Anything that can go wrong will go wrong; it's Murphy's Law. It taps into one's tendency to dwell and focus on the negative while overlooking the positive. If something can go wrong in the worst moment possible; it will. Murphy's Law doesn't care about timing or inconvenience; its sole purpose is to make one's bad day seem like an eternity. Everyone is entitled to a bad day; it's how life works; no one's immune to the inevitable day that things don't go your way, but there's a line; a line that separates a bad day from the worst day of your life. Today is the worst day of her life.
The chilled dark liquor swirled within the glass secured by her hand. She's staring down at the brown beverage; the ice slowly melting. It's taking her forever to finish her sixth drink. Her hand is tightly grasped around the glass and if she were to squeeze any harder, it might break. She wants it to break. She wants it to shatter like her marriage just did hours ago. Erin has been sitting in the same barstool for the last three hours; crying tears that refused to stop flowing while drowning her sorrows in alcohol. She sat in the sheltered corner of the bar –her thoughts roaming to the past- her vision blurred from the tears welled inside her pupils.
"Your drink is going to get weak," an unfamiliar voice whispers against her ear.
She takes a look down at the melting ice, "I don't care."
Seconds float by and her cell phone rings. It's at least the thirtieth time her husband has called. It's at least the thirtieth time she sends it to voicemail. She wasn't up for conversing, for arguing and hearing him out. She didn't want to see him, talk to him or even be near him. Erin silently turns her cell phone off and throws it into her purse, "Care for a drink?" She offers to the man beside her. He nods and takes the empty seat to her right.
"Why's such a beautiful lady crying alone at a bar on a Friday night?"
Erin brings the alcohol to her lips –she takes a small sip- it's definitely getting weak, "…because of love," She cracks a fake smile, "love is one long sweet dream, and marriage is the alarm clock. We don't know each other," she turns to face the man, "but I have some pretty good advice for you; don't ever get married."
"The guy you're crying over is an idiot."
Her eyes continued to leak with the pain of her tears –she's heartbroken-, "I'm the idiot."
"Nah," the man shakes his head, scooting his barstool closer, "what man in their right mind would ruin this? What man would make you cry like this? He doesn't deserve your tears."
Her hand is shaking as the glass of alcohol is brought back towards her lips, "When your heart and your head are telling you different things and you're scared of both, what do you do?"
"I don't know."
"He…he broke my heart."
Her voice betrayed her. It broke. Fortunately, the music playing from a corner jukebox overshadowed her inconsolable and heartbroken cries. Her eyes were bloodshot red –shoulders trembling with each sob- she felt his hand rub against her lower back, "Want to talk about it? What did he do? What's on your mind?"
"Right now," her bottom lip quivers as she struggles to speak without crying, "I think it's a little dangerous to tell you what's on my mind, so I'm just going to keep it to myself."
"Here," he slides his drink in front of her, "you need this more than I do."
"No, I should be cutting myself off. I have work tomorrow."
The 27 year old rises to her feet –stumbles a bit- and walks towards the restroom. She feels his hands guiding her along the way; ensuring the patrons that she's alright and she won't fall over. He's guiding her through the dark hallway, "How long have you been married?"
"Five years," she spits the answer out in disdain, "I'm 27. I got married when I was 22. My dad told me to wait, but as the stubborn child that I am, I didn't. I married him." Her lips tremble again, "I married him! Why didn't I listen? Why did I marry him?"
"Whatever happened, it isn't your fault."
"Yes it is," she's holding onto him for support as they continue towards the restroom, "I work for the public defender's office. I'm a defense attorney. I work too much. He must have thought since he needed companionship he should look elsewhere for it."
"What does your husband do?"
"…he's a detective."
The young man remains outside of the bathroom as she walks in. There are two stalls –she peeks inside both- the bathroom is empty. Erin goes in front of the mirror, she looked horrible. Her eyes were no longer reddened with tears, but remained slightly swollen. She desperately wanted to continue to cry –to scream and throw things- but her eyes burned, her throat was dry, and what good would destroying the bathroom at Molly's do. It'll serve no purpose. Erin turned the faucet water on –splashed droplets around her face- turned the water off and walked out. He was still here. He was holding her purse and jacket, waiting for her.
