Chapter 12: Chapter 12
Michael
Three Weeks later
I have reread the statement over and over again. Giving up I throw the paperwork involving my next case on top of my desk.
Three weeks.
It's been three weeks since I left Alaska and all I can think about is walking away from someone that needed me.
Coward.
Whitney has been home for over two weeks, that much I was able to get from Cobi before he went home as well. I gave myself the excuse that I was needed back here, and although my next cases are now piling on, I know I could have stayed longer.
Master.
She called me master.
I scared her, hurt her, and all she could think of was that I was the one she needed permission from.
What the hell did I do?
Placing my elbows on my desk, I rub my temple with my thumbs, the pressure doing nothing to lessen the impending migraine. Picking up the case file, I try and concentrate on the next case I had been given yesterday.
Missing nine year old girl.
Missing for over eight years ago.
Mother recently committed suicide.
"I wish to go back to my master."
Shutting my eyes, I think about Whitney's words to me as I gripped her shoulders with frustration. She wanted to go back to that monster. She had been raped and tortured for over four years, but all she could think about was going back to that man that did those things to her.
A knock at the door snaps me out of my daze. Penny sticks her head in, smiling nervously as she widens it when she sees I'm inside. A small box rests in her hand wrapped in a pink plastic wrap with a bow on top.
Penny has been bringing me my lunch for the past few days since my bad mood has been diminishing my ability to go and eat something.
"Brought you something dear."
"Penny, you really don't have to do this every day." I say skeptically. Truth is I really do appreciate everything she has done for me these past two weeks.
"Oh please." She states placing the box down at my desk then reaching for her back pocket to pull out a kids juice box. "Now, listen up because I'm only going to this once. What happened to that girl was awful and what you did, leaving her there when she needed you, was cold, but honey, you are not responsible for every girl you save and every kid you rescue. You have to step away from the job sometimes, or you become the job."
"How did you know"
"I can read it all over your attitude lately. You have such guilt about what transpired over there in Alaska, and after filing the report, I had to guess it was the fact that you wrote in there that she was codependent upon you."
"I left her Penny. She needed me and I left her." Before she could say more, another knock at my door prompts her to open it before speaking.
Lamino walks in, a grin spread wide across his face. His arms are stretched wide out while he chuckles looking between the two of us. "Why in the world do you two look like someone has just died, when in fact you solved a case that was pathetically lacking in evidence."
Penny and I eye each other but stay silent. Lamino sighs loudly, then lays his hands down at his sides. "Mike, you did well, and I know this isn't what you what to hear, but that girl will eventually be alright. She's safe, no longer in any danger, that's all that should matter to you."
He's right, I know he is, but something about the idea of leaving her there, right when she needed me is not sitting well in my soul. I haven't felt this way before, not about any cases I've worked on since coming here, and not even in my days as a field agent.
A buzzer from the downstairs reception area chirps from outside the room at Penny's desk. She excuses herself to answer and I bring my gaze back to Lamino.
"I know this is hard, but I need your mind focused on the next case. If you feel like you can't do that so soon, maybe it's time to take some time for yourself."
I'm shaking my head before he can even finish speaking. "No, I'm good. I've got the next case right here." I state patting the manila file folder placed atop my desk.
"Good. You did well Mike. You'll see that soon."
Lamino turns and walks out of my office, closing the door quietly behind him. My phone vibrates against the desk, rattling off a loud and annoying noise. Turning it over I glance at the screen flashing that my mother is called for the third time this week.
I was sure I was in the clear after finally giving in and going to visit with her last week. Of course I wouldn't go without Cobi and I restricted the time of just two hours and that must include dinner, but apparently that didn't work.
Ignoring the call, I pick up the folder once again and go over the facts of the new case. A buzzer goes off on the edge of my desk and I place my fingers along the wooden box, pressing the button to connect.
"Penny?"
"Mr. Taylor, I have a Mr. Donaldson here to see you." My heart stops beating as her words kick in to my conscious.
Donaldson.
Whitney.
"Send him in." I stand, stepping around my desk just as the door opens and Orlando Donaldson steps through the threshold.
His stance is very much the same as the last time I had met him. Sagging shoulders, dark gray hair, broken eyes. Starring at Whitney's pictures all those days, I wasn't able to see a deep resemblance with her parents, but after spending time with her, starring into her destroyed irises, I see her and her father look very much alike.
