A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.
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Chapter 41 – The Bracelet
Edward
Tearing through the city streets, I run red lights, dodge oncoming vehicles, and leave screeching tires, honking horns, and spat curses in my wake. All the while, even as I wreak havoc across downtown's midday traffic, I know I'm too late.
It doesn't stop me from praying fervently that I'll find her.
As I pull up short next to the Black SUV that's part of Bella's protection detail, another government-issued vehicle screeches to a halt directly behind me. Flipping open my glove compartment, I pull out my weapon and cock the trigger, jumping out of the car concurrently to Jasper. We meet wordlessly on either side of the SUV, weapons trained on its tinted windows. It's almost impossible to see through the purposely darkened glass, but neither of us needs further confirmation that the vehicle is empty.
I can't help the immediate and concurrent thought:
Agent's Fuller and Yorkie better be dead because if they're still breathing somewhere, and they allowed this clusterfuck – they allowed Bella to be taken – I'm going to have both their heads.
Jasper sucks his teeth and expels a vicious oath, and we lower our weapons.
"You received Alice's SOS?" he asks, having no clue what went down between James and me.
Instead, he's under the impression that Alice's text, which I didn't see until after the surgery, is what's impelled me home in the middle of the day. I've got to keep him believing that – for now.
"Yeah."
"Yeah, me too." Exhaling hard, he jerks his head toward the apartment building.
The elevator doors open, and we step off with weapons once again brandished. The narrow hallway appears empty and undisturbed, its bright lights glowing; only faint city sounds seep in from outside. Proceeding with caution, we near the stairwell, where Jasper silently meets my gaze and gestures. With a nod of understanding, I move forward toward my apartment while Jasper noiselessly disappears through the exit door.
All the while, I send up silent pleas to whoever may be listening that somehow, James was wrong, or that he was lying, that while my cover is absolutely and undoubtedly blown and something has unquestionably run afoul, she is safely in the apartment.
However, with every moment that passes, the futility of such pleas approaches nil. The front door has been left ajar. I push it open slowly, quietly, almost holding my breath, then release it in a devastating huff at the sight that greets me.
Signs of a struggle are everywhere – scuffed walls, broken plaster, and further inward, upturned and broken furniture. With my heart in my throat and blood pounding excruciatingly between my ears, I move in further, then freeze.
"God damn it!" I shout, sprinting across the room. "Oh, Jesus! Alice!"
Dropping to my knees, I pick up Alice's wrist, my eyes widening at the amount of blood pooled around her. When I fail to find a pulse, I lay three fingers at her jugular.
Yes! Yes, there's a pulse; it's weak, but it's there.
In my periphery, I see Jasper rush in, already shouting orders into his cell phone. He stops short and sucks in a sharp breath.
"Alice. Is she-?"
"No, no, she's not. She has a pulse."
"Make that four! Yes, four agents down!" Jasper yells into his phone.
The implications of that statement aren't enough to keep me in place to find out who and how. I'm already sprinting to the bedroom, where just at its threshold, shards of broken glass crunch under my shoes. Window glass, apparently, and-
Window glass.
The bedroom window.
Images…memories of volatile yet defining moments in Bella's and my complexly interlinked past bombard me like unpinned grenades hurled all at once.
An image of the moment back in that hotel room in Hawaii: she tricked me so that she could jump from the window and scale down the balconies to the safety of the garden below.
An image of the moment on the return flight from Hawaii: she pulled a ruse that distracted the entire airplane so she could jump from the emergency escape hatch onto the wing and down to the safety of the runway below.
An image of the night of the raid at James's house: she jumped from James' bedroom window, and a short while later, angry and afraid, she ran from me and jumped from one warehouse roof to the next.
And one final, horrific image, one that I never witnessed but which Bella painted in her own words and such excruciating detail that it left a lasting, indelible imprint on my psyche:
The image of Bella jumping from the cliff at the Everglades into the relative safety of the dark, raging waters below.
All of it rushes to the forefront in the two seconds it takes me to cross the room, leaving me with no doubt that she would've once more tried to jump to safety. It's her M.O. Terror beyond any I've felt so far on this morning full of terrors, strangles me, clamps an unyielding iron maiden around my lungs, and forces dry heaves from me even as I move. I draw in breaths born of desperation, my gaze trained on the billowing curtains wafting in the broken window's soft breeze.
