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Epilogue
Celia
My new home a few miles north of San Francisco in Duncan's Cove was unlike anything I'd known. I knew it was Hunter's doing. The FBI witness protection program didn't provide oceanfront beach houses for their protectees.
I spent my days walking the coast, collecting shells, and waiting for everything to heal so I could move forward with my life, such as it was. I recovered from my concussion, the headaches slowly subsiding, and my bruises all faded. My memories of the rapes were sporadic, coming back now and then when I least expected it. With nothing else to do, I spent my time reading and watching Netflix, taking my first real holiday since I started college.
I heard nothing from anyone back in Boston except a short email from Monique, my contact in the FBI's witness protection program. She said all was well and everyone in my list of contacts was fine. All alive. All living their lives without me. They could only communicate with me via her so no one knew where I lived or what name I had taken.
For the first week after I arrived in Duncan's Cove, I cried every night, sad that I had been forced to leave everyone I loved, and that Hunter had agreed to it. I really thought he cared for me enough to want to keep me in Boston. I argued with my aunt, I argued with Graham, and I argued with my mother, but they all agreed that it was the right thing to do. Hunter wouldn't even see me, no matter what I did.
In Duncan's Cove, I didn't have to get a job. Money was deposited in an account for me once a month – more than I had ever earned before, and more than I needed. I knew that was Hunter's doing as well, and for that I was grateful, but I hated him for letting me go without even saying goodbye.
Then, out of the blue, six weeks after I left Boston, I was watching CNN and saw a headline on the ticker tape at the bottom of the screen.
Boston Mafia boss Sergei Romanov, brother Victor Romanov killed in gangland assassination.
The news was sordid. A rival Russian gang had fought with the Romanovs over a shipment of guns. Sergei and his brother Victor were both shot dead, as well as three of their underlings. Two men from the rival gang were also killed, their bodies left at the scene.
The news coverage displayed a bloody scene, blue sheets covering the bodies in an old warehouse along the waterfront.
It was the warehouse where I was raped.
One of Sergei's relatives from New York City, Semion Romanov, came down from New York City for the funerals.
I called Monique to ask if that meant I could come back to Boston, but she assured me that I was still not safe. She told me to be patient, forget Boston, and focus on my application for law school at Stanford. That no matter what, I had to make a new life because my name would still be on the Romanovs’ list of enemies.
I was assured that since I already had been accepted at Stanford when I initially applied the previous year, I could re-apply and would likely be accepted. The fact that I was in the witness protection program would be known to only a few of those involved in approving applications. The confidentiality of my real identity would be assured.
Resigned to my lot, I went out and sat on the deck overlooking the ocean and tried to get excited about starting law school in the fall, but it was hard. I still had months to wait until I could begin again. Bored, I got a job at a local bookstore and spent my time stocking shelves and helping customers find their books, even though I didn’t need the money.
Every day I went to work, my name tag reading Emma Jones instead of Celia Parker. It was hard at first to adjust to using a new name, and I often failed to respond when my boss or one of my neighbors called out Emma, because I forgot who I was supposed to be.
Then, one day as I was walking along the beach, I got a text on my new cell. My new number under my new name.
JDOE: If you want to see me again, meet me at 7152 Cliff Avenue.
A surge of emotion swept through my entire body and my eyes teared up. J Doe? John Doe… It had to be Hunter. But how could I know? It could be one of the Romanov thugs come to kill me…
EMMA: How do I know who you are? Give me evidence to prove it's you or I'm calling the FBI.
JDOE: The first time we kissed, you rolle
d on top of me while we were supposed to be watching the stars.
Hunter. He was here, in Duncan's Cove. Cliff Avenue ran up the coast a few miles from my place.
I texted him, unable to hold back.
EMMA: Hunter! Why didn’t you contact me all this time? It's been two months and I haven't heard anything from you. Why didn’t you contact me sooner? You just expect me to come running to you after not even saying goodbye?
I cried after I sent that, torn between being angry at him and wanting to go right away.
JDOE: I know you're angry but I had to do it for your safety. Come to me.
EMMA: Why should I? You expect me to just run to you when you call me up?
JDOE: I remember that night so well. I tried to be a gentleman but you were brazen and insisted I kiss you.