"Mr. Donaldson, what can I do for you?" My heart is stammering in my chest, hating the fact that if this guy goes off on me for leaving his daughter when she needed me most, I couldn't blame him.
"Could I get a moment of your time Mr. Taylor? It's important." His voice sounds almost childlike, as if my answer could determine everything for him.
"Um, sure. I was just about to head out to the coffee shop across the street. Care to join me?" I wasn't, but he doesn't need to know that. I can tell this conversation is something that is going to require more than just a single door separating us from others.
Orlando nods his head, and I lead us back out of my office and straight out of the doors of the precinct. We stay silent as we walk side by side to the coffee shop. Walking inside, I'm thankful there is no line as we both order and I pay, ignoring his attempt of giving me money. We find a spot outside and sit opposite each other. Orlando crosses his hands leaning atop the table, tapping his fingers nervously against his knuckles.
"I'm thankful for you Mr. Taylor. I don't know all the details of the rescue, but I don't know if I want to either." He starts, not bothering to take a breath. I stay silent as I listen to him ramble on, obviously needing to get this out. "Whitney is home now, and me and Claudia couldn't be more grateful for everything you and your team have done."
"Mr. Donaldson"
"She's just not the same. We've tried everything, even with the understanding that the little girl we lost those years ago, is gone. She died the day she was traded to that monster, but she's different. Her therapist, Olga, came back to Denver, wanting to keep in touch with her. She told us that she acted differently when she was at that facility in Alaska. We couldn't figure out why, until she went through each day Whitney stayed there."
This time his eyes leave his palms, and rise up, starring straight into mine. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, not liking where this conversation is heading. I thought the 'talk' he wanted to have, was going to have something to do with curse words and lots of anger and shouting. Something I deserved.
"Orlando, I don't think"
"You were the missing link Mike. She needs you, and I don't think she's going to last much longer without you."
"What do you"
"She doesn't eat, won't drink, barely sleeps. She won't speak, not a single word to me and her mother. We are giving her as much privacy as she needs, but she continues to fade into nothing. Olga told me and Claudia that you were a kind of tool for Whitney. She was alive with you, more so than she is now. I don't know if it's a comfort or some other kind of conditioning, but you're the magnet Mike. We can't do this without you."
Tears align along the rim of his eyes, but I look away, starring instead at my untouched coffee in my hands.
"Mr. Donaldson. I'm so sorry that Whitney is going through these motions, and as much as I would like to help you, this kind of thing is not only inappropriate because of my position, but immoral. I can't be her crutch."
Orlando looks distraught but stays silent. His mouth stays open but after a few moments, closes it and stands, nodding his head. He leaves the shop, his coffee cup untouched, much like mine, still on the table in front of me.
realizing after the events of today that there is no way I will able to focus on work, I decide to head home right after finishing off my cold cup of coffee.
Walking up to my home, I spot my extremely paranoid neighbor Gill, leaning out of his door frame, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a dirty robe. His hair is in its usual messy style and his thick glasses are perched right at the tip of his nose. He eyes me suspiciously, patting his newspaper against his thigh. Giving him a wave, I walk right into my home and turn on the light switch that illuminates the living area.
"What the hell?" I shout, causing my ex fiancé to jump off my couch, delirious from her little nap. "Victoria, what the hell are you doing in my house?"
"Mike?" She asks, wiping the sleep from her face. In her usual fashion, she immediately begins straightening her hair and making sure her face is still beautiful enough for us to have this conversation.
I had first met Victoria at a friend's housewarming party. She was beautiful, that was what first called me towards her. She was also perfect for my career. I was traveling all over the world, never home long enough for anything series. She was fine with being alone, happy enough with spending my hard earned money on materialistic things. We worked. Until I got the dreadful call that my father was sick. Hearing her moan and cry about how she didn't feel like visiting a dead man's home, was a strike out for me. To find out later that she had been cheating on me was just the icing on top.
"Get your shit and get out of my house." I shout pointing at the door I just came in through. I don't have time to ponder how in the hell she knew where I lived or how she got inside, I'm sure daddy being a congressman gives her all the unnecessary advantages she needs to get her way.
"Mike please, listen to me." She stands, revealing the red and black lace lingerie she bought after I proposed.
