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Yet they did.
They were my safe place to escape and forget the harsh reality of life for a while, and this was no different. My eyes sought theirs, worry building at what I might possibly see, but an almost imperceptible nod let me know they weren’t mad. My panic eased, and the symptoms of a possible panic attack—the building acid, the spreading numbness—began to settle. My body had been trained well, and it knew that when they were here, worry didn’t need to exist. If only they could truly protect me from what was about to happen next. Their eyes never left mine as the lawyer made his way to the floor.
“Did you see your father kill this man?” The prosecutor in a crisp navy suit held up a photograph of a smiling man sitting next to his wife and son. His face was lined with the wrinkles of a life well lived.
Here it was, the moment of truth. The calm that I had gotten from the guys vanished. Sweat pooled under my arms, and my mouth suddenly went dry as the sound of my heartbeat hammered against my temples. One simple word. Yes or no was all it would take. Opening my mouth, I spit the answer out as fast as I could.
“Yes,” my voice croaked the single word.
The lawyer asked questions over the course of the next half hour. The time on the stand seemed to stretch longer, dragging on. My mind struggled to keep focused, but somehow I answered. Each statement was a knife to my chest, knowing there would be no going back. I would be at risk from my father’s men even if he was found guilty, and I’d be thrust into Witness Protection no matter what the verdict said. It was the right thing to do, to testify, but my heart ached knowing that to keep myself and those I cared about safe, I would have to leave this life behind.
The minutes felt like hours, and my body slowly grew more tired as the questions finally came to a close. Taking the seat I had been given near the bailiff, I waited for what was to come. Finally, after long arguments, evidence, and deliberation, all of which I spent in a haze, zoning out in my assigned spot next to a US Marshal, there was a verdict from the jury.
“Not guilty.”
Everything happened all at once. Loud yelling and dissonance from the Sanchez family who waited in the benches surrounded me. I doubled over as the need to vomit took hold of me, my stomach dropping as my vision darkened for a split second. The panic and fear, the adrenaline that had been building throughout the entire trial left me, my body going numb, and worst of all, my father’s handcuffs were removed for the final time. My eyes shot up and caught the cold stare of my father; the look on his face promised revenge and my death. I quickly lost sight of him as his men surrounded him and a firm grip lifted me by my arm. A pair of U.S. Marshals shuffled me out of the room, both stoic as they explained what was next as they directed me towards the door.
“What just happened?” I muttered, cutting off one of the men, my feet slowing until I wasn’t walking. He glanced at me with a furrowed brow, not seeming upset I had interrupted. “How was he not found guilty?” I croaked out.
The Marshal’s jaw tensed, glancing over at my father with a look of hatred. “If I had to guess, Miss Perelli, I would say he bribed the jury. Otherwise, there’s no way a man like him would walk. Come on, we don’t have much time.” I almost didn’t hear a word his partner and he rattled off as they started talking again, but I forced myself to listen. Each rule outlined was another stake through my heart.
New identity.
Relocation.
No contact with anyone from my previous life.
As soon as the last one was stated, my eyes scanned my surroundings automatically. They watched from outside the courtroom with tight expressions, their eyes never leaving me as I disappeared behind a door. My heart constricted knowing I would never get to ask them how they knew or why they’d come. It was my fault, another cut across my already battered and broken heart because I had purposely not told them about my father or the trial. The front door to the courthouse opened, a black SUV waiting to whisk me away to a new life. As the door slammed closed, the burn of tears returned, my chest aching.
I hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye.
In the blink of an eye,the memory faded, and I was alone in the darkened alley leading to my rental. I didn’t hesitate this time, rushing to the door and jamming the key into the lock. Even the Hansons’ screaming couldn’t break through the panic that flooded my body as I turned and slid all the locks into place. Only once all five had been secured, my white-knuckled fists relaxed. Somehow the door provided enough of a barrier, a safety net for my mind to ease, even if only slightly. I knew if I turned my hands around, I’d find half-moon crescents indented in my palms.
When I felt as if I could finally move, my breathing evening out slightly, I turned away from the chipped paint and stepped into the room. That was when I saw them, the delicate petals in a simple glass vase on the kitchen counter. My breath hitched, realizing quickly they were forget-me-not flowers. Lifting a stem, I inhaled its sweet perfume.Could it be …I cut off the hopeful thought as I stepped closer and plucked the card from the vase.
For Mare
The handwriting was small and masculine, neat in its script that only solidified the hope I refused to allow myself to believe in. Even after all this time,theymay have found me. The men I had forced myself to forget.Yeah, like that actually worked.I tried to force the seed of belief that blossomed in my chest away, to squash it in a wave of logic. It could be my father and his men, taunting me, lulling me into a sense of comfort before ripping it all away, but it refused to dim. Even if my whole family now thought I was dead and buried, they would know, and they would remember.
After all, a girl only turned twenty-three once.