"You didn't have to wait around for me."
"You shouldn't be alone right now," he extends her belongings out towards her; "We should get out of here. I can take your mind off your bastard husband."
"You don't even know him," her hand runs loosely through her brunette hair.
"I know he broke your heart. I know you're here crying because of him. Who was she?"
His question sparks the thoughts and emotions from earlier –from the lowest point she felt in her marriage- from the raw emotional discovery she faced earlier today.
"I never said-"
"Come on," he gives her a flirtatious wink, "I'm no idiot. Who was she?"
"…an old friend of his."
"You're hurt," he states the obvious but she nods anyway, "You're angry," she continues nodding as he cleverly points out her emotional state, "You want to get back at him. You want him to feel the way you're feeling." She nods once again, and he uses the moment to extend his hand, "Well come on then…let's get out of here."
Erin doesn't argue –she sets her hand in his- without another word, they're walking down the hallway. The bright lights of Mollys surround her and she ventures to the bar –swallows the rest of her weakened drink- and sends a wave to Herman.
"Wait Erin," the firefighter jogs around the bar, "You're definitely not okay to drive. Let me call you a taxi or an Uber."
"No thanks;" she softly peers over her shoulder, "I'm not going home."
The young man approaches her and takes a hold of her hand. Herman looks between the intertwined hands of a stranger and his friend, "Are you sure? I can call your dad to pick you up…or maybe Halst-"
"Don't," she immediately interrupts, "don't call him. Don't mention him. I don't need him…at all." The firefighter stood speechless; he looked over his shoulder at Gabriella and Stella; the two firefighters watching the exchange. Erin looked broken. The two wanted to walk around the bar and comfort the woman over whatever happened, but the moment they made an effort to move, she raised her hand to stop them, "I'm out of here."
"I don't know what's wrong, but I'm sure everything will get better." Herman attempts.
"I doubt it, but thank you anyway," She appreciated him for trying, but there was nothing he or anyone else could do to make her feel better. Without giving Herman a second glance, she led the man out of the door. She was a grown woman. She didn't need her dad or her husband getting involved. If her dad found out, he would do who knows what…this was her marriage; she wanted to figure things out without the added stress of her father's opinion.
The fresh air and the pouring rain sober her up…just a little. It's enough for her walk to be more balanced, less wobbly. She didn't drive here, she took a taxi, and now the stranger was taking the lead. He drove here; they're heading towards his car.
"I'm parked right over here," he points across the street. No cars were on the road. It's going to storm tonight and by this time everyone was at their destination for the night. They're jogging –trying to avoid being soaked from the pouring rain- he's digging through his pocket for his keys, when Erin abruptly stops jogging. She's watching him –he's looking for his car keys- he desperately wants to get her back to his place, it's been a long time for him.
Her body leans against the hood of the car, "I can't believe I'm about to do this." For the first time in hours, there's a partial smile on her face. It's small; barely noticeable, but it's there.
With the search for his keys long forgotten, his arm circles the petite woman's waist as he pulls her close. As their faces grow closer, their hearts begin to race. For him, this is nothing; another random hookup. For her, she'll be giving up a lot in this moment; nothing will be the same between her and her husband after this. She has to be willing. In less than a second, his lips are upon hers. The sexual tension is thick in the night air; his body pressed against hers and her body pressed between his and the car. They're embraced in the passion and the heat of the moment sexual frustration. The kiss isn't gentle; it's not sweet or filled with love. It's a heated, spur of the moment kiss filled with desperation, desire and lust. There's lip biting, ragged breathing and tangled tongues. Her lips are swelling with every second of their kiss that passes –she feels his hands tugging at the hem of her business skirt- he's trying to rise it above her waist.
"Wait," she swats his hands away. He's forced to release her business skirt; he's disappointed.
