Chapter 20

It's been over one week since the incident at Blackwell. During this time, neither Rachel nor Max had been able to visit school again. Max, because of his heavy injuries and Rachel, because she hadn't been in a mental condition to do so. Numerous nightmares, anxiety attacks and sleepless nights had taken their toll on the poor teenage-girl. But this hadn't been everything.

During this entire time, Rachel had refused to see Max, because she just couldn't manage to look him in the eyes again. She felt so ashamed that just being close to him made her feel uncomfortable. This way, the person she loved the most was now so far away, though he was literally at an arm's reach. And it depressed her.

Chloe had tried to make her understand that this was just an illusion and Max still loved her, but for Rachel, these were just empty words. Yes, Chloe understood her. Yes, she's been through the same. Yet, Rachel's mind wasn't ready to hear it. If she wanted to hear it at all.

Rachel had also neglected every sort of offered therapy. She didn't want to talk with anybody about this, less a strange person. About how weak she had been.

It was a darkness that was dwelling inside of her. A darkness that swallowed every bit of logic and warmth. An obscurity that was about to consume her; that let her see the world only in grey; that made her feel cold and emotionless; that switched off her rational thinking.

Rachel just felt helpless and without any other purpose than to make him suffer. All she wanted was to hurt Nathan more and more until he would die a gruesome death...even if it would kill her, too.

Vanessa Caulfield was sitting in her office. A very spacious office. Yes, being the DA's assistant had it's benefits, besides a gracious paycheck, but also its downsides, like a lot of overtime or working through entire weekends. But she loved her job nonetheless.

But being the attorney in the family also came with the responsibility of taking care of any law-related issues that were concerning her family and their friends, which, nowadays, were quite a lot.

First, the accident concerning Will's late wife, then Chloe's shenanigans, after that the law-suit with the Hampdens, and right now she was also busy taking care of the attempted rape of Rachel, which meant a fight with the Prescott's lawyers. Not an easy fight, yet a fight she wanted to win so dearly.

To her luck, the case had been directly given to the DA's office and Vanessa had taken care that it would land on her desk.

At the moment, the brunette woman was waiting for Nathan Prescott's lawyer to finally appear in her office. And after already being ten minutes late, it eventually knocked at her door.

"Come in!" she called, and immediately a fancy dressed young man in a grey suit over a white shirt and a red tie entered, a smug over-polite grin on his face.

Vanessa despised those kinds of lawyers. Young, over-confident, over-paid and nothing more than cheap liars, who would sell their souls to just win a shady case. She had already seen them all, and lost way too many cases against such bastards than she was ready to admit. Yet, she also had shown a lot of them their boundaries, which had brought her an already feared reputation among many law-firms.

"Miss Caulfield!" said the man with his gelled black hair with an over-joyous tone, reaching out his hand.

"Mrs. Caulfield, Mr. Talbot," she replied, standing up and giving him a short handshake. But being his over-confident self, the lawyer tried to use this faux pas in his favor.

"Mrs. Caulfield? No way, you look way too young to be married."

Of course, Vanessa wasn't impressed by this at all, sitting down again and retorting "Oh wow, did you came up with this slimy shit on yourself, or's there a website where you guys get those stupid macho-lines? Anyway, let's cut the crap and get to business!"

Being satisfied upon seeing her opponent's smug grin falter, the mid-aged woman opened a folder and got ready while an already grumpy Talbot took a seat right opposite from her.

"Alright, Mr. Talbot, let's make things short," she said to the young attorney, handing him a pile of paper. "Your client, Nathan Prescott, is accused of sexual assault, combined with mayhem on Rachel Dawn Amber. There are two witnesses, including the victim, whose statements are matching up pretty perfectly. Your turn!"

She hadn't really expected that those facts would wash the arrogance off of him. No, she knew that he would grin again; that he would throw her papers back on the desk and bring forth his own; and that he would think that he had already won.

"Well, Mrs. Caulfield, you're absolutely right that we should make this short, because my client stated that he and the supposed victim had an affair and were caught by your son, Maximilian Caulfield, who's also Miss Amber's boyfriend. In rage, he attacked my client, who's now pressing charges against him. And this would render you biased, and therefore put you off the case."

"Oh my god!" Vanessa gasped, burying her face in her cupped hands.

"I know, I'm good," he spoke with as much arrogance as possible, his shit-eating grin reaching from ear to ear. "So, why don't you just step back and let real lawyers handle this, hmm?"

"Oh by all means, definitely not!" she scoffed back, shaking her head in unbelief. Then she leaned in, her demeanor stern and making clear that she meant business. "Now listen closely, rookie, I already expected that ol' man Prescott would come around the corner with such a fucked up story, 'cause that's what he always does. So, I already checked some facts. Firstly, there were no traces whatsoever on my son's hands that would hint that he threw even one single punch in this fight. Therefore, Mr. Prescott was the only one who attacked him and your charges are nothing more than dust in the wind. Secondly, nobody...and I say really no-body could gimme even a tiny proof that Miss Amber and Mr. Prescott had an affair, though a lot of students and teachers confirmed that your client had narcissistic tendencies as well as violent outbreaks. And to round things up, I already asked for a medical report that will underline those statements."

