A/N:
A couple things:
Before I get into my update, I must mention that I feel as if I have been slightly disrespected lately. Though I had a whole rebuttal written out, which I'd planned to publically display, I opted for the higher road since that also seems to be the road less traveled. I will, however, say that if you do not enjoy my story, my portrayal of JE's characters, or the depiction of the characters that I have created, no one is forcing you to read. I have no issue with constructive criticisms; I wholly welcome what I can use to better my writing skills. But blatant disrespect for the things I've listed or for my writing style is absolutely not appropriate, especially if you've made it to Chapter Twenty. These words, apparently misguided as they were, were still a hit to my confidence as a writer, which I do believe inhibited my composition of this chapter.
In the end, I love and genuinely appreciate every single praise I've been given on this forum, each morsel of opinion, the following of every quiet reader. But, I started writing this story because I wanted to tell it. Not to an audience, though that decision was made later. I started writing because I wanted to. I do not write to please all of my readers; that's impossible. I compose every word with careful thought and precision to please my characters.
That having all been said, I really missed you all. And I can't promise to post a chapter every week- it's not realistic for this time in my life. I can promise that I will finish this story, and that I will remain as true to my characters as I can, regardless of nay-sayers.
I love you guys.
I aced Spanish.
The Keys is a really great place to go. (I even went parasailing!) Not some evil innuendo to the person that recently died in a parasailing accident. I really went.
Went back to school full term for the fall. I've been in "break-down" mode all week. It's like I'm preparing to have a break-down, but I haven't had one yet. Something really stupid is going to push me over the edge and I'm going to fall into a hysterical heap of sobbing author. But then I'll pick myself up and get on next week's schedule. (You know what'll probably do me over? Those stupid Sarah McLachlan commercials. Fuck that.)
I hope all of your lives are going well! I'll see you again soon! :)
Disclaimer: Everything you're about to read is stuff I wrote about some stuff somebody else wrote.
Violent nausea attacked me a second time, sending me into dry convulsions.
Black spots blurred my vision.
Anyone else would have blushed with excitement, smiled giddily, felt a torrent of internal butterflies tickling their stomach.
My stomach was being teased by something far from butterflies; fear bubbled up in the core of my gut, watering my eyes.
I don't know why exactly, but my mind began to reel with a primary line of children's poetry, playing repetitively on a haunting circuit in my brain.
Roses are red.
Roses are red.
Roses are red.
I stood up straight, tossing a wavering glance at the box again.
Red rose petals.
Hundreds of red rose petals.
"No," I whispered in disbelief, shaking my head, attempting to shake away the situation.
This isn't supposed to be happening.
This is over.
I became dizzy with the idea of what I knew I had to do.
There were rose petals, and roses are always accompanied by…
I dumped the box in the sink frantically, refusing to lay hand to the blood-red petals.
And there it was, just like I knew it would be, nestled atop the bed of roses.
The note.
I snatched it up and unfolded it, unable to delay knowing what it said.
My Stephanie,
I'm so sorry for the losses which accompanied the explosion in your unit. I truly wish that could have been prevented.
Please, keep our communications more private. Terrible things are better prevented that way.
Do not drive yourself to work in the morning.
All my love—
Wait.
What?
"Do not drive yourself to work in the morning," I read quietly aloud.
He's going to blow up my car again.
He's going to blow up my car again.
He's… warning me that he's going to blow up my car again?
With trembling hands I dug in my pocket for my phone, just as it began to ring.
"We'll be there in seven minutes," Lester said as soon as the call connected.
I heard the revving of an engine in the background.
"Six minutes" I heard someone further away from the receiver say.
I nodded at the phone, unaware for a moment that they couldn't see me; they were far from the Rangeman monitors feeding my status live to a room of quick-acting Merry Men.
"Stephanie?"
"It's okay if it's in seven. I'll be okay even if it's seven."
I nodded my head again, this time for my own affirmation of safety.
I was going to be fine.
They were on their way.
It was the same stuff as before.
I was going to be fine.
"Five," he said just before he disconnected the line.
"You need to sit down," Bobby said.
I shook my head, briefly flashing a glare at the couch.
"I don't want to sit down. I want to stand."
"You're pacing like a caged animal."
Lester walked into the living room from the hallway.
"We had UPS here at 2:00. Dillon signed for the package and brought it directly to your door."
"So we have nothing," I said, moving my eyes around the room quickly, processing.
"We'll send the contents of the box to…"
Lester was talking, but my mind was too busy to listen.
"He rigged my car, again," I said, interrupting, still pacing.
"What?" Lester asked.
Bobby's phone vibrated against his pocket.
"Why would he rig my car and then tell me about it?"
"Tank's on his way," Bobby announced, shutting his phone.
