and expensive furniture, judge Weatherby stared at a photograph of his wife.

It displayed a time in their marriage when they were in love, and the taint of adultery had not destroyed them.

At fifty-three, he could not banish the heartache from his life as easily as he tried to convince himself.

What most people saw as the grief of a husband, widowed by the actions of some deranged assassin, was more the agony of knowing that his wife had given herself to another man.

The fact that her lover had been murdered along with her that night, was more than he could have hoped for.

But, the solace that he sought, could not be found with Lemario Mitchell still around...

The man was a loose canon.

Unpredictable and dangerous.

And there was no one that he could turn to, to locate him.

Looking over his shoulder like a common criminal had begun to unravel him more and more each day.

A knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he called out, wiping a hand over his face.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir..." stated his clerk, her features etched in unspoken sorrow.