He's watched her from afar for so long. He's seen her spiral down, into a deep dark pit, and then rise again, and again. The shadows have been his home for too long. He wants a change, but in the light of day he realizes he doesn't want to be like her. He doesn't want to become the person that he was supposed to be.
His entire life has been full of obstacles, and difficult truths, that he doesn't want to face. He isn't the person that he could have been, he's better. His life is a gift that he never asked for. He watches her now, as she spirals downward, again. His soul burns with pain for her, knowing the things that she has had to do, the lies that she has had to tell. He doesn't feel guilty for the choices for that she's made, because most of them are not his fault.
But one decision, one moment in time plays in his mind over, and over again. One secret that she doesn't keep, because she doesn't know. The one breath that turned her into the person that she is now, the one that is merely a shadow of who she was. The night that turned her life upside down, and shoved her over the edge into a life of abuse, and deceit. He knows that she is ultimately responsible for her own decisions, but he can't help but wonder how things could have been different for her, for all of them.
Every day, he can see the guilt that eats at her. He stands outside of her house, her life. He thinks about the scars he wears, and wonders if he will ever find the right moment to tell her the truth. He gets back into his car, that is parked down the street. He locks the car of the four door sedan.
He doesn't look at the demons in his rearview, but he knows that they're present. He knows that she is to blame for so much, but he lets it go. He glances in his rearview at the empty back seat. He puts the key in the ignition, and locks the door. He turns on the engine, and reaches for the gearshift. The knuckles tapping on his window startle him. He is quickly returned to reality. He looks out the window at her. He takes a deep breath, and rolls down the window. He plasters on a smile.
"Can I help you, ma'am?"
She furrows her brow, "Nobody calls me ma'am."
"Sorry."
"What the hell were you going outside my house?" She questions him, as she studies him, carefully.
"I was just walking back to my car," he explains.
"You stood outside my house for ten minutes. Listen, I don't know who the hell you are, but..."
He cuts her off, "It won't happen again."
"Really? This is the third night in a row that I have seen you, this week."
"I am leaving, now," he reaches for the gearshift.
She stares at the man in the gold sedan, "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm nobody."
"Nobody? Okay, nobody, tell me why the hell you have been outside my house."
"I work for the city."
"Charming isn't really a city," she points out.
"I was just checking some schematics," he lies.
"For what?"
"The sidewalk on this street is going to be replaced."
"The sidewalk? You are completely full of shit. It is nearly three o'clock in the morning. Are you some sort of private investigator, or federal agent, or some bullshit?"
"No."
"So who the hell are you?"
"I'm a ghost."
"Do you have a name?"
"You already know it," he answers.
"I don't know who you think that you are, but I suggest that you stay the hell away from my house, do you understand?" The vein in her forehead pulsates.
"Yes," he nods, not the least bit afraid.
She steps away from the car, and he speeds away. She makes a mental note of the license plate, as he heads down the street. She pulls out her phone, and dials a familiar number. Unser answers after a couple of rings.
"Gemma?"
"I need you to look up a license plate number."
"Gemma, I..."
"Now!"
"Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"About three."
"Gemma why are you calling me about a license plate number at three o'clock in the morning? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Some federal agent type has been outside of my house, watching it for at least three nights. I want to know who he is."
"Okay, text me the plate number, and I'll call you in the morning."
She hangs up the phone, and heads back to her house. She ends up passed up on the couch. Hours later she's standing in front of the coffee pot, waiting for hit to percolate, when someone begins banging on her door. She abandons the coffee pot, and makes a beeline for the door. She stops at the door to unlock it. She unbolts the door, and pulls it open. Unser stands outside of the house, with a file folder.
She blinks, "I thought that you said you were going to call."
"Can I come in?" He ignores her question.
She steps aside, "What's this about?"
"You aren't going to like it."
"Tell me anyway."
"Maybe you should have a seat."
"It can't be that bad," she argues.
"Gemma this is something you don't want to hear."
"Why not?"
"Because he isn't who you think he is," Unser explains.
"Then who the hell is he? CIA, DEA, ATF?"
"No," he shakes his head.
"So then who the hell is he?"
"Gemma, he's a lawyer."
"A lawyer?" She furrows her brow.
"Yeah," he nods.
"Are you sure?"
"All of the information is in here," he hands her the folder.
"Okay."
"Gemma, you should have a seat before you read it."
"Why?"
"Trust me."