Having witnessed how the young attorney's demeanor had changed from confident to stunned, Vanessa leaned back into her chair with a satisfied smile on her lips, adding "Now, Mr. Talbot, I'd suggest that you learn how to play the game first, before messing with the upper league. Got it?"

"But your son…" he tried to reply in desperation, but only drew the older woman's anger towards him.

"My son still suffers from a concussion and had to stay in hospital for two days. Believe me, Mr. Talbot, when I say that we'll press charges against your client as well because of this attack. But that's a different case under different circumstances, a fact that you should've learned at law-school, haven't you?"

It was a big bone to chew for the young lawyer, who was gritting with his teeth. Still, he wasn't ready to accept defeat, grumbling "This ain't over!" before he took his leave.

Yes, Vanessa had once more shown a newbie how things were working in the law-business. Nonetheless, this encounter left a stale taste in her mouth, because she was afraid what other dirty cards old man Prescott would play, just to keep his son out of juvie.

Strong winds were whipping the cold wet air of the ocean right into her young face, and kept on pulling on her white winter coat. The beach was entirely deserted, not a rare sight of this time of the year. Still, Rachel kept on looking over her shoulder, just for the one-in-a-billion chance that someone would show up.

But that wasn't the case and some sort of relief went through her body as she had reached her destination: a rundown RV.

She had already heard many rumors about its owner, Frank Bowers. That he was a drug dealer and could get you anything you wanted, if you have the right amount of money. Well, she got the money and knew what she wanted, yet she had to gather all her courage to overcome her fear and knock at the moving home's door.

After the first pair of knocks, nothing happened and somehow Rachel felt the need to use the chance and run away, but her adamant will let her stay and knock even harder.

This time, she received an answer in the form of a dog's loud barking, followed a few seconds by its owner's loud chiding.

"Pompidou, shut up!"

Some more rummaging could be heard, before the door swung open and a mid-aged blond man with short, scruffy hair and a trimmed beard appeared. All-in-all he looked as rundown as his RV, and his clothes weren't any better.

Nonetheless, he ogled the young girl for a few moments from head to toe, like he hadn't expected someone like her.

"Whaddaya want?!" he eventually asked harshly, leaning against the doorframe.

Once more, Rachel wanted to run away from this shady figure, but once again she recalled what had happened and what she wished to do. Immediately, her acting skills were taking over, giving her the power to suppress any unwanted emotions and let her seem confident.

"Chloe Price told me that you're the person I need to talk to, if I want some...hot stuff."

At first, the blond man just scoffed and then said "Price, huh? Haven't heard from her in a while. She still owes me some money and just because she's sendin' some new customers, doesn't mean that I'll give her some credit."

"Uh, no," Rachel replied, "Chloe didn't send me. She, uh...she just once told me where she got her weed from, ts'all."

"Pft, damn kids!" he spoke with another scoff, shaking his head. "So, you wanna get high? Well, in that case, I'll gladly deliver. So, what'll it be? Oxy, weed, meds, pills…"

"A gun."

Right away, there was silence as Frank Bowers froze on the spot, his demeanor blank. Both were staring at each other, only the howling of the wind trying to break this tense moment.

"Get the fuck outta here and don't come back!" exclaimed Frank out of a sudden, already about to close the door. But Rachel was fast and grabbed him by his arm.

"Chloe told me that you can get everythin' for the right cash."

Swiftly he turned around, tapping with his finger on her chest. "You don't have the cash for that kinda merchant!"

A grab in her coat's pocket was everything to pull out a bundle of green bills and hold it right under Frank's nose.

"Is this enough?" she asked cheekily, her adamant tone once more underlining that she was serious about this. And indeed, the taller man ogled the money, but eventually shoved it aside with a plain "No!"

Again, he wanted to leave, and this time Rachel yelled at him.

"Then how much do you want, huh? Should I double it? Triple it?"

"You could put a fuckin' Porsche and Bill Gate's fortune on top of it and it still wouldn't be enough!" he blurted in return, stepping closer so that Rachel had to take a few steps back. "You don't look like a desperate housewife, who wants to put a fuckin' pea-shooter into her drawer to fend off the next bad guy. You look like trouble. A fuckin' lot of trouble. And if you do trouble with my merchant, then I'm gonna be in trouble, too. Now, fuck off!"

There it was again, silence. And again, both stared at each other. But this time, there was no anger in Rachel's eyes, yet sadness.

"Please!" she whispered against the wind. "Please, Frank! I'll do whatever you want, just… I just need something to…"

"Protect yourself?" he finished her sentence on a hunch and got a nod in return. "I already heard what happened to Price and at this fuckin' school. Some sick shit's goin' on and I can't blame you to be prepared, but believe me…a gun won't solve anythin'."

For the third time Frank wanted to leave, and this time, Rachel didn't even try to stop him. For her, all hope was lost.

"Tell ya what," said Frank out of a sudden, looking over his shoulder. "I'll get ya a good knife. Somethin' that you can put in your pocket and easily carry around. Deal?"

A knife wasn't a gun, Rachel knew that. But what was the alternative? Feeling desperate and lacking any other options, she couldn't do anything else than nodding in agreement.

"Just wait here. I'll fix you up in a minute."