Because it could be a lie, James's tale back at the hospital could've been an attempt to obtain what he wanted despite a kidnapping-gone-awry. Alice is shot and lying in a pool of blood. More agents, including Emmett, are down. They did try to take her; that's irrefutable.
But I know Bella, and she does not willingly go where she doesn't want to. If she fought them, preempted their attempt, pulled one of her ruses, and…and did what she does best…
"No, no, no, no, no…"
Concurrently to all, simultaneously to the thoughts and the sprint across the room, I send up more prayers, this time pleading that despite what would've been her first inclination, her instinct, she didn't take that jump. Sickeningly, I even pray that James isn't lying and that he does have her because I will get her back.
But, if she jumped from this height, there's no safe garden at the bottom. There's no airport runway. There isn't even the relative safety of dark water. From this height, there's nothing but certain death.
Forcing my upper torso through the broken window to take in the alley twenty stories below, a sickening moan escapes me. Then I choke breathlessly at the sight of the undisturbed alley.
"Oh, God, thank you."
I barely manage to pull myself in before my body sags heavily against the wall, which is the shape in which Jasper finds me. His eyes flash to the window, and he makes a similar, hasty assumption.
"Is she down there?"
"No," I exhale, panting as if I've just completed a triathlon. "No."
"Thank God. She's been taken though," he deduces, no hard feat going by the room's destruction – the door off its hinges…the bloodstains on the floor. "And she struggled."
While he quickly roams the room's chaos, I make my way over to the open nightstand drawer. There's an unknown cell phone next to the untouched gun. I snatch it up and slip it into my pocket.
"Yeah. Yeah, it looks like someone took her…and she struggled."
OOOOO
The tiles on the hospital floor of FBI Headquarters match the tiles on the walls - immaculate, antiseptically white, purportedly designed to calm and soothe. In reality, it all reminds one of where they are and why…and of what happens when those you've put your trust in fail.
Slumped against one of these walls, my vision blurs and focuses…blurs and focuses, and almost everyone and everything disappears, save for the silent cell phone clutched in my hand and, of course, my convoluted, tortured thoughts.
Come on, you fucking cell phone! Ring! Ring!
James, you goddamn asshole.
Bella, I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I'll get you back safely, I swear. I swear it on my life-
My miserable reverie is broken by a commotion that approaches from around the hallway bend. A pair of feet pound quickly toward me, their uneven thumping followed by additional sets of brisk footsteps and a team of loud voices.
"Agent McCarty! Agent McCarty, you're badly injured, and you require further examination! X-rays! MRIs! Agent McCarty!"
"Go to hell, Doctor! Edward!"
"Emmett, where do you think you're going in your condition! Get back here!"
"Leave me alone, Jasper! Edward, where are you?"
"Agent McCarty!"
"Edward!"
Emmett rounds the corner ahead of all of them. His one open, bloodshot eye searches wildly, his hulking frame teetering unsteadily. There isn't an inch on his face that isn't covered in bruises or swollen or bloodied. His forearm bleeds from where he seems to have yanked off an IV drip. Then there's the gunshot wound to his shoulder and the knot the size of Texas that protrudes from his forehead. All in all, Emmett is lucky to be alive, much less on his feet regardless of how wobblily.
"Edward, where's Alice?!" he roars when he spots me with his one working eye, his speech slurred, groggy from the painkillers administered intravenously. "Where's Bella? No one will tell me what's going on!"
He stumbles onto me, and I catch him, restraining him before he can further harm himself. But he fights me. Not with his usual strength, no. Were he to fight me with his usual strength, we'd both be rolling on the hospital floor. He struggles against me with bewildered desperation. Meanwhile, Jasper and the doctor hover close behind him.
"Agent Cullen, Agent McCarty needs to be off his feet!"
"WHERE ARE THEY?" Emmett howls.
"Take it easy, Emmett! Take it easy!"
"No one will tell me!"
