Moving On
Colby stood in the upstairs hallway of the Eppes's home and knocked firmly on one of the locked bedroom doors. He didn't have long to wait for a response.
"Go away!" came the agonized scream from within. "Leave me the fuck alone!"
Though he was unused to such foul language coming from Amita's mouth, Colby didn't even flinch when he heard it. Amita had been through much trauma in the past several months as Charlie had been murdered one early Wednesday morning while leaving his house for work. The perpetrator had been a man who had been stalking Charlie for months—a man who referred to himself as Charlie's "Ultra Number 1 Fan" and was a student of the professor.
"Amita," he called grimly through the door. He probably should just have left her alone in her anger and grief, but she was taking it to a level that would do her more harm than good. He was very concerned for her. "If you don't let me in, I swear I will break down the door."
For a moment, there was no response from her and the silence seemed to stretch for minutes, rather than a few seconds. Then, he heard the lock being released. The door opened to reveal a puffy eyed, pale young woman with dark, disheveled hair. She looked more like a vagabond than a professor of mathematics at a prestigious university. Amita opened the door wider and wrapped her arms across her middle.
"What do you want?" she demanded miserably, seeming more weary than angry for his intrusion.
Colby glanced up and down the hallway to make sure that no one was around to interrupt them. Satisfied that they were alone, at least for now, he asked, "May I come in? I thought you could possibly use someone—a friend—to vent to."
Amita's grim expression did not change much, but there was a softening of her eyes that he took as a very good sign. Without speaking, she moved to the side and made a sweeping gesture with her hand to invite him.
He hesitated for a brief second before entering the room.
When she closed the door behind him, they both just stood there for a few awkward moments, lost in their own thoughts and feelings. The room was pretty dark as the only light within came from three small candles situated on the bedside table. There was a light scent of vanilla in the air, which he assumed was from those candles.
"What do you want, Colby," she asked, repeating the question she had asked at the door.
"I told you," he responded. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Amita. Everyone is concerned about you..."
"I have a right to grieve, Colby," she said to him, emphatically. "Why can't you all understand that?"
"We do understand that, Amita," Colby told her gently, keeping his voice soft and even. "You will always miss Charlie and grieve for him, but what you are doing right now, it isn't healthy. We thought you were doing better, and then...I know that what happened in court today upset you."
"Did you hear what the defense said about Charlie," Amita countered, her voice rising to a slightly higher and more hysterical pitch. "They basically said that it was all his fault, that he was an egomaniac who stepped on everyone in his path. That he became unreasonable and defensive when someone challenged him. They said that Charlie attacked him first."
"Of course, they decided to go with that defense, Amita. They knew that the evidence was stacked against them and that's what unscrupulous lawyers often do in that situation. They attack the character of the victim. I've seen it at least a dozen times in the court room."
"What if the jury believes it?" Amita asked with a sniffle, sounding now like a timid and lost little girl. "What if they believe that he killed Charlie in self-defense?"
"Like I said, Amita, the evidence is against them. They are reaching," Colby tried to reassure her. He grasped one of her elbows gently and pulled her toward the foot of the bed. She let him lead her without protest, too weak in will and spirit to do so. They sat down. "I watched the jury during the time that they made that argument and I could tell that they didn't believe a word the defense said."
"Somewhere in here, I know it is ridiculous that anyone could believe that Charlie would stoop so low as to physically attack someone," she said, tapping her right temple with her fingers. "But my heart has to wonder if it's entirely possible."
"I can't tell you I know what it's like to have someone you love murdered, then victimized later by the system. But I do know very well what it's like to love someone, then lose them," Colby responded, remembered experiences in his own past making his compassion come across to Amita as very genuine. "It is the worst kind of hell anyone can imagine. It can mess with your mind to a point where nothing seems to make much sense. But you can't let your doubts beat you down until you are a shell of yourself."
Amita's eyes glossed over once again with tears. She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, which caused the tears to stream like waterfalls down her already soaked cheeks. She breathed out a brief sound like a whimper before covering her face with both hands, then began rocking back and forth to a rhythm only she could feel.
He fought the urge to touch her or pull her into his arms in effort to comfort her because he sensed that she would not welcome it. Colby being there to bear witness to her grief already made him much too close to her. He knew that feeling so incredibly well, but still did not move away from her or out of the room.
He couldn't walk away from her.
"It's not good for you or the baby to lock yourself in this room, only coming out when it's time for the trial to come back into session," he told her quietly, but urgently, when her rocking and crying had finally ebbed enough for her to hear his words and understand them. "Do you think this is what Charlie would want for you?"
Amita's startled face suddenly lifted and she stared at him in shock, which briefly turned to anger, then back to a resigned sadness. The tears filled her eyes again, but she did not shed them this time.
"No," she responded in a whisper and with a shake of her head. "Charlie wouldn't want me to do this to myself. He would want me to be strong and take care of myself and our baby. But it's so fucking hard."
There it was again, the profanity, but Colby still did not flinch or blink.
"I know it is, Amita. I honestly do."
Amita pushed herself up from the bed, as slowly and seemingly as painfully as an arthritic older woman. Colby dared a glance at her stomach, but through the clothing he couldn't yet see any evidence that it was gently curved with her pregnancy.
His heart warmed when she placed her hands protectively over that hidden small bump and straightened her back. There was a new fire in her eyes that replaced the dull one he had seen so often since Charlie's murder. He had a feeling that the woman Charlie had loved so deeply was going to come back. It was going to take a while for the pain and grief to lessen and dim to a remembered pang, but she would survive and move on with her life. To wherever it would take her.
She swiped at freshly fallen tears.
"Thank you, Colby," she sincerely said, meeting his eyes and holding them steadily, an understanding passing between them for those brief few moments.
Colby sensed the dynamic of their relationship change right then. Not in the sense of potential romantic involvement, however. Of course, he didn't believe that to be a possibility for them. They hadn't really gotten to know each other very well outside of the times she spent assisting Charlie in helping the team. One could possibly say that they had only been mere acquaintances in the past. But he could now envision the two of them forming a close friendship out of this situation.
He looked forward to it.
"You're welcome, Amita," he responded. "Now would you care to join the rest of us for dinner? I'm sure everyone would love for you to be there."
She released a brief, cleansing sigh. "You know what? I think I will. I just need to freshen up a bit before I go down. Will you tell everyone I'm coming."
"Of course," he said, watching her as she disappeared through the bathroom door.
When he heard the sound of water flowing from the tap, he stood up and left the room.