Chapter 4: Distance and Fear

I'm woken the next morning by my cell phone ringing. I groggily pick up the phone, see blearily that it's eight o'clock, and flip open the phone.

"Hello?" I say, my voice hoarse and thick with sleep.

"Good morning, Bella." I recognize Alan Shore's voice.

"Mr. Shore," I say, sitting up and clicking on my lamp. "How are you?"

"I'm well," he says. "And it's Alan." I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Right, sorry."

"I just wanted to call to apologize for my behavior last night. It was inappropriate and overly personal."

I'm confused, and a little disappointed. "What? No, I actually…" I clear my throat. "I appreciated you comforting me when I was…hurting."

After a long pause, he says, "I mean after that."

Thinking back, I say nothing for a while until he says, "Are you still there?"

"Yes," I say. "Sorry."

After another long pause, Alan clears his throat and says, "Anyway, there won't be any need for you to come in to the firm today, so take a day off for rest. Tomorrow we'll work on prepping for the case together; today Denny and I are going over our own work."

I nod, then realize he can't see me. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeats. "Goodbye."

"Bye." Flipping my phone closed, I set it on the night table, frowning. After that conversation, I'm left feeling unsatisfied and disappointed. I guess what hurts the most is that I'd actually believed that he cared for me. Now, I see that it was just a moment of weakness and commiseration on his own part.

Closing my eyes tightly, I flop back in bed.

Feeling extra depressed, I sleep on and off throughout the entire day, until at night I watch garbage TV shows for hours. I used to actually care about the quality of the shows I would watch; now I just flip mindlessly through the channels, using the TV more as background noise to distract myself from my endless thoughts. I find that when I let myself retreat into my mind, I end up going down a deep, dark spiral that I have a hard time escaping from.

I finally fall asleep again around six in the morning, then sleep until eight when I get a call from Mr. Crane's assistant telling me that I should come in at ten. I drag myself out of bed to shower and force down a few bites of an apple that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, then throw on a dress and boots and head to the law firm.

It's cloudy out today to match my mood, and I bundle up extra to protect me from the light snow that's beginning to fall when I reach Crane, Poole, & Schmidt. However, despite the weather, it's bustling inside, and I have to actually weave through people in the foyer to get to Mr. Crane's office.

This time he's not polishing a gun when I get there; instead, he's making out with a dwarf. As soon as I look through the door and see that spectacle, I rewind quickly and back against the wall, scrubbing my eyes as if I could remove the image of Denny Crane kneeling on the ground and shoving his tongue into the mouth of a three-foot-tall woman from my brain.

The woman finally comes out a minute later, greeting me with a glare and then stepping onto a miniature Segway to wheel away down the hall. My eyes wide in surprise, I turn the corner back to Denny's office, the owner of which is now sitting back at his desk and drinking a glass of alcohol.

"Bella," he says, sitting up when he sees me and grinning.

"I didn't know you were dating," I comment, sitting down and placing my purse on the ground to my side.

"I'm not," he says. "Are you jealous?"

I open my mouth, then close it. I know that even a negative response could be used against me.

He lowers his eyebrows, grinning wider. "I'm glad you came to see me."

"Well, Mr. Shore said we had to work on the case…"

He waves his hand. "Ah, don't listen to Alan. Sometimes he has a stick up his ass."

"Who has a stick up his ass?"

The second I hear the voice, I recognize it as Alan's own. Even so, I whip around and see Alan walking in now with his typical arms-swinging confidence and sideways smile.

"Speak of the devil," Mr. Crane says, raising his glass to Alan.

Alan smiles at him. "Getting started already, my friend?"

"Only way to say I've been drinking all day."

I lean back in my chair, forcing myself to relax. The humor of the situation helps a bit.

"How are you, Bella?" Alan barely phrases it like a question as he sits in the empty seat next to the desk.

"I'm well," I lie, and I hear that my own voice is stiffer than usual. I clear my throat, trying to ease up a little. "And you?"

He nods stiffly also. "Well."

"Jeez," I hear Denny say after a moment. "What happened to the two of you? Do you have a stick up your butt, too, Bella?" He laughs. "I'd like to see that."

I laugh slightly in an annoyed sort of way. "Not quite," I reply.

"Well," Alan says after a moment. "Should we get started?"