"We will tell you, but first you have to allow yourself to be-"
"I'll tell you right now, Emmett, but then get your ass back in that hospital room! You, agents Yorkie, Fuller, and Brandon were shot. Yorkie and Fuller are dead. Alice is in surgery, and you need medical attention."
"Bella-" he begins.
"Bella…was taken."
"Oh, God. Oh, Jesus," Emmett breathes. He half falls, half allows me to situate him against the wall before we both pass out.
For a long moment, we're all silent.
"Agent McCarty, please, let's return you to your room."
Ignoring the doctor's plea, Emmett's gaunt eye meets mine, furious and remorseful all at once.
"How…how's Alice?"
"As Edward said, she's in surgery. The bullet tore through her left brachial artery," Jasper answers, his voice thick with barely concealed personal agony. "She's lost…a lot of blood. The doctors said it would be a while before they had an update."
Emmett squeezes his eye shut and hangs his head.
"I heard something in the stairwell, so I went to investigate, and then…then I don't know what happened. Motherfuckers," he spits.
"Brady and Eric's bodies were recovered from a couple of floors below where you were found. You were lucky, Emmett," Jasper says.
A shudder runs through Emmett. "Yeah," he snorts, "so fucking lucky." He looks up and meets my eyes. "Obviously, it was fucking James and gang. Edward, was he in surgery as scheduled with you this morning?"
Glaring at the white walls ahead of me, I nod.
"The entire time?"
Again, I nod and maintain an impassive mien. It's not like Emmett to ask me something more than once.
"And he didn't say or do anything suspicious?" he asks.
I shake my head.
Emmett stares at me for a few more seconds before dropping his gaze. "Doesn't make sense."
Neither is Emmett stupid. But he's drugged up on painkillers, and he's devastated, and I'll take full advantage of that for now. If the choice is honesty with him and lying to keep Bella safe, I'll pick lying to keep Bella safe every time.
"Please tell me we have something to go on."
"Forensics is examining the scene as we speak."
"And Haywood is going ballistic," Jasper adds. "Two dead agents, two badly injured agents, a missing witness, and unless Forensics turns up with something, we'll have a hell of a time proving James and gang had anything to do with it."
Maintaining a stoic expression, I stand there stonily and provide no opinion. I feel more than see Jasper's gaze on me.
"Edward, I know Miss Swan…Bella means a lot to you. We'll get her back," he murmurs. "Look, whoever took her must want something."
"I'm sure they do," I agree.
He takes me in through a tight, scrutinizing gaze, but just then, Rosalie rounds the corner. Spotting us, she strides over quickly.
"Agent McCarty, it's good to see you're alive." Her eyes meet Jasper's. "How is Agent Brandon?"
"She's in surgery. There's no way to tell yet."
Rosalie shakes her head. "Do we have any leads?"
"Other than the obvious?" Emmett says.
'…don't say one word about this…'
When I shake my head, Rosalie sucks her teeth.
"I'm going to go find someone to see if there's any update on Agent Brandon's condition," Jasper announces. "McCarty, go allow yourself to be patched up, please."
There's no point in reminding him that there will be no update until Alice is out of surgery. Therefore, I allow him to proceed with his useless inquiry. Whitlock has to do something because just standing around and waiting is going to drive him crazy. I should know. The cell phone in my pocket has been burning a hole in there for too long now.
Ring, goddamnit! Ring!
"This is unbelievable," Rosalie breathes as Jasper walks off. The doctor begins to lead Emmett away as well.
"Edward, let's assume James or Kate, or both, are behind this, though we have no proof at the moment. Do you have any idea where they may have taken Isabella?"
"Rosalie, if I did, don't you think I would've checked it out already?" Despite the snarky remark, my voice has a monotone quality to it.
"If they've killed her, it's going to make it substantially harder to make the murder charges stick, but it won't be impossible. We've got her bracelet, and we'll just have to dig up-"
Before I can lunge for her dead, unfeeling heart, Emmett sucks in a sharp breath and turns. Breaking free from the doctor, he stalks back over and rounds on my sister.
"Jesus Christ, Rosalie!" he shouts.
"I'm just being realistic here and analyzing the situation we're in as regards the case!" she shoots right back.