"Vic do not do this. We aren't together anymore."
"I've changed, I've come to show you how much I need you. I'm so sorry about your father Michael."
Anger rushes through my veins at the mention of my father. I knew she was spiteful, materialistic and vain, but to not be there for the man you wanted to marry when his father got cancer, was my wake up call. She would never change, and I'm pretty sure the news I heard about her father's money being liquidated due to fraud charges, has something to do with her being here and my constant calls.
"Don't you dare speak about my father. You had your chance, and thanks to your cold heart, we are over. Now when I get back, I want your shit out of my house and you gone." With my last words, I stomp out of the house, hop into my car and drive out of there.
My knuckles turn white under the pressure of the steering wheel as I zoom down the road ignoring my vibrating cell phone in the seat beside me. Thirty minutes later I turn onto a familiar street and roll my eyes that my subconscious took me immediately to my mother's house. Her instincts must kick in because seconds after I cut the engine to my car, she opens the door and steps outside.
"Michael?"
Hopping out of my car, I round it and head straight for her. Mom and I haven't always been the closest duo, but she has always been able to tell when I was upset. She scoots to the side, allowing me to enter into her house and when I turn, she is shutting the door and locking it.
Looking around the place, I take in everything that reminds me of my father. Dad dying hit us all hard but seeing his things still scattered around the place, is tough. I almost expect him to come waltzing into the room, his deep voice booming as he asks my mom where she put his cigars. Dad loved smoking them, mom hated it, so she would hide them often. It was a game between the two of them, one that I never thought I would miss so much.
"Everything alright?"
"No." I state coldly, watching the armchair dad loved sitting in.
"Sit, talk to me." Her voice is soft, almost sappy. I turn to look at her and take her in. She's looks frail, smaller than when I saw her the other day. Her hair is down and messy and there is a sheen of sweat on her forehead.
"Are you sick?" I ask walking closer to her.
"What? Oh no, I was taking a nap." I've unfortunately been doing my job long enough to know she isn't telling me everything. "Now, tell me, what brought you by? To be honest I didn't think I would hear from you for a while."
Guilt rushes through me as I take in her words. She isn't wrong but knowing she can feel the distance between the two of us is gut wrenching.
"Mom"
"No it's alright. I've accepted that I wasn't the perfect mother, but now that your father is gone, I thought we could keep trying."
"You weren't a bad mother." I say sheepishly. I hate talking about this stuff. I didn't come over here for that, but then, why did I come?
She looks down at her hands, fingers crossed with a sad smile. "Michael, why are you here?"
"Victoria came by my home today."
"I thought you two had broken up?"
"We had." I walk back over to the sofa and take a seat, starring once again at dad's armchair. His dark green sweater lays draped over the back. "She thought she would surprise me; came here to tell me she had changed."
"Maybe she has."
"No, you don't know her. I only let you guys meet her once because I knew she wasn't what you guys had envisioned for me to bring home."
"No one is perfect Michael. Maybe this girl has changed and can prove herself."
Anger and frustration border along the edge of my mind. I stand up, starring down at my mother and cross my arms. "You just don't get it. This is why I hate coming over here, because every chance you get, you have to make things about you. You have to play the victim."
"I am not making this about myself." She stands, throwing her arms down at her sides. "You think I don't know what you think of me? You think I don't know you despise me? The reason you came here today, is because on some deep level you were looking for your father. You needed some advice, but I'm all you have left Mike, it's just me."
My heart pumps loudly in my chest, pain and anguish pulling me down like a weight attached to a noose around my neck. She's right. I came here because I wanted my father. But he's not here anymore. And judging by my mother's constant calls and the way she looks so weak and frail now, she misses him just as much as I do.
Years ago, mom began drinking. I came home from school one day and she was black out drunk. Dad was at work and Cobi was too young to fully understand what was happening. She was belligerent and aggressive, always screaming and cursing at me for every little thing. Dad eventually caught on enough to figure out what was happening, nearly a year later, and got her the help she needed. But for me, it was too late. I no longer affiliated responsibility with her. I no longer thought of her as my parent. I was angry with my father for figuring it out so late, I was angry that Cobi didn't have to deal with her the way I did. I was angry that she was just forgiven. All of those things caused a rift between me and her, and it was never mended.