I look at him. "With what?"

"Well, for one, we should prepare for putting you on the witness stand."

I swallow nervously. "I don't know if I want to do that."

"We'll have to at some point. It's the best way to establish an emotional connection with the jury. They need to see that you're a real person, with real feelings and real circumstances."

I clench my teeth. "I know that. I just don't...fine, I'll do it."

"Denny and I have already practiced the opening statement—Denny will be delivering it, and I the closing, which I'll be writing a little later—so we don't have to worry about that. But you need to be prepared for how predatory opposing counsel could be, because he will."

I frown, muttering, "I knew that guy didn't seem nice."

Alan laughs. "No, not at all. He's known for badgering witnesses, particularly suspects. You'll have to have a thick skin."

I shift slightly. "Shouldn't be a problem."

"It can be harder than you'd think. There's a lot wrapped up in this that will get in the way of your defenses."

"I'll be fine," I say, my voice unintentionally a little acerbic.

He's silent for a moment. "I'm sure you will. But we should still practice."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my suddenly spastic nerves. "I'm sorry," I say, not really sure who I'm speaking to now. I'm looking at the air between the two lawyers rather than directly at one of them. "I'm just not feeling very well today."

Alan nods, as if he already knew that. "It's all right. You've been through a lot. Don't worry, in only a little over a week's time, this will be over with and you can go on with your life."

"With what's left of it," I murmur.

We go over crossing for several hours, going through every possible question that could be asked of me and giving me every possible defense, until both Alan and Denny are convinced that I'm ready for it (though Denny doesn't really pay attention throughout the whole thing, so he doesn't need much convincing). Even though I already knew what to expect and how to respond from law school, it's a little relieving to feel so prepared.

However, by the time we're done, I'm exhausted, although I know it's more emotional than anything. Going over the case has brought up all sorts of memories that I've been trying so hard to ignore, and now they run through my head like a terribly broken record.

I head into the bathroom to splash some water on my face and try to compose myself again before I head home. When I leave the bathroom, Alan is standing right outside, and he almost startles me.

Taking my arm, he leads me to what must be his own office; I've actually never been in it yet. I'm not crazy about his purposeful redirecting of my trajectory, but I allow him to bring me into his office and close the door behind us.

"Is something wrong?" I finally ask, stepping back from him a little. I find that my heart rate has raised slightly above normal.

"I know I must have said something to offend you, but for the life of me, I cannot figure it out. So I wanted to take you in here and ask you properly, so that I don't have to stay in suspense any longer." Even though a smile plays on his lips and his voice has its usual cockiness, his eyes betray his display with a very different expression.

I know it's cruel, but I say nothing for a minute as I look around his office. It's neat—I would expect no less. But further, there isn't a single item showing that he has family or friends—not a single framed photo, or personalized memento, or article of clothing not belonging to him. His office is a window into his life, which now seems lonely, and I suddenly feel very guilty.

"You haven't offended me," I say, letting myself sit down on his little couch.

He smiles as he sits down on the other side of the couch. "Then what has caused this sudden change in your behavior towards me?"

Now I feel defensive. "I don't think there's been a change in my behavior," I say. "I barely know you—I apologize, but I'm not the friendliest person when I first meet someone. Also, there is the matter of my quite possibly impending imprisonment."

He works his mouth around, looking down and letting out a quiet breath of a laugh. I simultaneously hope that he drops the matter and doesn't.

Instead, Alan stays silent but stares at me with a cool look, one that makes me feel very uncomfortable staying silent myself.

I laugh. "I see how you became a lawyer: you stay silent and stare until your witness feels compelled to tell you everything."

He laughs too, but still doesn't say anything.

Sighing, I say, "It's just…. I'd thought we'd…had a connection or something last night, when we talked about…our backstories. Or whatever. I know it's stupid. But when you called this morning, it just…dashed my hopes of someone who truly understands what I'm feeling."

His smile finally fades. After a long moment, he says, "It's not stupid."

I take in a deep breath.

Suddenly, he's standing and smoothing his suit jacket, the compassion that was just present in his face wiped clean. "I'm sorry to have upset you." His voice is passionless, sterile.

Understanding when I'm being told to leave, I stand as well and smooth my own dress. "Well. Thank you."

He nods briskly.

"Good night, Mr. Shore."

I leave then.