Inching closer to her, he dips his good eye to hers, glowering furiously, seething.
"There's more to life than being fucking realistic and analytical. There's more to life than this goddamned bureau and this case. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?" He flinches when he taps his temple hard with one finger. "Bella is more than a case; she's a person – a good person whether you want to believe it or not. A person who was dragged into a situation she never asked for. She doesn't deserve any of this. We have two dead agents, and Alice could be dying in there," he brandishes a hand, "and all you care about is the fucking case!"
"That's not true," she hisses, "but someone needs to remain focused!"
Emmett's swollen lip curls in a snarl of disgust. For one long second, he simply studies her, then backs up, shaking his head. In the next second, Rosalie's bravado appears to fail her. She blinks, startled as if she can feel his bitter disappointment. Just as quickly, she composes herself and lifts her chin defiantly.
"I'm ready to go," Emmett informs his doctor. And as he walks away unsteadily, I see Rosalie's gaze follow. When she turns and her eyes meet mine, I can tell she's nowhere near as unaffected by his dismissal as she tries to make it seem.
Counselor Cope rounds the corner.
"How is Agent Brandon?" she asks as she approaches, and I fill her in.
"And no word on Isabella's whereabouts?"
As I shake my head, the cell phone in my pocket feels like a dead weight, an anchor weighing me down and drowning me in an ocean of dread.
The evidence. How the hell am I supposed to pry all that evidence away from this woman's possession without literally holding her up?
"This isn't good," Cora says. "Isabella should've gone into Witsec. Why didn't she, anyway?" she asks, her forehead furrowing.
For once, Rosalie keeps her thoughts to herself.
"Anyway, that's not the issue right now," Cora continues. "What's being done to recover her?"
"Forensics is picking through the scene, and…I guess I'll go work with them," Rosalie says. Without another word to me, she walks away.
Cora sighs deeply and leans against the wall beside me. "What a nightmare."
"Yeah."
This is when the cell phone vibrates.
"Excuse me," I say. "I'm…going to go see if…" Trailing off, I stride away briskly, then answer the incoming call. "Yeah."
"Uh…Tony? It's Garrett."
I make no reply.
"Tony, I just want you to know I'm not a part of this. Kate told me about you…who and what you really are…Agent…Cullen?"
He pauses as if waiting for a confirmation or a denial. When he receives neither, he continues.
"And she told me about how the government is lying. I can't let her go down if it's all a government lie, Tony. She and James had to…I tried to convince them to let her…Isabella go, but-"
"Garrett, just tell me if she's okay," I ask through clenched teeth, "and can I speak to her?"
"She's fine," he confirms rapidly while I release a silent exhalation through narrowed lips. "You can't speak to her, but she's fine. And they want me to tell you that she'll continue to be okay as long as you do what they say. Tony, I don't think they really want to hurt her."
"Do you realize that there are two dead federal agents and one in critical condition?" I ask him bluntly.
"Oh God," he gasps.
"Garrett, you can't hide behind ignorance on this one, and I promise you, whether you're a part of this or not, if Isabella is hurt, I will kill you along with the rest of them."
He swallows audibly then goes silent for a handful of seconds. "She won't be hurt, Tony. I give you my word on that. I made James and Kate swear to me they won't hurt her."
"Garrett, forgive me if I find it hard to take the word of those who make their bed with murderers."
Once again, he's silent. "James and Kate just want the prosecution's evidence, Tony. Just bring them the evidence, including the bracelet, and they'll let her go. Her testimony alone isn't enough to convict them."
What about all this? I wonder. How the hell do they plan to get rid of all this? I don't ask the question, though, because, by this point, the answer is glaringly obvious.
"The bracelet," I repeat instead. "You mean the one you told the feds about?"
"Yes," he confirms. "I'm sorry, Tony. I realize I made a mistake by turning to the feds. I just…I can't imagine my world without her. I think you might know what I mean."
My blood runs cold, scalp prickling, but I make no reply.
"James and Kate want you to meet them tonight, after sunset, at the old, abandoned plant by Newark Airport."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know it."
It's an industrial area – dark, desolate, and brimming with billowing smokestacks releasing questionable chemicals into the air. It's almost an area from another world.
