The courthouse cafeteria was cramped with lunch-goers eager for a quick meal during court recess. As several trials were almost always cycling throughout the day, meals were infrequent and quite valuable to hungry courtroom members and onlookers alike.
A disheveled line of suited men and women meandered around the outside perimeter of the large, white room. A judge, several attorneys, and a handful of recognizable prosecutors chattered idly amid their peers, distracting themselves from hungry bellies with good-spirited drabble. However, the loud chatter between dining patrons echoed noisily enough through the cafeteria that any particular conversation was indistinguishable from the next.
The dining hall was the size of a gymnasium, filled with neat rows of four-person tables. The linoleum floor glistened coldly beneath the skylighted ceiling, casting a sterile luminescent wash upon the oblivious diners. Broad-leafed tropical plants stretched skyward from large rectangular planters, acting to divide the room into even quarters. This feigned the effect of privacy to the more reclusive nibblers.
The smell of diluted cleaner, refrigerated air, old bacon, stale bread, and pasta salad permeated the room with an eclectic and relatively distasteful odor. Diego wondered how anyone could maintain an appetite in such a fragrant atmosphere. He wrinkled his nose, tossing a few quarters in the direction of the cashier as he made a beeline for the drink bar.
He parked himself directly in front of two beakers filled with his favorite steaming brown liquid. Reaching instinctively for the left, Diego paused, realizing someone had unintentionally placed the Decaf on the Regular burner. He frowned, gripping the smooth black plastic handle of the pot on his right, shaking his head in disgust.
"Decaf is a waste of a good bean," he muttered to no one in particular. "Why strip the fruit of its oil, of its essence, simply to feign a taste? It's not the same. It's a mockery of the real thing. And to crown and place it on the rightful one's throne? Ha…! What insolence."
Diego switched the two beakers to their rightful places, orange handle on the right, and black handle on the left. He sipped down the hot liquid from the brim, turning away from the sugar dusted, cream splattered bar. To pollute one's cup, rooted in darkness, with the lightness of milk and the sweetness of sugar was to shame the drink. A cup straight from the machine—this was how nature intended it. The bitterness was a reminder of life's taste, unadulterated and harsh as it was meant to be.
He scanned the crowded mass of eaters for the woman he had promised to meet with; Dahlia Hawthorne, a real wolf in sheep's clothing. Almost immediately, he spotted her.
She sat at an unoccupied table sheltered by the thick green leaves of the rainforest plants in her usual light pink lace and tulle. Resting her parasol in the crook of her left shoulder, she observed those around her with a placid smile. Dahlia's brown eyes serenely swept the room, settling on Diego like the touch of a light fog. As he met her coffee ground eyes he felt suddenly cold, as though he was being suffocated by the malice of her presence. How such a delicate girl could raise the hackles on the back of his neck, he never knew.
"Miss Hawthorne," Diego grinned warmly, setting his briefcase and coat down on an empty chair. "Mind if I take a seat?"
"Of course not, Mr. Attorney," she said gently, tilting her head to the side.
He pulled back the chair, resting his cup on the table.
"Well now, Ms. Hawthorne, it's been some time. And I might add you look as pretty as ever. The flowers you so love couldn't hold a candle to you."
A wisp of a smile ghosted over her blush pink lips.
"Mr. Attorney, you flatter me. I'm such a simple girl. I don't change violently like the seasons do."
"You've got that right. Your heart is always as cold as ice," he thought behind clenched teeth.
He rolled the mug impatiently between his palms, staring holes into the "delicate petal" of a woman seated across from him. She met his hard gaze, blinking uninterestedly.
"Well, I know for a fact you are no simpleton. You are a woman of character and wit; you just hide it well behind that beautiful face of yours."
Dahlia flipped her red mane behind her shoulder with the back of a ghostly pale hand, giving close study to one broken end.
"Well, I appreciate your kindness," she said daintily, "but I don't hold my 'wit' in high regard. If I had any sense, I wouldn't have been so flounced by Ms. Fey."
"You mean you didn't expect to get caught," he smirked.
Dahlia startled, blinking back tears as they flooded the corners of her hazelnut eyes. She bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering.
"You don't mean…you don't mean you think I did it, Mr. Attorney? I…I am innocent. I was even declared 'Not Guilty' when that terrible man took his life in front of everyone. What a terrible thing…it was…it was awful!"
Diego's smile instantly transformed into a hard-set line.
"Come now, Ms. Hawthorne. Enough with the pretenses and games. Why did you request to see me? What's the point of this meaninglessness? I want answers. Let's stop cajoling around the truth and get down to business. I know you wouldn't call me down here just to waste my time, would you?"
