In The Clear: Introductions VI
Angel "Omar" Jardinez, 18, Calgary AB
Omar waits at the top of the hill for his sister to catch up. By any metric it's the perfect day for skiing - crisp white in all directions with just enough tread underfoot to see the trail ahead. There's no one else up here. The hill is calm enough that it's easy to forget the resort waiting several hundred feet below.
"Look!" Omar turns to see Sabina smiling in her puffy coat. She points one gloved hand towards a misshapen lump of snow near the hill's edge. "A snowman, Rara!"
He shakes his head at the nickname. At five years old, she's more than capable of saying Omar but his dad loves the nickname. He's proud that the child from his first marriage is so close to the one from his second. Most people would never realize they're only half-siblings. Omar and Sabina both inherited their dad's thick hair and dark eyes.
Though he'd never say as much, Omar often wishes she looked more like his stepmom. He still remembers running through the old house with his dad in matching pajamas. His mom never failed to remark that he was his dad's perfect clone.
This morning, his stepmom said the same thing about Sabina when she put on her ski goggles.
Omar tilts his head as his sister drops to her knees in the snow. "Dad's waiting for us."
"Let's fix him!" She exclaims. Her skis splay on either side as she begins to mould a semi-round shape out of the pile. Omar sighs and looks back towards the ski lift. He half-expects to see their dad coming up to ask what the hold up is, but of course he doesn't know which hill they're on.
Looks like he's stuck here again. Taking care of her again.
Omar swallows down the second, bitter thought. He's grateful to be spending the weekend at Lake Louise with his dad's family. The past few years have been easier between them, especially because Sabina is getting older. Omar won't lie that it bothered him when his dad started a new family. It felt like he didn't have enough time for Omar anymore.
Because he didn't. He lets out a slow breath and approaches his sister, who's still enamoured with crafting one bulbous body segment. She turns back with a smile as she hears him. Sabina pulls off her ski goggles and puts them carefully atop the snowman. "Look, Rara! It's daddy!"
Omar pauses on his next step. It's all been easier, but hearing her call him that always sends him back. He's nine years old again, meticulously packing an overnight bag to head to his dad's new house. His mom walked in and told him they were going out for dinner instead. Omar didn't understand; his dad would be here any minute.
He wasn't coming. His new wife had gone into labour early and he needed to be at the hospital with her. His dad would come get Omar next weekend.
Omar didn't see his dad for a month. Weekly visits became monthly, sometimes even less often. The excuse was always the same - Omar would just be bored while they took care of the baby, the baby would wake him up, the baby had a doctor's appointment. It was always the baby. It was always Sabina.
His knees sink down into the snow but, when he opens his eyes, his sister is nowhere to be found. If the hilltop was quiet before, now it was positively silent. The wind knocks the goggles to the ground and Omar instinctively crawls forward to retrieve them. He stares over the steep edge, but can't see anything beyond the blowing flurries. He hears nothing but a heavy snow crunch on the ground below as his hands burn with shame.
He shouts her name, but there's no answer.
That's all Omar remembers as he sits inside the ski patrol office hours later. That, and the moment they told him she was gone.
Omar turns towards the knock on his bedroom door. He kicks his messenger bag under his desk and shouts a greeting. His dad peers inside with a smile that Omar easily returns.
"Well?" His dad asks, opening both hands in front of him. "How was it?"
"Amazing," Omar says honestly and his dad's smile brightens even further. "Everyone's really nice. I'm going to be doing mostly document running for the first few weeks, but after that Davidson says he'll show me around the filing room."
His dad sighs happily. "I knew you'd love it."
"You were right," he admits, but there was never any doubt. When Omar graduated early last month, he knew he wanted to make his way into the courts somehow. Law school is the obvious choice, but his dad suggested a gap year to gain some experience first. He just so happens to have connections to the law office down the street.
His dad moves in for a hug and Omar wraps his arms around him. "I'm proud of you. She would be so proud of you, Omar."
When they pull apart, there are tears sparkling in their eyes. Omar knows he's right. If Sabina were here now, she would be ecstatic to see her big brother leaving every day in a sports coat. Omar can picture the toothy smile even if it sends a pang of guilt to the pit of his stomach. In his mind, she'll always be five years old even if she'd be going on eight now.
