Stoned Mockingbirds

There's an implicit assumption that a person's brain will always know what to do when facing an emergency situation. People like to think they'd know what to do. The more trained a person is, the more appropriate the response will be. Trauma doctors, first responders, firefighters, police officers, Homeland Security Agents, even PRs, all of them have a very steady reaction nerve to respond with fast thinking and an objective plan. It's called the fight response. Looking the enemy in the eye and detailing the course of action. Moving forward.

Opposite to that there's flight, meaning a person takes off, they escape when facing danger. It is sometimes seen as a superior move if you aren't sure the best defense is offense. It can be your only chance of survival: outrunning your enemy. You run away, as fast you can, and you don't look back. You hide.

But there's a third option that many don't even recognize it as one. Some people simply freeze. They neither bolt nor they bite. In the case your feet get cemented to the ground, face the fact that your survival chances are considerably lower, that your enemy's advantage increases dramatically the deeper you sink. It's like quicksand, you feel helpless. If you run, they'll catch you; If you stay, they'll catch you. So you close your eyes, and you hope they miss.

Harvey ran down the stairs, just knowing he had to move, unsure of the direction, his feet didn't even feel like they were touching the ground. He couldn't hear another word, couldn't stay looking at her fragile face. He felt as if he was on some sort of hallucinogen, his mind not concentrating on a single thought and the reality he was used to completely distorted, the images she was describing taking his breath away. The more he walked the more his stomach turned and he suddenly was downing the whiskey of earlier that night in a garbage can a block away. Again. A passerby handed him a few tissues but kept walking, and Harvey was at least thankful this was New York City and no one would ask him for explanations. He could continue to walk aimless with no one to care.

But he wasn't the only one restlessly moving.

"Mike! Thank God you answered fast!" Mike was one of the people that could quickly reach Harvey, and right now he was the only person since the other influence on Harvey was in the exact same plotted-on-the-couch position of minutes ago.

"Rach, what happened?" he had picked up on the first ring.

"I don't have time to tell you the whole...stoooorm," her voice shook, "I need you to go to Biggs' house and make sure Harvey doesn't do anything he'll regret...please tell me you can remember the address!"

"What? Why? Rachel, what is going on?" The questions came flooding his mind even if she had told him there was no time to explain.

"Mike, do you know where it is?" she insisted, getting louder on the phone.

"Uh..yea, yea, Brooklyn, west side of Prospect Park," the memory of the address on top of the file coming easily to his brain.

"Just go! Call me when you're there! " she rushed him.

To clear her conscience, Rachel tried Harvey's phone once again, the call being sent straight to voicemail. He had heard the worst part of Donna's truth, every word desperately running out of her mouth as if they had been stuck for 20 years, a sad clarity in her eyes still gave the events an unbearable realism frightening to listen to. Every woman's cruelest nightmare was Donna's inescapable past.

Deep breath in, and hold. 1,one thousand, 2, one thousand, 3 one thousand, 4, one thousand, 5, exhale slowly, Rach, she coached herself to slow her heartbeat, repeating the technique three times before walking back to the living room. She swallowed back the tears that wet her eyes just by looking at her friend, and kneeled in front of her, grabbing Donna's hand.

"Mike's on it, ok? He probably just went to a bar, he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize this case," she tried to reassure her, wanting to believe in it just as badly. But what case did they even have?

Donna sniffled, rubbing the back of her hand on her nose.

"How long?" she whispered, adding other words after watching Rachel's confused face. "How long was he standing there for?"
Rachel looked down, then back at Donna, confirming what she feared: "He heard more than enough."

Donna's face burned as a few more tears ran down, her skin feeling raw and swollen.

"I...I didn't mean to be so insensitive when asking you to talk, Donna...I just, I never even imagined anything like this."

" I know," she whispered. "No one does."

"So he kept these pictures because he knew you could go to the police? Because you could go after him?" it was hard to even fathom how Donna had lived with this asphyxiating fear for so long.

"Yes. That. And because he is a sick bastard who has done this more than once, keeping leverage over...victims," Donna offered more of the reality, but Rachel had decided they were done discussing this.

"I'm so very sorry," she continued, her fingers now enlacing Donna's into the the unbreakable bond they shared.

This time they sat in silence, Rachel squeezing Donna's hand as a reminder that she was there, as if the tight hold could instantly bring her back from the images she figured were now more alive than ever. The air felt dense, suffocating even, and Rachel's anxiety actively causing difficulty to breathe. It was impossible to find the right words, she didn't believe anything she said could feel comforting. But sitting there quietly also felt wrong, powerless, like they were caught in an fast moving carrousel that never stopped turning. There was no hug, no arm touching, no tea and no sweetness in the world that could ease her friend's pain, there was no erasing of her friend's memories.