"Mom"
"I know I failed you as a mother. I was not the best parent to you, but that all changed when you got older, yet I'm still being punished for it." Tears flow down her cheeks as she speaks, each one stabbing me in my heart like a sharp knife. "I love you Michael, but I think it's time I stopped begging for your forgiveness."
I walk over to her crying form and hold her in my arms. It takes a moment, but she finally holds me back. I thought this moment would be an uncomfortable event. Something I knew would eventually have to happen but was worried I would regret. But it's nothing like I expected. Instead of an awkward encounter, all I feel is relief.
Stepping away, I look down at her and wipe at her tears, still continuing to flow. She looks up at me with hope in her eyes and sits down at the sofa. I walk over to the kitchen, filling up a small cup with water and bring it to her. She drinks a fair amount and hands it back to me. I set it on the small end table separating the two sofas. Sitting down beside her, I stare at the empty armchair and address her.
"I'm sorry mom. I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. I didn't mean any of it. It's just been a bad day and I took it out on you." I feel a small soft hand touch my back and her head lay on my shoulder. I smile, loving the way this feels.
"If your father were here, he would want you to talk about it." My eyes glaze over as I continue to stare at where my father would always give me his best advice.
"I miss him."
"So do I. So, do you want to talk about it?"
Clearing my throat of any lingering emotion, I tell her about Whitney. About my case and going over to rescue her. I tell her about Whitney trying to escape, and about me leaving her. I end with her father coming to me today and asking for me to join in on her sessions and me turning him down. Mom stays silent the whole time as I explain Whitney's story. At the end, she places her hand in mine and squeezes tightly.
"Can I tell you something Michael?" Nodding my head she stands and walks over to her bedroom. Moments later she walks out, a small wooden box that I've seen too many times, clutched in her palm. Mom sits down, opposite me on the other couch and opens the box now perched on her lap. She pulls out a long gold necklace that has some kind of heart shaped pendent on the end.
"This was given to me by your grandfather when I was a child."
She holds it out for me to grab and I take the cold golden chain from her grasp and look down at it. Mom was close to her mother before she died a few years ago, but I've never actually heard her speak about her father. Dad just always told us that he wasn't around.
"I received that necklace on my sixth birthday. I was so happy that I had actual gold like my mother, that I wore it every day. What I didn't know, was that it was a token of my silence, and not a gift for his little girl."
A darkness covers over me as it settles on what she is about to tell me.
"The first time my father ever touched me, was about a week after he gave me that necklace. It's subtle at first. You don't think it's actually happening, but it's enough to make you know, that something isn't right. Light brushes against my back with his hands, extra good night kissing, small things like that. When I was seven, my father and I were alone in the house while my mother went out to see my grandmother who had fallen ill. It was the first time he would rape me, but it was far from the last."
Anger and rage consume me, but I reign in it, thinking of my training and how my mother needs my ears right now, not my fists.
"When did it end?" I ask, knowing where she is now headed with this story.
"When I met your father. We were sixteen years old. Neither of us knew what love was, but he rescued me, got me to be brave enough to confront my mother. She was a home maker, never had a job and my father was the branch manager of a bank. I never thought she would leave him, but the moment I told her, she packed our things, threw my father in jail and moved us to a new neighborhood."
"Mom, I'm so sorry."
"Your father being there for me was the answer to it all. He always said I would have eventually fought back, but I don't think I would have. He was my saving grace, my hero, and he never knew it. That's what you can be for that girl Michael. Even if it's an ear to listen, just as you are mine right now, it makes the world of difference. She needs you Michael, so be there for her. You never know what kind of a balance you could bring to her."
I stand, leaning down to kiss my mother goodbye. She looks at me with a light sheen on her face from her crying, but a small smile lights up her features. "Thanks mom." Nodding her head, I walk to the front door, phone in my hand but turn to ask her one last thing. "Why keep the necklace mom?"
"To remind myself." She states not bothering to look at me. Her gaze is still transfixed on the armchair that carries too many memories. "That I am no longer his victim."
Giving her one last glance, I walk outside, shutting the door behind me. My phone is out and I'm dialing Orlando's number as I walk towards my car. He answers on the first ring.
"Mr. Taylor?"
"I want to help Mr. Donaldson. Tell me what you need from me."
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone