After a few minutes, I work up the courage to do something I’m most certainly going to regret. Pulling open the door slowly, I peek out into the hall and I’m met with silence. I creep out of the interview room and make for the front of the building, crossing paths with no one.
Before entering the lobby, I spot Marge at the front desk muttering to herself as she pushes papers around. She picks up her coffee cup and disappears into a side room.
It’s now or never. I move quickly but silently, glancing back only once as I jump the barrier, cross the lobby and exit through the front doors. Sarah’s car is still in the parking lot. I turn right and head down the street. I’m not sure where I’m going or what I’m doing, but I can’t stay here. I have to find Rebecca. She’s the only one that can help me now.
53
Sarah Morgan
I didn’t bother to set an alarm after last night’s clusterfuck, and I instead just let myself sleep until I naturally woke up. It was the first good night’s rest I’ve gotten since I took on the case. After a nice long shower, a cup of French press coffee, and a big savory breakfast, I feel I can handle everything again.
Bob and Anne are at the top of my to-do list. But there’s also the matter of Adam and his ridiculous outburst. Then there’s the third set of DNA, and I still have to smooth everything out with D.A. Peters before the trial. Christ, I don’t even have my fucking defense strategy laid out yet. But if anyone can do this, it’s me. I mean, it has to be me.
I drive to the office. I’m not even sure if both Bob and Anne will show up today, but knowing them, the odds are pretty good. Anne will want to spend the entire day groveling at my feet until I forgive her. Bob will not want to appear broken or defeated in any way to his subordinates at the firm.
I’m sure I’ll be reprimanded by Kent at some point. Lucky for me, Kent was out of the office yesterday, but the news will get to him quickly.
Not thirty seconds after I enter my office, I hear a faint knock on my door frame. Anne is peeking into my office, the lower half of her torso still out of view in case she needs to make a quick dash to escape my wrath.
“May I come in, Sarah?” she asks sheepishly with a heavy vibrato in her voice. This is the hyena approaching the downed wildebeest while the lion is still eating. Maybe the lion will share. Or maybe it will decide to have two meals this morning.
“Yes, Anne, you may,” I say, taking a deadpan and emotionless tone to convey my reserved and cautionary judgment of her as a person.
“Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry again. I’m sorry for not telling you about Adam and Kelly. I’m sorry for breaking your trust. I’m just sorry, and I understand if you want me to leave. I can have my desk emptied by end of day.”
I say nothing. I let her sweat.
She bows her head and begins to back out of my office, fully defeated.
“Anne, stop,” I call to her. She lifts her head, and I see hope in her eyes. I should let her go. I should let her quit all by herself. It’ll save the firm money. It’ll save me the headache. But I know she meant well. I know at the end of the day, she is loyal to me. And whether I like it or not, I still need her. I don’t have time to find another assistant in the middle of this trial.
“Is Bob in the office this morning?”
“Yes, he is, would you like me to call for him?”
“No. Not yet, Anne. But in the meantime, please set up a meeting with D.A. Peters for later this afternoon.” Anne smiles at me and nods and turns to walk out the door. “And, Anne,” I add.
“Yes, Sarah?” she asks with all the anticipatory excitement of a puppy waiting for a command.
“From this point on, until I’m ready, you are just my assistant.” I let the words hang heavy as I swivel my chair away from her.
“Yes, Mrs. Morgan,” she murmurs as she leaves my office.
My phone buzzes, and I pick it up. A text from Eleanor:
We still have to work together for my son, but I’m not keen on seeing you anytime soon. Your words were vile, and I apologize for allowing them to get the best of me.
I toss the phone on the desk without a response.
54
Adam Morgan
My feet are absolutely killing me. I can’t even begin to guess how many miles I have walked. Last night, after I left the station, I just started walking, knowing I would have to get as far away as I could. Putting a significant distance between myself and the station would be important, but so would getting out of my orange jumpsuit and finding some shelter, all while avoiding main roadways.
A few hours into my escape it began to rain. Of course, it started to rain. I had underestimated how far out in the middle of nowhere the station truly was, and after what felt like at least five miles of walking, I still had yet to run into a house, or store, or any car I felt comfortable enough to flag down.
I then remembered that Rebecca had said she lived locally. I mean she did write for the county paper after all. I thought that if I could just find a map, I might be able to figure out where the fuck I am.
As the pitch black of a starless and rainy night settled into its darkest point, I realized that as there were no street lamps, I had no real idea where I was going.
I moved deeper into the woods from the edge of the road to try to find some form of shelter. This proved to be quite the task with visibility no further than three feet in front of me. After a good fifteen minutes of walking in what I’m sure was a big circle, I came to a partially downed tree which had caught between the massive trunks of two other trees. It looked relatively stable and gave some shelter from the rain, so I decided to set up camp underneath it. I had no illusions about finding some big leaves or branches to improve my structure: I’m not fucking Bear Grylls after all.
Sitting under the downed tree, I couldn’t help but think it was just waiting until I fell asleep to finally surrender to gravity and add me to the ground as another decaying piece of fertilizer. I supposed that wouldn’t be the worst end for me. The D.A. and the state would undoubtedly applaud it. I could picture the press conference. “Yes, it is true. Mr. Morgan escaped custody the other evening; however, he did not get far, and, in the end, nature decided to exact the justice that the state had already been seeking.”
A great cold began to creep through me. I tried to scoop mud and dirt into barrier walls along my sides to keep the water out, but this proved futile and I eventually gave up. Shaking and all alone, I was left with nothing to do but contemplate how I got into this position.
Some elements are obvious. Yes, I was cheating on my wife in our own marital bed, so I guess there’s all the good shit that comes with that. But no, this is something more. Lots of people cheat on their spouse, well… some people cheat on their spouse. But I would imagine the more common end to those trysts is divorce, not fucking murder.
Whoever did this must have known us both and very well at that. They knew about the lake house. They knew I spent large chunks of time there without any additional visitors. They knew Kelly came to see me and often spent the night. They knew how to get in, how not to make a noise, where we would be. They knew practically everything. This person must have been patient, calculating, and very sure of themselves. This was no quick plan. This took time.