"They'll meet you there, but you have to come alone. Tony. Don't tell anyone, or…"
I squeeze my eyes shut as he trails off, that invisible iron maiden around my lungs crushing them all the more agonizingly. With a deep breath, I reopen my eyes.
"Garrett, you can let them know that I'll be there tonight with the evidence."
"I'm…I'm really sorry, kid. I don't know how it came to this."
Slowly, I amble back toward Counselor Cope. My pulse races. A potent mix of both adrenaline and fear rush through my veins.
Counselor Cope…Cora is in her mid-thirties and single. A consummate attorney, she dresses the part well too in her skirt suits and her hair always up in a flawless bun. She's career-oriented, but it's obvious she takes time for personal care.
When she sees me approach, she pushes herself off the wall and sighs.
"Alright, Agent Cullen, please let me know as soon as you hear something. In the meantime, I'm going to head back to my office to see if there's something I can come up with – a Plan B of some sort. I don't want to be pessimistic, but…"
My stomach rolls, but I force myself to nod, to…to offer her a sympathetic smile for her plight, angling my head in a show of comradery. A dark plan is taking a nebulous, dangerous shape in my mind, clarifying by the second. And yes, it's a plan formed by desperation, but I have no time to second-guess it or wallow in self-hatred over the steps it may require. At this stage, only one goal matters, and if the plan gets me to that goal…
"Yes, you're right to formulate a Plan B. It is something that needs to be considered, I suppose." I expel a sigh of my own. "That's one of the things I've always admired about you, Counselor Cope, your ability to remain one step ahead at all times."
Her eyes momentarily round in surprise, but then she nods vehemently.
"In my job, it's imperative that I remain a step ahead at all times."
"And that's why I'm so grateful you're the one assigned to this case, Counselor. Your dedication has been exemplary."
Now she's the one offering me a faint smile. "Thank you, Agent. That means a lot. And while the drug trials should still be in the bag, with their defense team, and without our witness, they could easily be looking at no more than five years served."
"Wow." I shake my head. "We definitely need to come up with something. After all the time you've put into this case-"
"And you as well, Agent Cullen. I mean, I can't even imagine what it's been like for you, working undercover."
I wave away her concern.
"No, really," she insists. "I have…great admiration for you- for your work, I mean," she adds quickly.
"Well then," I breathe, "at the risk of perhaps saying too much, I'll say that means a lot to me too, especially coming from you."
Something like a quiet intake of breath fills the space between us, but she maintains a composed façade.
"It's not…saying too much," she whispers shyly.
"I'm glad. You know, I've got to make a few phone calls and take care of a couple of things, but…maybe you and I can brainstorm together? There's a coffee shop on the corner-"
"I'd love to brainstorm over coffee."
"Good," I smile again. "Meet me there in let's say…forty minutes?"
"Forty minutes sounds perfect. I've got a few phone calls I can make myself in the meantime."
"That sounds great, Counselor."
"Please, Agent Cullen." Carefully, slowly, and with her eyes on mine, she places her hand on my forearm. "Just call me Cora."
"Cora," I repeat. "Then, Cora, please call me Edward."
"Edward," she breathes. With obvious hesitation, she withdraws her hand.
"I'll see you in a few, Cora." I start to turn but then spin back around. "Oh, and Cora, how do you take your coffee? That way I can order for us in case you're a bit late. I know how returned phone calls sometimes take on a life of their own," I grin.
She chuckles. "Skim milk and one sugar, please. And you, Edward, how do you take your coffee in case you're a bit late?"
"Just black for me, please, and thank you."
"No problem, Edward. I'll see you for our brainstorming session in a few minutes."
"Looking forward to it, Cora."
With a wink, I turn and stride away steadily and confidently, sending up a silent prayer for Alice and a prayer that despite my nefarious methods, I somehow manage to get away with this.
OOOOO
Fifteen minutes later, I arrive at the courthouse.
Beyond the shameless production I just put on for the Counselor…for Cora, I have no other schemes up my sleeve. All I can manage to conjure is a plan to walk right into the Courthouse, make my way to the counselor's office, break in, and walk right back out with all the evidence we've collected for the case against James Penn and the gang. Maybe I'll wave for the cameras on my way out.