Erin moves from between him and his car; she's soaked by rain water, but she doesn't care. She's not thinking things through. She's acting out of emotion; not reason. She's acting out of anger and hurt…she's pissed. She's trying to get back at Jay in the worst way possible.
"I can't do this."
"What do you mean?" the guy's arms are in the air; he's confused.
Her breath hitches in her throat, "I'm sorry," she's backing away, "I can't do this!"
"How are you going to get home?" he shouts as she walks further and further away.
"I'll walk."
He adjusts his pants, "Let me give you a ride."
"I'm fine."
The 27 year old continues to walk; everything is going bad right now. Nothing is right. She's in a business suit –skirt and button up top- while walking in heels through the rainy streets of Chicago. Her husband is probably at their home banging his new girlfriend. Her parents are at their house completely oblivious to how screwed up their daughter's life is right now. She's a lonely drunk which is sad. Her winning streak at work is unfortunately decreasing while her workload is increasing. She got in trouble with her boss for the fifth time this week. She got into a really bad argument with her best friend, who is now not speaking to her. After catching her husband, she gave Burgess a call; requesting her company for the night. She was in much need of girl talk, however when Kim didn't answer, she felt forced to head out on her own. Her husband is having an affair with one of his ex-girlfriends. And now…as she looks down, her heel just broke. Nothing is right. Today is definitely not her day.
The hurt and pain erupts from within her like a volcano. She can't go home –she can't face him right now- her parents live a couple of blocks from her current location. The fresh air will do her some good and she would prefer to walk in the rain than call her husband or parents to come rescue her from her current predicament. She was fine. She continues to walk through the serene weather –no one outside to destroy the peaceful atmosphere- it may have been raining, but the sound of the pouring water soothes her tormented and uneasy mood. The rain falling upon her face blends with her tears. She can't distinguish between the raindrops running down her face and the teardrops falling down her cheeks.
As she walks, strands of her brunette hair slick against her face. She moves it away as the memories from hours before play through her mind. It's on loop. Every time she tries to think of something else –literally anything else- she's forced to remember. She walked into her house –down the hallway- and there they were in the living room; her standing in her underclothes with her lips pressed against her husband. He didn't even have the decency to chase after her after Erin –his own wife- stormed out. The rain is soaking her…and now she is beginning to regret her decision to walk. She wished she had let Herman call her a taxi.
"Ma'am," a voice calls out to her from behind. However, the second she turned on her heel to face him, her entire world went black. It was an immediate blackness; like someone cut the lights out. She's on a thin line between consciousness and unconsciousness.
The back of her head bumps against the cement as her body is dragged. Hands covered with dark gloves have her ankles gripped and he's pulling her as fast and quietly as he possible can. He's taking her to the alley -he doesn't know when someone may come outside- he has to be quick. Erin is groaning. A large laceration is on her forehead, the rain water causing the blood to run down her face. Her head hurts; she's in pain. She's groaning. She's confused. She never had a chance to register what happened…what's going on. Her purse is around her shoulder and is being dragged along with her. Erin's head is buzzing; her forehead bleeding; and low volume groans hum from her mouth. Did she trip and fall? Did she run into something? Her head continues to bump against the cement, and the second she registers the movement of her dragging body; her eyes flash open in a panic.
"Shush," he growls; his voice muffled by the thunder cracking the sky.
Erin is in a dark alley; she's kicking until her heels fall off her feet. The broken heel falls first, and she continues to yank her ankle free from his grip. She's in a long and dark alley; as he continues to yank, she throws open her purse, phone resting inside, and within seconds she pulls it out. It's off. She curses herself for turning it off inside the bar. The cell is smacked from her hand moments after it begins coming to life. She's forced to watch it fly and slide across the alleyway; landing in a puddle of water; fizzling out of life. Her eyes water at the distance between her and her now water-filled cell phone. It would have no use; it's broken. Lindsay turns to face her attacker; black ski mask covering most of his face, the dark sky shielding the rest. She's stuck. Her back is pressed against the ground, and his large body is hovering above hers. She doesn't know who he is, what he wanted or what he was about to do, but she knew that whatever it was; it wasn't good.