She tilted her chin to the side, her tears vanishing.
"Well…I…yes. That's right. I…wanted to tell you about something important. I didn't mention it at the trial because I was afraid of what they might think. That Miss Attorney was so sure that I'd murdered my own sister that I couldn't have said it without making myself look more suspicious. And I needed to tell somebody…to stop this from ever happening again.
He leaned forward onto one elbow, turning his head from side to side as he sipped his coffee.
"Pardon me for saying so, but that's the biggest load of bullshit I've heard in quite some time. Though I must say, you are quite the performer, Dahlia. You said it yourself—the trial's over. You were found innocent. Why approach the matter after the case was done with? You'd have nothing to benefit from it, young lady. Besides, I'm an attorney, not a police officer. You should have taken it up with the local PD before confronting somebody like me.
"No! Please, Mr. Attorney, hear me out. This is very, very important and involves something besides that case. If I went to the police, they'd immediately suspect me for another crime! I'm coming to you because…well…I need a defense attorney before I make this information public."
Diego laughed, slamming down his cup hard on the wobbly dining table. Several nearby patrons jumped at the loud resounding 'bang', sneaking worried glances in his direction and whispering amongst themselves. He noticed, but glared unwaveringly at Dahlia.
"Ha…! That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! Hiring an attorney before there's even suspicion for a trial?"
He examined her coldly. Her eyes were filled with tears again, but he thought he caught a glimpse of desperation in her eyes. She fingered a small crystalline bottle necklace at the base of her throat, turning away from him.
"Fine then. Humor me," he scoffed, leaning back in his gray plastic chair. "What is this 'so-called' evidence of yours? And what does this have to do with the case from six months ago?"
"It's…something I saw. While I was…at the bridge. I…didn't know if I'd seen it or not…but…I just couldn't help but think it strange. I thought I saw…an old man."
"Seeing an old man is hardly something I'd deem as important—"
"You didn't let me finish, Mr. Attorney," she interrupted. "He had a body. The body of a woman. It was hard to tell, but I think she had brown hair. There was blood on her face and chest. She had a metal bracelet on her right wrist. He walked to the edge of the cliff and dropped her body into the river. I thought I'd imagined it after seeing that man kill my sister—I thought it was just a relapse of what I'd seen before.
"But Terry Fawles didn't drop your sister's body into the river. There's no way you could 'relapse' and mistake what you saw."
Dahlia cried out, bracing herself against her parasol as though expecting a blow.
"But I…I swear, I saw it! It was real…there was a man there! I…was mistaken. I didn't see the actual moment my sister was killed so maybe Mr. Fawles was innocent! Maybe that old man was the killer! Maybe he was responsible for two deaths that day!"
It sounded like she was telling the truth—and it looked like it too. But he couldn't be too sure.
"What did this man look like, Dahlia? And why didn't you bring this up in court?"
"I thought it wasn't real…I thought what I saw was a hallucination, so I didn't bring it up. As for the man, he was tall with a white mustache and beard. He was wearing a black cloak…besides that, I don't know. He was too far away for me to see clearly."
"So how did you see the bracelet then?"
"It was really dark on her wrist—maybe it wasn't a bracelet. It could have been a strip of fabric or maybe a wrist band. She wasn't wearing a coat so it was easy to see, even from far away."
Diego crossed his arms, staring into the dregs of his near-empty mug.
"So you saw an old man throwing this woman's body into the river. Why did the police never find another set of tracks from a vehicle?"
"I don't know, honestly. Maybe he was camping up there and the rain washed the tracks away? Maybe he left later on. He didn't necessarily have to come in by the road…"
"That region is mountainous. I found it hard to believe he 'rode his bike' all the way there carrying a body of a woman in tow. Sounds a mite suspicious to me."
"That doesn't change what I saw, Mr. Attorney," Dahlia pouted.
"Besides, I was going to—"
Dahlia's face went slack, draining of all color as she stared off beyond Diego.
"Ms. Hawthorne," Diego pressed flatly.
"N-no…it…it couldn't be," she whispered. "That…man…it's him! It's the man I saw that day!"
Diego scoffed, turning over his shoulder, allowing his eyes to wander the now shorter line of eaters. Sure enough, an older white haired man with facial hair stood patiently toward the back of the line. However, this man was short, even for a woman's standards, and quite recognizable. He was the very Judge that presided over the Fawles case almost six months ago.
Smirking, he turned back to face the young woman.