Thankfully, it's past working hours for civilian employees. Instead of a stream of cops, lawyers, judges, witnesses, criminals, and the like wandering in and out, the courthouse is relatively quiet. As I exit the revolving doors and flip my badge for entry, I note that only two guards are posted at the entrance. They recognize me despite the hoodie over my head, and with cursory nods, they wave me through.
My heart thrums erratically as I make my way to the elevators, and I snort to myself. There's every chance that, in a few hours and upon examination of the footage, everyone who needs to know will know exactly who I am. But that can't matter now. Either way, though I can't hide for long, neither do I plan to make things too easy.
I pull on gloves as I make my way down the long hallway leading to the counselor's office, bypassing a couple of suits, but I avoid contact and keep my head down. At the end of the hallway, I loiter outside the locked office, waiting, listening. When I'm satisfied that the hallway has emptied, I pull out my tools and get to work.
"Come on, come on," I mutter quietly as I wiggle the implement into the key lock. When it gives, and I push, and no alarm sounds, I release the breath I was holding.
"Excuse me?"
A rough, wary voice calls out from behind me, and a steady string of curses fills my mind as I plaster a pleasant grin on my face and turn.
The Homeland Security guard assigned to this courthouse hallway is a man in about his early forties. His hands rest on either side of his wide black belt, one wrapped around the head of a nightstick and the other around the gun. Both hands quiver as if they're itching to reach for one or the other. He glares at me suspiciously, rakes me up and down in my blue scrubs and hoodie before his eyes flash to the half-open door behind me.
I flip my badge. "Hey, buddy, I just need to get something from the counselor's office, and then I'll be out of your hair," I say breezily.
His eyes narrow into slits, lips pursing dubiously. The narrowed gaze roams between me, my badge, and the open door – over and over as if he can't quite piece them all together enough to determine his course of action.
"Come on, man," I say impatiently, closing the badge and shoving it in my pocket. "She's waiting for me. You see, she and I are working on a case together, and she asked me to pick something up for her. I'll be in and out quickly."
He smirks, and as he taps a finger over his gun, deliberating, I hold my breath. When his hand releases the gun but drifts instead to the walkie-talkie Velcroed to the chest of the uniform, I'm not at all relieved.
"What are you doing, buddy?" I inquire evenly.
"I'm gonna double-check this," he says gruffly, then presses down on the walkie-talkie. "Hey, Nick, do me a favor and call-"
In one quick motion, I lunge and concurrently shove his hand away from the walkie-talkie and slam his head against the wall. He's out, and cradling his body, I lay it carefully and silently on the courthouse floor. I don't need him hurting himself further.
Meanwhile, he receives a reply through the walkie-talkie.
"Ray? Hey, Ray, what'd you want there? I missed it."
I press down on the walkie-talkie. "Never mind."
"Ten-four, buddy," Nick replies.
Quietly and carefully dragging Ray into Cora's office, I shut the door. Then, I borrow Ray's flashlight and set it on low before getting to work and sprinting toward the closet where I last saw the counselor store all evidence on a certain case. The closet door is locked, of course. Out come my tools again, and together, we make short work of the lock.
God or some Santeria deity must be smiling down on my Bella or me. The box containing the evidence for this specific case rests prominently on the middle shelf – clearly marked—no need to waste time digging around. I remove the box and set it over the counselor's desk to ensure everything we need is in papers, pictures, drives, documents, Kate's running shoes, the link, and a small plastic evidence-grade bag Bella's charm bracelet.
The sight of the bracelet…bile rises to my throat. The room spins in a dizzying circle, and before my legs can give, I fall heavily onto the counselor's leather swivel office chair.
None of this shit should've ever happened. Seventeen-year-old Bella Swan should've had a wonderful camping trip that late spring. She should've gotten the chance to explore her feelings for Jake without any anger, fear, or despondency marking them. She should've graduated the following month, gone on to college, and decided, over the course of her college career, whether she wanted to pursue Olympic gold or a quiet life as a gymnastics coach. Renee and Charles Swan should've been around to clap their asses off at her high school graduation and college graduation. They should've been there if she decided to fall in love, to marry. The bracelet…the bracelet should've had a few more charms attached to it for all the accomplishments Charlie would've been around to witness.