Half of each minute Rachel spent staring at her phone on the coffee table, the other half glancing at Donna, trying to pick up a cue, anticipate a need.

"Call Ray," Donna's voice finally broke through the air.

"Ray?" It took Rachel a second to meet Donna's eyes.

"Harvey's driver. Take my phone, call him. If he doesn't know where Harvey is, tell him not to drive him anywhere," the request came out to show an impressive clear thought process.

Her mind was already on Harvey. Always.

Rachel did as told, the line hardly rang twice before she heard Ray's cheerful greeting. He must really like her, she figured, considering he was not bothered by a late night phone call coming from her number. She introduced herself once he didn't recognize Donna's voice.

"Did Harvey call you? Is he with you?"

"No, Ms. Zane, I took him to Ms. Paulsen's place and he said I could go. Did anything happen?"

"Not certain yet, but listen to me, Ray: If Harvey calls you to drive him somewhere you don't know, especially Brooklyn, make up a very good excuse, slash the tires in the car, do whatever you have to do but do not leave. And this is Donna asking. Got it?" she added hopeful that her desperation could be heard through optic cables.

"Yes ma'am, got that but now I'm...what...is he okay? The whole day he just seemed...weird," At this point Ray had learned that any information was useful to lawyers.

"Let's just say that weird is better than what he is now. Talk soon, Ray."

Donna looked up at the end of Rachel's phone call, knowing by the conversation that Ray didn't know Harvey's location. As if on cue, Rachel's phone blinked with a text message from Mike.

"Standing like a creep in front of Biggs. No sign of Harvey. What's the plan?"

She picked up the phone from the coffee table and typed quickly, "Just hang there for now."

She put the device on her back pocket and ignored it when it vibrated again, watching Donna's chest deflate with a long sigh.

Harvey continued to walk, unbothered by the brisk temperatures and cold air hitting his chest. It was fitting, actually, to have nature help numb his pain. Not a single dive bar seemed attractive because there was no whiskey in the city to free him from his anger. He wasn't interested in that, simply because he liked it. He fed off of it. It was too strong, too powerful to be ignored, and while emotions weren't exactly his expertise, he wasn't against using them. In his favor. In her favor. For her.

Time passed, long minutes, maybe an hour or two, and with that the tears dried and the tea cooled, the air less stuffy than before. Mike grew impatient, constantly texting Rachel for an update and for answers, until the noise of one of the messages brought Donna back to herself. She looked up, fingers scraping the remaining wetness on her face, the tips lingering a bit more on the eyes.

"Go home, Rach," she said softly. "And send Mike home, too."

Embarrassingly putting the phone on her back pocket for the hundredth time, Rachel feigned to be unaware of the uncertainty of the situation.

"What? Why are you saying that?"

"Because if Harvey hasn't visited Biggs yet, he won't anymore," she said it with such confidence it was hard for Rachel not to believe it. "Not tonight, at least."

Her first impulse was to ask how Donna knew that, how she could be so sure he wasn't just sitting in at the corner of his house, hiding somewhere like a furious predator waiting for an opportunity to attack, but Donna's knowledge and her ability to read the circumstances were unquestionable, especially if it involved Harvey. Her relationship to him granted her, granted them, a connection no one else could fully see through.

"Can you think of where he could be? I still really think we need to find him," she asked instead.

"No," she shrugged. "But he'll find me when he's ready."

It came to him as he sat on a park bench watching cars fly by the FDR expressway, thinking ifthe only thing we have to fear really was fear itself. His fear wasn't for him, or for the firm, well at least not only. He hoped she knew now more than ever. He played the dialogue in his head, what she'd say when she found out, because he would tell her if she asked. He would not hide. She would scream that the ends don't justify the means, Harvey! Then he would have to respectfully disagree and hopefully she would understand that it was her 'end' they were talking about, it was her pain that moved him, the thought of her in that room was ruling out any doubt. She justified anything. Anything for her.

He moved with the mix of absolute hate and anger, and even fear, all pushing him to get on his Aston martin and drive north. He was done relying on anyone but himself, let alone Cahill. It was impossible to sit and wait, and if all he had was to wait for Cahill's response, that certainly wasn't enough. One 'no' from the SEC and he would never forgive himself for not doing everything in his power to save her. He was used to fighting for his firm, for what belonged to him, and fighting for her was vital.