Guilty

I chanced a glance at his handsome face while he was looking away, engrossed talking to Reeves. He had a certain confidence and carried himself with a lot of ease. His appealing young face, framed with those deep black curls, had set my heart beating frantically from the very first moment we had met. I remember acting quite dumb that day, far removed from the confident Rachel Winterton, Attorney at Law. He had come seeking “a little help” and at the end of the two hour meeting I had agreed to take up his case.

Nick Rossi was twenty-three, held a degree in Political Science from Berkley and had been working in the Senator’s office when he had been accused of the murder of Lily Evans, his colleague.

I had fought the case hard in court. Clearly my client was being framed. Conceded that my client was the last person to see Lily Evans alive for he had dropped her home that night, but certainly from the pictures taken at the crime scene it was quite clear that it had been the handiwork of some psychopath. Poor Lily had been tortured and murdered and her mangled body was found on the bathroom floor and the whole house seemed painted with her blood. The only physical evidence connecting my client to the crime scene was his semen found during autopsy. There had been no doorman to confirm his presence or absence at the crime scene during the time of murder. Yes, my client and the victim had had consensual sex that night but Nick had left her soon after and had turned up the next day at office on time. He had been looking forward to seeing her all day but by evening news of her murder had reached office.

In my defence, I used his ‘good-boy’ looks and a clean record of the past and even let him face the prosecution one-on-one. I had been weary of it at first but he reassured me and handled the questions quite well- answered honestly, to the point and maintained eye contact with the jury. I brushed aside the reports of missing girls at Berkley during his college days as irrelevant to the particular case; they couldn’t prove my client’s concrete connections to either of the missing girls.

“They are back”, we were informed. “Best of luck” Reeves said to Nick and me. I gave him a tired smile. Nick turned to me, and with sincerity in those beautiful deep blue eyes, he said to me “Thank you, for your belief in me…I have put my faith in you and I’m confident you made the jury see my innocence.” He smiled his dimpled smile then continued “and if they couldn’t see it…well…we can discuss the options available later” he waved his hand as if dismissing the very thought. My heart went out for him. Yes, I wasn’t allowed to let emotions get in the way of professionalism and cloud my better judgement but here, now, I could simply not help it. I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, pushed away the wonderful effect the touch was having on me and said, “We should really go see for ourselves now.”

 

 

I opened my eyes as the bright sunlight fell on my face. I had tried ignoring it for long, trying hard not to change the comfortable position I was sleeping in now. I looked at the clock on the wall and with a moan began trying to extract myself from under the heavy arm that had me pinned down. “Noooo…not yet” said Nick as he pulled me closer and began placing light fleeting kisses down my neck. I turned my head, caught his lips and while drawing back from the kiss said “We will continue this later tonight”.

Nick and I had kept up the acquaintance even after we had won the case. It started off with celebratory dinners and the occasional conversations over coffee which had turned to frequent lunch-dates and Chinese take-aways while I worked late nights. Then one day after a Friday night movie, as we were walking back to the metro, we kissed, he confessed his love and things have been on a high ever since. I was apprehensive at first, I was five years older to him, but that never came across as a good-enough reason to not continue this relationship.

As I walked into my office- my own office in the prestigious Norton and Reeves, I was greeted with the sight of Daniel Reeves hunched over his laptop and sipping his usual black coffee. “Morning” he said and stood up awkwardly as I entered. “Morning Dan. I’m sorry I’m late” I said slipping behind the desk and settling into my chair. For a minute Dan went over the ideas as to why I could be late and then he let it go with a very audible sigh. “So…” and he began in his characteristic ‘Lets-get-down-to-business’ tone. He was and still seems to be upset over the fact that I was seeing Nick. His official reasoning being that lawyers should never get personally involved with clients but I believe it also has something to do with the fact that he liked me and genuinely thought we had a chance together.

Daniel Reeves came armed with a law degree from Harvard and soon joined his father Charles Reeves at Norton and Reeves. But the always ‘proper-looking’ Dan was just too good to be a lawyer. He was a man of ideals and very high principles and as such a misfit in this legal jungle. I had a wonderful working relationship with him. He was smart, caring and always a gentleman- holding the door for me or pulling out the chair when we were dining out. But there was no way I could have with him the kind of relationship, a mix of passion and ease that came with knowing your partner well, that I had with Nick.

“There’s something I found out about Nick” he said gravely and I quickly turned my entire attention on him.

“God! Dan are you still trying to convince me that he really did kill a girl. Please. I don’t want to discuss it anymore. For Heaven’s sake you were the one who first asked me to take up the case” I said getting angrier with every sentence. He looked at me with obvious pain, that I was blindly supporting Nick. He pulled out a CD from inside his coat and slid it across the table to me “Just hear it.”

One hour later, I sat on the sofa in my office, feeling numb. “Drink this” ordered Dan handing me a glass of scotch. The CD was a recorded session of Dr. Adam Sorenson with a fourteen year old Nicholas Rossi, who had been brought in by his parents for therapy. Dr.Sorenson stated that the boy was disturbed, had a lot of uncontrolled anger and was full of contempt for his father and step-mother after his mother’s sudden unexplained death. Among his many violent tantrums the latest included throwing a china plate at his step-mother. I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. I had called up Dr. Sorenson and spoken to him myself. After ascertaining my near relation to the patient he confirmed it. He still remembered the youth who would sit glaring at him in his office for the entire session without responding to a single question. It was hard to believe that my gentle loving Nick could actually have tortured and murdered a girl or even two. But the more I went over the facts in my head the more everything fell into place- I could now see the loopholes in my defence. Nick was a murderer and he had completely used me. I let Dan hold me while I cried and when I left the office at six that evening I was heartbroken but I knew I had to confront Nick.

 

 

I felt a strong pair of hands enveloping me from behind and then as I sat down on the kitchen floor, Dan brought me a glass of water and sat down beside me. We sat silently, Dan observing my face that looked disastrous and I going over all that had happened since I came home that evening.

I had confronted Nick. He was both surprised and angry that I had gone behind his back and found out about his medical history. He accused me of not trusting him and always demanding him to prove his love and honesty. I accused him of always being so secretive. There was a lot of shouting and screaming; but all hell broke loose once I mentioned his mother, adding that he might have been the one who killed his mother and no one had caught him yet. Beyond that all I remember are flying shards of glass and a lot of pain-a lot of it.

Through the kitchen door I saw them carry away Nick’s body. With a shudder I broke down and sank into Dan’s comfortable arms. “You did it in self-defence, that bastard deserved it.” Dan was saying to me. “I’m just sorry I let you confront him alone. I should have been here…I failed to protect you…I’m…so…”he continued frantically. “But everything’s going to be okay now” he finished, kissing the top of my head and then looked me straight in the eye. And that is when I told him the truth “O God Dan! I killed him…killed him. He never admitted to killing any of the girls and now we will never know if he was guilty or…or innocent. I killed him.”

 

21 Minutes…Of love, Of Betrayal

11:27 P.M. I look at his slumped figure sitting on the edge of the bed, his face hidden in his hands, the glock lying on the crumpled sheets beside him. His incoherent sentences amidst the sobs, is the only thing filling the silence that has descended upon us in this dingy motel room.

I scan the room silently trying my best to avoid looking at the helpless figure sitting in front of me. The bed is covered with documents; his laptop, still powered on, is on the table, a can of soda beside it. His jacket has been unceremoniously dumped on the chair next to the table and cigarette butts form distinct grotesque patterns on the floor. The room was a mess, he was a mess, I was a mess.

“Why?” I ask him, my hands digging deeper into my pockets. Even though the lone window in the room was shut against the cold November air, a chill ran through me.

“Look at me, please” I beg him, tears freely streaming down my face now. He shakes his head, takes in a sharp breathe then lifts his face, his deep blue eyes instantly finding my brown ones. He grabs the gun then says in a hoarse whisper “I’m sorry”.

“We don’t have to do this” I say simply, trying for the last time to keep us both alive. But I am acutely aware of the change that has occurred. I no longer recognize the man sitting in front of me- the Kyle I loved has gone and in his place is the emotionless Government Agent whom everyone dreaded.

“I love you, you know” his voice breaks slightly as he says it, but it’s so different from the first time he had professed his love to me.

 

The adrenaline rush was wearing off and I give up trying to move when the pain becomes too hard to bear. It feels so easy to let myself slip into oblivion, give myself up to the painlessness. But I push my fluttering eyes open-he had promised to come. “He will come” I tell myself.

It is a while before I hear sirens in the distance and seems ages before I am finally pulled into those strong arms I knew so well. Kyle Wilder’s face came into view. “Stay with me” he whispered frantically, “the paramedics are on their way”. He hugs me and it’s only the sound of his heartbeat that kept me alive, I realize now.

I try remembering how his face looked without the worry that clouded his face now. The boyish grin, the thick black hair constantly falling over his eyes. I try picturing the twinkling in his eyes when he has successfully managed to make me laugh at his witty one-liners. I touch his face, hoping that my touch would convey all that I felt for him. He wasn’t just another team member to me- he was much much more. He was what had kept me alive during the abduction and the inhuman interrogation by those Korean beasts.

But all this is too much of a strain and I let my eyes close knowing that I am safe.

I open my eyes 26 hours later in a hospital room. Kyle was sitting by my bed, his hand clasping mine. When he feels me stir he moves closer. “I’m so glad you are alive” and a small smile graces his face. His eyes wander over my face and he runs his fingers gently over the bruises covering my face. “I thought I had lost you Rachel…and I can’t imagine living through that…I…I” his voice drops to just above a whisper now. He lets out a sharp exhale and momentarily shuts his eyes. Opening them slowly, he leans his face closer to mine “I love you” escapes his lips before they claim mine in a tender, passionate kiss. I simple smiled at him when he drew back to let him know I felt the same.

 

That was three years back. The man sitting in front of me today was only the shadow of the man I had once loved. The face that once grew creased with concern for me was today darkened with brutality. The eyes that had once looked at me with so much love and fondness, today held pure disgust for me. Yes, the times have changed. I have changed. Both of us today have issues greater than our love for each other, pulling us apart. All those finer human emotions are lost it’s only about survival now.

“I loved you too” I say; my voice doesn’t crack.

 

11:33 The sound of a single gunshot echoes across the room and down the hallway outside.

 

11:33 Agent Simmons drowns the last of the whiskey in his glass, turns away from the window and takes the file from the IT technician’s hands.

“We were able to get a clear shot of the agent from the traffic cam as you had requested sir”

He nods. The Tech guy leaves. Simmons steadies himself. He had always been proud of his hand-picked team till seven hours ago. That is until he learned that one of them had sold themselves over to the other side. He opens it and stares long and hard at the face so clearly visible in the photo. “Rachel Atwood” even as he mouths those words he feels the pain arising out of his chest.

 

11:48 I was driving fast and aimlessly. One hand clutches the steering wheel in a mad grip the other reaches up to touch my lips as my eyes close involuntarily at the memory of our last kiss. As I had drawn back my face and loosened my grip on his shirt, he tumbled back onto the bed, red colour slowly steadily spreading across the front of the shirt.

 

Murder at 1, Middleton Row

I stepped inside Galloway House, 1, Middleton Row and was instantly transported into another world. The Victorian architecture not only lent the place a sense of grandeur but also a sense of serenity; the dark wooden paneling giving the large entrance hall a welcome, comfortable dimness in sharp contrast to the scorching July sun outside. This place was to be my home for the next three years- pleasant three years I hoped. But it would not to be so.

 

Climbing up the giant staircase to the rooms on the second floor, it was on the first landing that I met Mrs. D’Mello for the very first time. I smiled at her. But instead of returning my smile, she silently sized me up and walked away.

 

In subsequent weeks I became more familiarized with the surroundings, met all the other girls and learnt a great deal about the place and particularly about Mrs. D’Mello. She was widow, as ancient as the place itself. None of us ever knew where to find her but she would turn up in the most unlikely places at the most unlikely hours. Once or twice at breakfast, I caught her staring at me with a deadpan expression and I finally admitted that I was as wary of her as the others. I wasn’t scared of her, just wary. There was no predicting how she would behave at a given instance and I had long since given up any attempts of warming up to her.

 

But she scared the hell out of me on that particularly chilly night in November. I was standing at the end of the long corridor outside our rooms, looking out at the burnt remains of Stephen Court. I had heard my seniors complain that they could still hear the hair-raising cries of people for help, but I wasn’t one to be scared by such tales. I was simply thinking about what the people must have gone through knowing that death was imminent.

 

I didn’t hear Mrs. D’Mello come up, but I felt it. I felt her glassy green eyes boring into my back and haltingly I turned around to face her. It was after lights-out so I wasn’t supposed to be standing out there in the dark. The dim red night bulb of the corridor presented a menacing silhouette of her. She was bracing herself for an attack- I had already been warned of her violent disposition. As she moved towards me, I took a step backwards and held on tightly to the railing behind me with my sweaty palms. I started to say something but it was lost amidst the series of events that happened in a flash.

 

She lunged at me and I, in my defense hit out at her with my leg. She lost her balance and as I avoided a full-on body collision with her, she went flying over the railing with a blood curling cry.

 

The night was silent again.

 

As I ran back to my room, which seemed to take almost an eternity, nothing else seemed to have moved at all. As I covered my shivering self under the blanket, I wondered if it had actually taken place- had I actually murdered her? Was she dead already or was she lying there on the hard cold ground writhing in pain?

 

Next morning, as I pulled a sleep-deprived me down to the breakfast table all my doubts were cleared. The gardener had found Mrs. D’Mello early that morning and her stiff body was lowered into the little pit that he had dug up for her, covered with mud and a single wild yellow flower was laid on top. And there lay the snow white cat with black ears and tail after taking away my peace of mind.

 

But no one missed her much at breakfast.