The two make eye contact, and before Erin could respond or move in any way, he attacks. His hands surround her neck; his body sitting upon her stomach and the hold around her neck tightens. She's kicking her feet, she's squirming beneath him. She's clawing at his gloved covered hands secured firmly around her neck. It's a fruitless effort because he simply just tightens up his grasp. Her vision is spotting, a puddle of water surrounding her head, reaching the lower portion of her ear. This is how it'll end; her bad day, this is how it'll end.
For a split second –a moment in time- his hand loosens. He removes one hand and keeps the other secured around her neck. The free hand begins roaming her body; searching for an opening in her wardrobe. She knows what he wants. She knows what he wants to do. And she couldn't let him. Her flickering eyes scan the perpetrator's eyes; they're dark and filled with rage. It's now or never. He has no intention of letting her go before taking what he wants. With that knowledge, she lifts her leg and knees him in the groin; for a split second he screams, he releases her throat, and she pushes him away. Her cell phone long forgotten, she's crawling away from her heels, but seconds afterwards, his hand surrounds her ankles. He's pissed, and without holding anything back, he pulls her further into the alley.
Her attacker takes his previous position; he's sitting upon her stomach, a switchblade pulled out and extended to hover inches above her neck, "You make a noise, I slit your threat." It scares her into silence. She's mute. She would have screamed if she knew for a fact that someone would hear it. However, the empty streets, the pouring rain and the loud thunder drowned any sound out. He reaches over and pulls her purse; dumping its contents beside her head, "You're definitely a fighter," he chuckles, looking through her belongings, "Let's see here," he opens her wallet and grins, "Erin Voight-Halstead," he takes her ID and pockets it, "Are you married? Or did your parents just decide to give you both of their last names?" He's not surprised when she doesn't answer. He stares down at her name, "Voight…any relation to Hank Voight?"
When she doesn't speak, he presses the switchblade harder against her neck; it draws blood, earning an answer from Erin, "Yes!"
"How are you related?"
"…he's my dad."
She hates herself for giving in so easily, but she wanted to survive; she wanted to make it out of here to see another day. This was a bad day but there's no way it could possibly be her last day. He pockets her ID and turns back to face the petite woman. She's utterly terrified; she has no idea how this night will end for her.
"Please…don't do-"
A fist makes a harsh connection with her face; cutting off her pleas. Hit after hit connects to her body; he's not mindful about where he's hitting as long as he's punching her. She tries to fight back, tries to squirm, but it only makes him hit her harder. She's stuck between a rock and a hard place. She doesn't know what to do. Aches vibrated throughout her body as her eyes remain closed –trying to mentally eject herself from the present-, "Please-" Her jaw ached in pain as another hit raps against her face, followed by another and another. He wanted her weak; he couldn't have her fighting back.
"The only reason I won't kill you," he's whispering –face hovering inches above hers- he's gently unbuttoning her blouse, "is because your Hank Voight's daughter. I don't have a death wish." Apparently he does because what he's doing to her is just as bad.
Erin is weak; too weak to fight back and too weak to respond. Blood and bruises surround her swollen face. The dirt and grime from the wet ground seep into her clothing and under her nails. She's unresponsive; and she is unable to form coherent thoughts. Small groans of pain emerged within her when the hitting stopped. He finally stopped beating her. His hands grip her wrists and he forcibly holds them above her head. Specks of blood surrounded her lips; she opens her mouth to speak but blood is staining her white teeth.
"It'll all be over soon," he whispered against her ear; pressing his mask covered lips against her cheek, "Be a good girl and close your eyes." Without argument, she does as he says. It pains her to listen but she needed for it all to be over. This was a bad day that ended in one of the worse ways possible. If he left her alive, it would be a bad day that she would never forget. A day that would always be embedded in her memory; the day her husband cheated on her, the day her best friend abandoned her and the day she was attacked and lost a portion of herself that she possibly would never get back. Everything that could go wrong, did; it's Murphy's Law.
