Designed Intent
Chapter 3
Monday Evening
"Why did they always use clay? Why not use flat stones? Why not use bark?" The question came from the seventh row, left side, near the wall. Gleason looked out at the sea of faces, all one hundred twelve of them, and wondered what she was doing here.
She took a deep breath and replied, "They used clay because that was the material at hand. No flat stones littered the area because of the glacial movement in that region. And the conifers growing at that time produced bark of insufficient quality for scribing. You will get all of that background information when you read chapters one and two for the next class." Gleason sighed, she was exhausted. She looked out at the faces looking back at her, and then she looked at the clock on the wall, forty more minutes.
"You know what, I'm done. Go home, go to the library, go away. Anyone bothered by that? Good. Goodbye." With those words, the room began to clear and Gleason prepared to leave as well. She clicked off the projector, shut down the computer, removed her thumb drive, and placed the computer into the AV cabinet, locking it.
"It is against university policy to release a class more than thirty minutes prior to the end time."
Gleason looked up to the back of the lecture hall and saw Malcolm Conway standing in the doorway. He started down the ramp toward her.
"So, can I trust you not to tattle on me?" Gleason said with a smile.
"Only if you let me buy you dinner," he said, standing too closely, looking at her too deeply.
Gleason took a step back and said, "It is against university policy for staff to fraternize." She packed her canvass bag and let Malcolm lug it up off the table. They started up the ramp to the exit.
"Oh, is that what we are doing, eh, fraternizing? Well, I had no idea. We should then truly abuse the policy," he stepped in and whispered, "Let me make us dinner and you stay the night."
Gleason was shocked and stopped in her tracks. "Give me my bag!"
Malcolm immediately knew his mistake, "I am sorry. That was completely out of line. Forgive me, it was a sad attempt at humor, I am sorry."
He was so much like Bobby at this moment. Are all men the same in their contrition, she wondered. "Give me my bag, Malcolm."
He stared at her; sorry he had moved so quickly. "Let me carry this to your office. Come on, you know how heavy it is. Please."
The tote did weigh a ton and she was already tired of lugging it around. "Then you leave, understand?"
"Yes. I am sorry, Gleason, you know that, right?"
"Let's just move past it. Why are you still here anyway? You don't have a Monday evening class, do you?" Gleason answered.
"I am your mentor so I wanted to see how your first day went. I am fulfilling my responsibilities," Malcolm responded.
They walked in silence until they were in front of Margrave Hall, her office was on the second floor, then Malcolm said, "You know, if you are going to drag this load around with you, and I don't think that is very smart, I can arrange for a grad assistant to carry it for you."
She looked at him skeptically, "Really?"
"Well, no, but I could do it for you," he said with a feigned, fresh expression.
"Oh, for God's sake, Malcolm, you are tiresome. Give it up, will you?"
"Just thought I'd give it a try; here, let me carry this to your office. Then I'll go."
Gleason shook her head and opened the door for him.
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Sylvester Brine knelt naked and sobbing, trying to pray. He knew he was going to hell anyway. His one previous crime had resulted, not in incarceration, as it had not been reported, but in excommunication. A far more severe punishment than any time spent inside. How ironic, had he been incarcerated, he would not be involved in this mess.
His gaunt frame heaved with sobs as he tried to pray. Bits of words, slurred and incoherent mixed with the howls of his weeping. The points of light at the edges of his vision convinced him God was sending him angels. It would be ok, God had forgiven him!
A smile reflecting the peace he finally felt graced his face as Brine tumbled onto his side.
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"So, you two are still here?" Captain Jim Deakins was returning from a full day of out-of-the-office meetings. He feared the stack of messages and undone work waiting for him. "I have to say, Bobby, I am glad to see you are still here at all. A little excitement, huh?"
"A boatload of luck, you mean." Bobby and Eames had returned to One Police Plaza to finish the paperwork on the shooting today. While they should have been jubilant that Bobby had not been shot, both detectives were quiet.
"You two have time to brief me on what happened?" As one, the partners rose and followed the boss into his office and in short order, they relayed the whole scenario. "Why didn't you take him out, Alex? Christ, you were behind the man with a clear shot."
Alex's head dropped and instinctively her hand went to her forehead, shielding her eyes. Goddamn it, she thought, don't tell me what I already know. She fought the tears that had brimmed all afternoon.
"She made the right choice, Captain. We needed Zankowsky alive. This case is cold now, without him. He wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. I honestly didn't think he would shoot. I, I even set down my weapon. Why would I do that if I wasn't sure he wasn't going to pull the trigger? He fit the profile of an old time --."
"Bobby stop. Don't bullshit me with your psychobabble. It was by the grace of God or whatever is out there that you weren't hit." He wanted to go on with Eames, but he knew she knew she had made a mistake. "Have you called Gleason?"
"I will, later. She's not going to know about this. Ever."
"Go home, you two. Go have a drink or get some dinner. Leave this behind you. Finish the paperwork tomorrow."
Eames and Goren nodded and walked back to their desks. Neither said anything for a few minutes. Then, "Bobby, I, I want you to know --."
"Alex, you don't need to say anything. You made the right choice."
"Yes, Bobby, I do need to say this. Let me say this. I need to say it to you. I didn't have your back out there. I was so wrong. I should have taken him out, I should have. But I didn't and he aimed for you but missed and Caruso was hit. Jesus, Bobby, I am supposed to watch your back. I failed you." Then she cried.
Bobby didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. So, he stood and watched her cry. Powerless.
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Margrave Hall was dark and quiet as most of the other faculty and staff had gone home for the night. Gleason led the way to her office, unlocked the door and snapped on the light; Malcolm followed her in.
"Flowers?" Malcolm said with some surprise, "Who sent you flowers, I wonder?"
Gleason was shocked, surprised and then suspicious. She looked at Malcolm smiling like a Cheshire cat, he was. "I wonder who it could be?" he continued, smirking.
I hope to God these are from Bobby, she thought. Gleason crossed to her desk, removed the tiny envelope, read the card and her face glowed with delight.
"Well?" Malcolm asked, knowing exactly who sent those flowers. He watched her face illuminate from within as she read the card.
"You know who," she answered, bending to sniff a bloom. "Thank you for carrying my bag, Malcolm. Have a good evening" and with that, he was dismissed.
Malcolm walked toward his own office; I should have thought of flowers, he said to himself. She likes flowers, wildflowers; I need to remember that.
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Monday night
"Hi, Love."
"Hi Honey," Bobby said, leaning back against the sofa. "How are you feeling?" God it was good to hear her voice. "Are you at the apartment?"
"Yes, and the door is locked. I'm ok. Thank you for the flowers, Bobby. They are wonderful. I've never gotten flowers at work before. Thank you, Love. How are you?" She sounded tired.
He had decided that he would not tell her about the standoff today; it would just worry her. "I'm ok. How was your first day? This was 'Origins of Dialect' and 'Introduction to Ancient Languages,' right?"
"Yes, how do you remember these things? You are so clever." Bobby could hear the smile in her voice.
"I remember because I love you and this is important to you and you are important to me. So, are your classes big?"
"Oh, yes. The afternoon class has one hundred fifteen registered. Can you imagine? Ninety minutes three days a week. How will I ever get to know them all? The evening class has only forty-five on Monday and Wednesday for three hours. In addition, tomorrow and Thursday I have a morning class and afternoon class with office hours between and after. This is a lot more than I was imagining."
Bobby listened carefully. She will be busy, he thought, and that is not a bad thing. "Honey it's just the first day. It will get better. It's all just new."
"I know. I know." They sat quietly for a moment.
"I love you, Gleason," he whispered. He loved her, as he never thought he could love anyone. He missed her so much.
They sat quietly, listening to each other breathe. "Are you sorry you took this position?" he asked softly.
Gleason didn't say anything for a moment. "I miss you, Love. I will miss you everyday."
She didn't say she regretted taking the position. He really hadn't expected her to.
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Bobby and Gleason began their first two weeks apart, each establishing a new routine. They worked single-mindedly and spoke every evening. Bobby had to work the following weekend, so they would be apart. Life would not be easy without her.
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