"Doesn't make any sense…"
"Will you stop pacing? Please?!"
"There's something missing…"
"Stephanie!"
"Hey, Steph?"
"What are we missing?"
"Hey!"
"Les, I don't know if you're gonna want to…"
"He still plants bombs, wants me alive, but knows I'm the only one who would regularly drive my car. There's…"
Hands grasped my shoulders and Lester shook me.
"Hey! Stop."
I tore myself away from him and moved so that the wall was behind me, like prey, trapped, on the defense.
"I am fine!" I growled, shoving him back away from me again as he moved closer to me.
"I didn't say anything about you being fine, but you surely aren't acting like you are."
"Oh? And how is that?!"
"Stop zoning off and pacing. Be present. We need you to be present."
"There's nothing wrong with walking. Walking is healthy for you! Maybe I'm just trying to be really healthy!"
"You need to relax or you're going to make yourself sick. We've got this, okay? Everything is…"
"No, Lester, not "okay". This was supposed to be over. Everything was supposed to be getting better. I'm supposed to be getting my life back! I feel like all of this should be really obvious, like I'm not paying enough attention to the clues he keeps leaving. How do I have no idea who is doing this? How do none of us have any idea?"
"It's just another bump, Steph. We'll deal with this; we'll figure this out."
"I just…" I threw my hands to my hair and rubbed around. "I need a few minutes to process this all. I'm fine."
It took me twenty minutes to pack up my shit and load it into Tank's truck.
It took two hours before a team of grungy men in plaid t-shirts, whom Tank had called and communicated with in a language that sounded a little bit like Spanish, but definitely wasn't because I understood absolutely nothing that they said, were able to find and disassemble the bomb, expertly hidden underneath the hood of my car.
It took fifteen minutes to leave my apartment, drive to Haywood, park, ride the elevator to floor seven, and drop off my bags.
It took eight minutes of utter silence in Conference Room B before anyone would say anything.
"He's smarter than we thought," Bobby finally said, staring at the table.
"He's an idiot," Lester countered immediately.
Several questioning glances were thrown his way.
"Chances are he only has a high school education. And his automotive skill is much more elaborate than would have originally been—"
"From the way he delivered the flowers this time, we know that he knows we're watching her apartmen,t and he's an idiot for not backing off when he should have. Before he knew we were involved, he was ignorant to the risks. Now he's just being stupid."
More deafening silence weighed down upon the room.
Hector walked in then, as if he were strolling into a café for some coffee.
"The Brazilians said the placement of the bomb would have taken no less than fifteen minutes," Lester said.
No one else spoke.
He whispered then, drawing out his words and running his hands over his face.
"It's not possible. It's not even possible. When would he have had access to her car for that long without one of us being around, without showing up on the cameras?"
"It couldn't have been done at the apartment unless he tampered with the feed, but he didn't. Our time stamps would have been off and they aren't."
"Fuck," Lester moaned.
More quiet stung our ears.
My eyes searched around for some solace, someone I could count on for sanity.
Everyone continued to stare at nothing, masked safely behind their stoic faces, heavy with thoughts.
I caught sight of my reflection in the adjacent window:
Solace.
Sanity.
I can do this.
"What now?" Bobby asked, startling me, directing his question towards Tank.
Tank sat for a moment, immobile, continuing to stare, before he stood lithely and left the room.
"Where's he going?" I asked allowed.
No one answered.
Only Hector, sitting back with a stoic face and crossed arms, met my eyes.
He shrugged.
"I don't even want to go anymore," Lester complained, unbuttoning one more button on his dress shirt with one hand and driving with the other.
It was Saturday night and we were on our way to Liz's art... thing for... the children?
We were headed there, and although neither of us had really recovered from the events from a few days ago, we had an obligation to fullfill.
Well, Lester had an obligation to Liz. I was going because I was trying to be nice and he promised there would be an open bar.
Tank had returned to the conference room almost a half hour after leaving, which had remained mostly silent since his exit, and announced that we would resume the safety procedures that had initially been in place: I would be living in the building; I was not to leave the building without a Rangeman escort; acute eyes and ears were going to be on top of everything that came even remotely close to me.
"I didn't want to go in the first place. This is your fault."
He nodded.
"I'm sorry I made you go."
I sighed.
"Stop being so negative. Try to have some fun."
"Yeah, I'll get right on that," he muttered sarcastically.
"Ups and downs just mean you're alive, Les."
He grinned.
"I got ups and downs, ins and outs, upside-downs, all for you, Beautiful."
"Really? You go from totally depressed to totally disgusting in less than 5 seconds? How does your conscience even let you get away saying things like that if you're in a relationship?"
"I'm sure Liz would make an exception for you."
"You're a pig. Quit grinning and drive."