I fist the bagged bracelet tightly inside the palm of my hand.
Just bring them the evidence, including the bracelet, and they'll let her go.
My fingers tingle. I pull off my gloves, grab a tissue from Cora's desk, and use it to pull out Bella's bracelet gently. Then…I discard the tissue altogether. One by one, charm by charm, link by link, I smooth my fingers over each, feel their smoothness, imagine Bella at the receipt of each, absorb the weight of each charm.
'James has something I need…'
'We found this link…'
'It's not evidence! It's the last thing I have left of my parents!'
'…the bracelet…it'll always be special to me, but…it's no longer the most important thing as long as I have you…'
Just bring them the evidence, including the bracelet, and they'll let her go.
My brow furrows when I reach the charm shaped like a red apple.
'The apple charm was the last one my dad gave me. He placed it on my bracelet and said, 'An apple a day keeps the doctor away…'
The charm is spherical, more or less equal in size to the rest of the charms, but…its weight doesn't match its size.
'The apple charm was the last one my dad gave me. He placed it on my bracelet and said, 'An apple a day keeps the doctor away…'
What would Detective Charlie Swan have done to ensure his wife and daughter's safety if he already feared for his own life?
'I've always wondered how much Charlie would've told us if he'd had the chance,' Jacob mused the other day on that video conference.
What would he have told them, told his daughter, the most precious person in the world to him, if he'd been given just a day, just a few hours more? How would he have protected her?
'…an apple a day keeps the doctor away…'
'…the doctor…'
Using both hands, I begin pulling opposite ends of the charm.
Nothing happens.
I rotate it and try a few more times, pulling along different angles. Just as I begin suspecting I've likely lost my mind, the apple charm splits in two. It doesn't break in two; it splits as if all along, that's what it was designed to do. The charm itself is hollow, but within it is a minuscule flash drive.
"Holy fuck," I breathe, swallowing hard.
My eyes quickly move to Ray to confirm he's still sleeping soundly on the floor and then back to the item in my hand.
I check my watch. The sun will be setting in a few minutes. Briskly making calculations, I determine that I have just enough time. Then, I switch on the counselor's desktop computer, tapping an impatient foot on the carpeted floor while it boots up. Once it's ready, I push in the stick, open it, and…
"Holy shit."
A man with Bella's deep taupe eyes fills the screen. He's bald, and he clears his throat a handful of times before he speaks.
"My name is Detective Charles Swan of the Seminole Heights Police Department."
I sit back heavily against Cora's chair.
"A couple of months ago, one of my buddies, Harry Clearwater, passed away from supposed heart complications."
Charlie goes into a history of how he became involved. A history of everything, from beginning to end. Nothing is left in doubt. He flashes pictures, documents, explains his own undercover, undocumented investigation. But, ever the dedicated detective, he wants to complete the investigation before he goes to the feds. Finally, he shows pictures of the doctors involved and names every single one.
"Holy fucking bastard."
In the darkness of the ADA's broken into office, with no one but a sleeping, knocked-out guard as a witness, all my fears and suspicions are confirmed. I pause the drive and rewind it, my pulse racing, blood hammering between my ears. There again flash the pictures.
Every muscle in my body stiffens.
'If anyone is watching this, it means something has gone horribly wrong, and I'm not around to provide this information myself or to gather the rest."
Charlie pauses, and he echoes the grimness of a man who knows he's in too deep.
"If this is the case, please, take care of my wife and daughter. Don't allow them to be hurt. They're the most important beings in the world to me."
He pauses again and swallows.
"And…and tell my daughter…Bella…tell her that I love her more than anything, that I've always been proud of her," – his voice breaks – "and tell her not to hesitate before taking that final leap."
He reaches forward and shuts off his recorder, and the screen goes black.
For two precious minutes, I sit in stony silence, unable to move.
"All this time…All this time…"
All this time, the proof, the answers, were right in Bella's bracelet.
A/N: Thoughts?
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