"That's the end of the line for you, little Kitty. That man's a Judge you'd know well. He's hardly what I'd call 'tall'. Now," he paused, taking a measured drink of the last of his coffee, "where were we?"
Dahlia's demeanor changed instantly.
"Mr. Attorney, I have a confession to make," she grinned evilly. "I killed my sister six months ago. I'm also responsible for that man Fawles' death. I wanted to let you know…before you died. Didn't that coffee taste the teensiest weensiest bit unusual to you? Maybe a little…watered down?"
Diego's blood went cold as the horror of realization sank in. Had she really poisoned him? It was hard for him to fathom. He stared into his mug, watching the inky residue slide around the cylindrical bottom of the cup like a dark slug. But then he remembered how close Mia had come to indicting Dahlia and her reason became clear. She wanted to avenger her honor against Mia in the most intimate and devious way she could fathom—and that was by removing her lover from the picture, her support and confidence. His vision flickered and he felt himself sway. It was almost like being drunk, but he knew that this feeling wasn't nearly as harmless.
"You—you didn't…"
"Oh, but I did, Mr. Attorney. I'll be seeing you later…maybe in the afterlife."
An icy sweat pooled on the surface of his skin, his telltale burgundy shirt sticking to his chest and arms. All the muscles in his body began to spasm and quake of their own accord. His hands flew to grip the edge of the table, his panicked breathing coming in unsteady gasps.
"Goodbye…Mr. Armando."
With that, Dahlia Hawthorne turned and left, gracefully weaving through the unsuspecting diners and out of the cafeteria.
Diego fought to remain upright, but could not keep himself that way for long. His favorite standby mug shattered into innumerable pieces on the linoleum as he braced against a particularly violent seizure. He wasn't far behind it.
He met the heartless floor with a grunt, thick saliva dripping from his mouth. He screamed as his stomach cramped and heaved. It felt as though his innards were being torn apart from the inside, every nerve engulfed in the revolting fire of pain. His fingers flew to his mouth, grazing the back of his throat as he attempted to empty his stomach. Dry heaving, he rolled onto his knees, praying that he could shake Dahlia's poison from its roots in his belly. He began to cry as he saw the fruit of his efforts—nothing but blood greedily stained the floor beneath his mouth.
A man was suddenly upon him, sounding very far away as he strung together a blur of hazy questions. Soon a whole group had amassed, cradling his forehead, chest and arms, searching his mouth and throat for possible blockage. Someone shouted, "Call an ambulance!" above the uproar, but five people already had their cell phones out and were punching in the simple digits.
Diego tried to speak, but no sound came. He wasn't sure if it was the capability of speech or his ears that had failed him, but either way, it was of no use. Tears streaked the sides of his gaunt face, blazing wet salty trails onto foreign hands and legs.
His chest burned for air. He arched his back, trying to draw a clean breath, but that only succeeded in splattering the onlookers with more of his lifeblood. After another flurry of coughs, he felt himself losing consciousness. A wave of nausea rolled over him, but he only tasted his metallic blood.
An object, round and metal, burned dimly in his right hand. Diego realized he had unconsciously retrieved Mia's ring from his pocket and was grasping it so tightly that the stones had cut through the skin of his palm. This gave him some measure of comfort until he felt himself losing sensation in his arm and was unable to clutch the small token any longer. He watched blearily—hopelessly—as it was swept into the panicked crowd.
A blur of business suits—gray, black, and white—rushed past his field of vision, all spilling into whiteness. It was as if his eyes were attracting all the light in the room. As the flash of blinding white subsided into blackness, he lost control of his basic motor functions. He wasn't sure if he screamed when all the colors of the world left him, only that he occupied an empty space in which nothing but pain resided.
"Mia…don't cry…don't cry—because…it's not over…not over…yet…"
He couldn't hear the cries and pleas of the people around him as his soul lost awareness. He couldn't feel them trying to save him. He didn't realize it when they packed him up and left him to sleep in the company of a wide array of machines. He couldn't hold Mia as she cried over his bedside.
He heard nothing. Saw nothing. Felt nothing—for now even the pain was gone.
Hell awaited him with open arms and he could do nothing to stop it.
A/N: I would like to thank my AMAZING betas Revalations and Ayze for helping me proof my chapters! You guys rock! I'd also like to thank xStormyx for her support and charm and recommend you all check out her incredible PW stories!
That being said, this was a blast to write, though it pained my heart to do so. I felt like I died with Diego. :( It was very sad...
Kudos to those who catch the reference in Dahlia's "new information". It fits the timeline, I made sure of it.
Song for this chapter: Guster - Lightning Rod