It gets harder every day to believe she's gone. The police investigation ruled that day on the ski hill a tragic accident, but Omar will always blame himself. He should've been more responsible. He should've never let her get so close to the edge.
His dad and stepmom have never blamed him. They know how much Sabina meant to him and to all of them. She was the center of all their worlds, and they know if there would've been any way to save her he would have.
"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," his dad says as he wipes a stray tear from his nose. Omar does the same, but no moisture comes away on his fingertips.
The door closes and Omar returns to his desk. He pulls a page out of the bag that's still stuffed beneath his desk. He takes one more look over his shoulder to make sure he's alone before reading the name again. Edgar Ladron.
Davidson's set to prosecute his case in the next few weeks. This page details the results of Mr. Ladron's blood test following an accident down MacLeod Trail. He's been accused of impaired driving following a collision with another driver. Mr. Ladron was already given a fine and forced driver's training at the roadside.
Now, months later, he'll be facing criminal charges. The evidence is right here in Omar's hands. One mistake, one lapse of judgement, and his life could be permanently changed. It doesn't seem fair. Mr. Ladron knows what he did; he lives with it every day and has to face all the people he's affected.
He crumples the page into a tight ball and shoves it to the bottom of his trash can. That's punishment enough. He's not a bad man. He can be forgiven and he can change. This one mistake can be overcome, Omar knows it can.
Omar sits at the witness stand. He holds both hands still on the table in front of him without a tremor to be found. He isn't afraid, though nerves are to be expected. Several feet away his attorney sits alone at his table. Mr. Bressett looks even less concerned than Omar feels, but he knows it's untrue.
He was warned during every meeting with Mr. Bressett not to testify in court today. Omar turned him down. He needs to explain himself; it's the only way the judge will understand what happened. The accusations aren't wrong, but they're justified. If the judge hears it from Omar, he knows that she'll throw the case out. There doesn't need to be another day of court for any of them.
Omar will be back home for dinner. He knows it.
All he did was forgive, something that so many prosecutors can't find it in their hearts to do. Omar looked at the files and saw people, not just cases and salaries. He's doing what all public servants should strive to do. He might not be innocent, and when interrogated he never denied what he did. Still, like the people he helped, Omar deserves to be understood.
"We have a written confession," the prosecutor continues. The way he observes Omar makes him uneasy, but he refuses to bend. He spent several months working in an attorney's office. He watched Davidson raise his eyebrow the same way. Omar won't be fazed. "Yet you still plead not guilty."
"I am not guilty of any crime," Omar says simply. His eyes shift briefly to his attorney, but he doesn't react.
The prosecutor tilts his chin. "As you've said. Let me get this straight. You admit to fabricating evidence, forgery, and obstruction of justice. In fact, you admit to multiple counts of each. How is it, Mr. Jardinez, that you are not guilty of a crime?"
"Those people deserved a second chance."
Omar truly believes that. It started small with Mr. Ladron's blood test results. Omar would misplace a document or two, something important enough to make the case harder to sell to a jury. As it would come, sometimes that wasn't enough. Omar had to do more. These were people, good people that had made mistakes. They deserved to be forgiven and move on with their lives. Omar trusted that, if given that chance, they would prove him right.
The prosecutor places both hands on the table in front of him. "Was that for you to decide?"
His final case, the one that brought him to the court today, was his most ambitious. There was so much evidence from the university, but the defendant was barely an adult. The descriptions were horrible, but sometimes people make horrible mistakes. Sometimes they don't realize what they're doing. Sometimes they would take it back in a second if only they knew how to wipe that snow from their gloves.
Omar had the power to forgive them.
"Someone had to."
Madigan "Meg" Ulrich, 18, London ON
The moment Meg steps through their front door, they feel it. The usual bustle of the Ulrich household sounds somehow muffled. Rather than dishes knocking in the sink while someone considers doing them, Meg hears only the vaguest hint of pacing footsteps. They clutch her bag to their shoulder, unaware of the puzzled expression that pulls at their lips.
The first thought is that something horrible must've happened. Thankfully, the uneasiness only lasts the amount of time it takes for Meg to enter the kitchen. They offhandedly grab a banana from the basket on the counter but it drops to the floor when she spots him.
"Mom?" Meg calls loudly though they can see their mother carefully watching a boiling kettle. Her arms are wrapped around herself like she's trying to take up even less space in the tiny kitchen. Their mother turns and offers a sheepish smile, but Meg's attention is already back on the man rising to greet her.
