The events of last night reel through my thoughts on the drive to the office. I tried my damnedest not to take a bite. I woke up almost in the exact position I passed out in. First thing upon waking, the crinkled envelope got tucked swiftly under the mattress hidden; out of sight, out of mind. The only reminder is the lingering gash in my heart and tears that fell freely until I was able to get a grip of the chaos under the hot spray of the shower.
Anna certainly wasn't joking when she told me I owe her in the form of a note left on the kitchen table this morning. I'm not in the mood to go out and pretend that everything is fine and if I'm honest with myself, a little terrified. But I did promise to make up for abandoning her last night. Clearly, she's going through something too. I make a mental note to call and check in with her today.
Mr. Finn greets me with a twirl around his bowl. I offer a few flakes and sit watching him gobble his grub procrastinating. He flashes his iridescent scales and even more vibrant fins. I wonder what it's like to live as a fish. What's their biggest worry? Do they even have the natural panic instinct when living in a lonely bowl? With a heavy sigh, I unpacked my laptop bag and sit the compressed file, Mrs. Stanley handed off to me yesterday, gingerly in front of me on the desk. I come up with a plan to see if I can somehow distance myself from the connections. Lord knows I'm out of tears. I cried enough yesterday, dehydration is possible.
My eyes follow through the flipping pages, my fingers flying across the keyboard, consuming my day. Cases like this one are the reason I became a lawyer, more specifically a child advocate lawyer instead of following my dream as an artist. I try not to get too close, but it seems some cases become personal. This is one of them for reasons different from the others.
Someone once said those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. And those who remember, who refuse to forget it, are condemned to relive it. Where do I find the solace o never repeating nor reliving it? My memories tortuously carry weight from both the past and present. I'd rather swim away my days in a lonely bowl, gobbling flakes and flashing my fins for admirers.
A soft knock sounds before my office door opens. "Is there anything you need before I close up for the day?" My eyes jump to the time on my laptop. 4:00 pm. Wow, I spent the majority of the day creating my time-line version with all the information found in the paper folder provided.
"Where did the day go?" I ask halfheartedly. Lexi is accustomed to me getting lost in work and not emerging often if at all. She starts straightening up my desk. I cringe. "I'm good. Thanks for your help today." She nods hesitantly peered over the mess on my desk before walking out and closing the door behind her.
Ugh, Anna is going to be mad if I'm late. With a little bit of time, I finish the timeline so that I can start fresh on witness testimonies Monday morning. Breaking apart the case this way helps distance the gaining apprehension. Rosie, the little girl, has had a tough life. Her parents are both drug addicts. After a raid that ended with her dad in jail (and a bullet hole from SWAT), Rosie was taken by child protective services and placed into foster care pending the outcome. My heart aches for the frightened little girl pulled from the unfortunate family she was born into, not that it's the appropriate placement. I've seen too many children scared to leave a parent regardless of abuse, neglect, or violence. I might wind up in the ring sparing or at the range more in aid to get through this case.
Two hours later, a text from Anna states she's running late and to meet her at Hansen's, a usual hot spot on the weekends. I roll my eyes and decide to go ahead and change into the clothes I packed in case I got caught up in files, and I would be the one late for drinks. It's nothing special, just a simple sleeveless black dress with straps over my shoulders crisscrossing in the back. I slip on my low-heeled sandals, double-check my hair is somewhat reasonable and pack up for the weekend.
YOU ARE READING
Revengeance
Mystery / ThrillerFor the past six years. The images return. They're uninvited. Unwanted. One might think she should expect it by now. But that would mean she's accepted fate. Meredith chooses to live in an illusion. A charade. Deceiving herself from the truth that s...