"Madigan," he nods and Meg recoils instinctively. His hand hovers in midair but she doesn't consider taking it for even a moment. No part of this man looks comfortable between the peeling wallpaper. His sport coat has less wrinkles than their countertops. "It's brilliant to finally meet you."
Meg's not sure what bothers them more - the use of her full name or the fact that they know exactly who he is.
"Didn't realize this was a stop on your campaign trail." They say flatly. It takes several seconds before Mahesh Tonival's hand returns respectfully to his side. He tries a smile, but Meg only crosses their arms in response. In an instant, the same awkward silence takes over their home once more.
Yes, Meg knows exactly who this man is and she has absolutely no interest in whatever this is supposed to be. He's the reason that her life's been turned upside down this past week. No one cared about Meg Ulrich before, but suddenly she's some politician's bastard crotch goblin and apparently that means theymatter.
"I came to talk," he says gently. She notes the heavy bags under his eyes and, for a moment, Meg almost feels bad for him. No doubt the smear ads put him through just as much of a gauntlet, but there's a difference. Sixteen years ago, Mahesh decided to have an affair and leave behind evidence in the way of Meg. It was only a matter of time before his rivals found her.
Suddenly, Meg doesn't feel bad for him at all.
"So talk," they say. She kneels down and grabs the fallen banana off the ground. Rather than acknowledge his gesture to sit, they become enthralled with peeling it open.
He sighs again. "I know I might not be what you expected, but I want to make the best of things. How about we get lunch? I can pick you up this weekend; any restaurant you like."
Meg takes a careful bite of the banana and takes their time chewing. As much as they don't like the idea of spending time with him, the searing gaze from her mother feels like they don't have much of a choice.
"Fine, Sunday."
"Thank you," he smiles. "I'll pick you up at eleven."
Meg nods and he takes the cue to leave. The door hasn't even shut behind him before they turn to her mother with both hands on their hips. "I can't believe you let him inside."
"He said he would wait outside if I didn't," she sighs.
"That's not what I meant." Meg raises an eyebrow towards where he was just standing. "It's amazing that you saw some guy that looks like a rejected Jojo's character and thought yeah, him."
Meg drapes herself over the edge of the bed, barely flinching as their phone hits the floor below them. They stare at the outfit that's hanging on their closet door and it's hard to stifle the grin. As much as she keeps telling themself she doesn't want to go to the exhibit opening, the sleepless excitement speaks for itself.
They sigh loudly and reach for their discarded phone. It's nearly two o'clock but, despite the fact that she'll be expected at the museum at eleven, Meg's nowhere near sleep. Thankfully, her best friend is in the same boat. Often, they wonder if Sal ever does rest his eyes. Meg imagines him like one of those fish that sleep while they swim, except he does it while studying.
Mᴀʏʙᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀs ʙᴀᴅ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ, Sal types.
She rolls their eyes. I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴇɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴡ ᴀ ᴘᴏʟɪᴛɪᴄɪᴀɴ ʟᴍᴀᴏ
Wʜᴏ's ᴀʟsᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴅ :P
Meg has to stop themself from physically gagging. While getting to know their sperm donor hasn't been as painful as the time she slammed her fingers in a door, it's a close second. They have nothing in common. The further Meg dives into his political stances, the closer she comes to stabbing forks into their own eyes. He's technically left-leaning, but more than that he's a sellout. It disgusts them that they share even a fraction of DNA.
The problem is that Mahesh is the only reason Meg gets to spend their weekends in Dr. Vulpes archeology lab. She never would've had the opportunity to even apply to assist there without him and it makes their blood boil to think about. Meg's been interested in the subject for as long as they've known what the word meant. It's their dream to someday go on a real dig overseas.
That's the only reason Meg hasn't told him to take a long walk off a short ledge. They suspect he knows that too. Their relationship is nothing like the tabloids have painted. It's purely transactional - Meg gets this lab position and Mahesh gets to look like absent-father-of-the-year.
Pʟs, I ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴡ ᴜᴘ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ, Meg replies.
Dᴇʟɪᴄɪᴏᴜs
She laughs and rights themself on the bed. Sal hasn't been in the same province as her for over three years but luckily it doesn't feel like much has changed. He's been their best friend since the first grade, and a little more starting in high school. It would've been too difficult to keep up their situationship across borders, but there's never been hard feelings there. Friends with a few overly specific dirty jokes thrown in works just as well.
Dᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴠᴜʟᴘᴇs ɪs ʀɪɢʜᴛ?Meg types. She bites her lip before adding a second message. Aʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪᴛs?
It takes Sal a little longer to reply this time, no doubt choosing his words carefully. Wʜᴀᴛ's ᴅᴀᴅ sᴀʏ?
Meg wrinkles their nose. Hᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴀsᴋᴇᴅ :/
Mᴀʏʙᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ's sᴛᴇᴘ 1
Mᴀʏʙᴇ? Meg glances again at the outfit hanging in their closet. Dr. Vulpes has been going on for weeks about this new exhibit. She doesn't believe that the permits to excavate were properly obtained. Her petition to pull the exhibit entirely was laughed out of the museum owner's office. Meg hasn't seen any proof of the permit issue, but they don't exactly not believe it.
Wʜᴀᴛ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ᴅᴏ? Lᴇᴀᴠᴇ? XD
I ᴡɪsʜ
In the whole three hours Meg spent planning this, they never imagined the museum would be so… dark at night. She creeps along the walls for another meter before realizing that's probably a bad idea. In the movies that's where the lasers come out from and that's about as much knowledge about museum heists that Meg has. Still, it would be stupid not to listen to it.
The exhibit opener was a success, and that only made Mahesh's answer to Meg's question that much worse to swallow. The permits were never obtained at all, much less legally. The excavation site was never supposed to be dug up at all but the patrols there took a bribe. Dr. Vulpes was right all along.
Meg glances into a nearby exhibit as footsteps start nearby. She ducks inside to avoid them and stiffens, waiting to be discovered. How many more of these artifacts are stolen?
They suspect they don't want to know the answer. Regardless, she's here for one exhibit right now and the rest are going to have to wait. Meg's certain that if she can get the artifacts to Dr. Vulpes, she'll get them on a plane back to Egypt. The hardest part will be getting them all out.
Meg stands several minutes later but there's no one around. They scamper across the hall and slip under the sign welcoming her to the Lost Temple of Helios. A thought wondering where to start slips from their mind as Meg spots the case at the center of the exhibit.
She approaches carefully. Even the dim light from the exit signs sparkles off the jewelry. The Bloodstone Amulet of the High Priestess is the crown jewel of the exhibit. The people of the surrounding villages claim that it's cursed and was buried beneath the temple to protect the world. Digging it up not only angered the public, but the High Priestess herself.
Meg doesn't hesitate before lifting the glass case that holds the amulet. Almost as soon as Meg's hands grasp the case, a piercing alarm sears the air around them. Her eyes widen as they look around the dim hall, but there's no convenient off switch to be found. The words that shout between it may as well be a foreign language - and not one of the seven they understand.
Meg reaches for the amulet without a second thought and throws it around her neck. She searches around them for anything small enough to grab. Meg stuffs as many trinkets as they can into their pockets before something near the exhibit entrance catches their eye.
It's a statue of the goddess herself and Meg doesn't have to think before grabbing it around the bottom. It's not very tall, maybe three feet at most, but the moment she lifts it from the podium they realize their mistake. It's solid stone, or at least that's what it feels like. Meg is able to get it off the ground but moving takes every bit of breath in their lungs.
If you want your stuff back, goddess, I could use a little help here. Meg holds their breath as she takes the first couple steps. The fourth actually feels slightly easier and her eyes widen. They didn't actually expect an answer.
If Helios truly is looking down on her, she must've taken an early lunch. Meg's foot folds beneath their next step and she hits the ground hard. They manage to turn in time to try and save the statue, but the edge of the goddess' head catches Meg's. She falls limp to the ground, not hearing the stone that shatters around them or the fast steps as guards finally reach her.
It's hard to know if it was the head injury of the amulet around Meg's neck, but she swears they heard her just before waking up in a hospital bed.
"As for all who shall covet my amulet… an end shall be made for them…I shall cast the fear of myself onto them."
A/N: Nothing much to say here today. I hope you enjoyed Omar & Madigan, please leave me your thoughts if you have the time. Thank you to everyone who has been doing so thus far, I really appreciate it.
Next up will be Lawrence & Marceline!
~ Olive