Chasing Justice (14 page)

“Bobby, I know I’m the last person in the world you want to talk to right now, but I need you to come to my house. It’s important.” Piper skipped the niceties; she needed to get to Bobby before that cop did.

“Piper, I think we were both pretty clear that day. If you didn’t want my help I wasn’t going to let you put people I care about in danger.” Bobby’s voice was quiet and she heard the noise of the diner crowd in the background.

“I’m not the one putting Jules and Betty in danger, you are. I know you’re across the street at the diner eating that same old breakfast. Pay your bill and get over here.” Piper hung up the phone and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. It was so nice to hear Bobby’s voice again even though the circumstances were tense.

Fifteen minutes passed before she heard a knock on her door. She looked through the peephole and saw Bobby standing there, looking annoyed and impatient. She knew that nothing about this conversation was going to be easy, but what choice did she have?

She opened the door and waved Bobby in, then headed for the living room without speaking. She hadn’t had time to change her clothes, put on any makeup or even tidy up her house. This wasn’t how she had wanted her reunion with Bobby to go. When she dreamed about it at night it always involved him having some kind of injury leading to memory loss that allowed them to start fresh and move on from all the friction that had grown between them.

“I’ve only got a half hour. I have to get to work. So in the interest of time, let’s cut through all the bullshit and figure out if this conversation is going to go anywhere.” Bobby only took two steps inside the house and folded his arms across his chest in childish resistance.

“Fine, I won’t mince words. Have you been digging around for information on Judge Lions since the last time we spoke?” Piper didn’t care if he didn’t want to come in. She wasn’t going to stand in the entryway and have this conversation. If he wanted to know more he’d have to at least stand in the living room with her.

“I don’t really see how that’s any of your business. I don’t know anything about you, remember? For all I know you’re in on whatever scheme he’s running and you’re pumping me for information. If you can’t prove to me that you’re worthy of my trust then nothing you say is going to mean anything. Even if you pull that crap about Jules and Betty being in danger, I’ll chalk it up to one of your lies.” Bobby had indeed followed her to the living room but stopped in the doorway. His stubbornness was so frustrating. She had hoped enough time had passed to soften him. Instead it seemed to have made him more scornful toward her.

“So even though Betty and Jules are in danger, and I have important information about that, you don’t want to hear it unless I’m willing to dredge up everything I really am. I have to prove to you that I’m not some drifter con artist who changes her identity to uphold her charade?” The question was full of sarcasm and petulance. The idea of having to bare herself to him, to dig up parts of her past that she had intentionally buried to keep herself sane and safe, made her so angry. She was only trying to help him. Why couldn’t he accept that and let her keep her secrets hidden where they belonged?

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” he replied curtly. He wanted to know that she was capable of telling the truth, of letting him in. If she could do that, then he’d be willing to hear her out.

“You have no idea what you’re asking of me, and you’re completely minimizing the impact it will have, but I don’t care because Betty and Jules are in danger, and that’s all that matters. If you’re juvenile enough to think knowing the
real me
makes a difference then I’ll appease you, even if it crushes me to talk about it. But if I’m doing this it’s not going to be while you have one hand on the door ready to leave. If you want my story, you’re going to get all of it, and you’re going to sit here with me and listen. Also, this never leaves this room. What I tell you about me is my story to tell, not yours.” Piper sat down on the couch and Bobby came and joined her. He had a look on his face like he had won something, something he wasn’t really sure he wanted anymore.

“I’m not trying to minimize this, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to have to dredge up everything about your past just for my entertainment. I want to believe that I can trust you, but you need to show me I’m not making a mistake by doing so. I swear, I won’t tell anyone what you tell me here today.” Bobby wanted to hold her hand, to brush the loose strands of hair out of her face. She looked so tired, so alone. He wanted to hold her and forget all of this, but it was too late now. He needed her to come through for him.

“Promise me that you’ll take what I say about the judge seriously and that you’ll heed my advice. If you guarantee me that then I’ll tell you everything you want to know about me. But remember, Bobby, this is a bell you can’t unring. Once you know where I come from and what I’ve done chances are everything between us will change.” She swallowed hard and could barely believe she was about to share the dysfunctional narrative of her upbringing with Bobby. He nodded in agreement, and she took in a deep breath and tried to start from the beginning.

“My name, my real name, is Isabella Lawson. I haven’t said that name out loud in two years. Can you imagine what it’s like to not be able to say your own name, like it’s a curse word? My father was Roberto Lee Lawson, my mother, Carolina Murphy. They never married. I was what you would call an accident, but that would be a nice way of saying it. I found out as I grew up I was a
mistake
, a pregnancy that went undetected too long to be erased by an abortion. My parents were neglectful, sadistic drug addicts who spent their entire lives dabbling in one crime or another. My mother would sell her body in order to bankroll her next fix. My father would find out, and after partaking in half of her score, would violently beat her. I was in school only frequently enough to pass my classes and fly under the radar. Half the kids there should have been taken from their parents. The system wasn’t equipped to deal with every bruised child who looked a little hungry. I spent days locked in my room as my parents binged on drugs and threw rowdy parties. I went without eating, without having a bathroom to use. My childhood was one horrific moment after another. The ironic thing is, that’s not even why I’m here. That’s not why I changed my name. It isn’t even the darkest part of my life, and I can already feel you looking at me differently.” Piper stared straight ahead as she spoke. Bobby wanted to put his arm around her and pull her up against him but he hesitated.

“When I was twenty years old, and on the verge of getting the hell out of that place, my mother got arrested again for prostitution. Living in the projects is miserably oppressive at times, but I saw plenty of people succeed. My parents just weren’t those people. They were swallowed up by it. After that last arrest my mom was locked up for ninety days. She came out completely sober, and you know the old cliché—she had
found God
. She told me we were leaving, to pack up whatever I could before my father got home because we were getting out of there. The clergyman in the prison had found us a shelter sixty miles away and had arranged a ride for us. She told me she was tired of protecting my father. At the time I had no idea what she meant. It seemed like my father was doing just fine taking care of himself. It was the two of us that needed protection. I was so happy to be leaving that place, and my mother was like a new person. She got a job at the mall next to the shelter. A few months later we transitioned from the shelter to a place of our own” Piper gulped back the lump in her throat.

“That was the closest to normalcy and contentment I had ever experienced. We didn’t have to worry about my father’s beatings or ripped-off drug dealers coming to our house on a vendetta. I thought I finally had a chance at a real life. We lived that way for twenty-one months and twelve days.” Piper wanted to look over and see what type of expression Bobby had on his face. Was he horrified? Sad? Maybe he didn’t believe her at all. Either way she couldn’t bring herself to turn toward him. She carried on with her story.

“Then my mother came home one night from work high out of her mind. She had fallen off the wagon. I had suspected it for a while, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. She told me she had made a mistake, that in a moment of weakness she had called my father and told him where we were. She said he was furious and that we’d need to leave as soon as possible before he came to get us. I couldn’t believe after all this time, after all the hard work, my mother would be so stupid and selfish. We packed our duffle bags and gathered up every dollar we had in the apartment, pulling even the loose change from the couch cushions. It didn’t matter though, we weren’t fast enough. There was a loud thumping on our door, and I heard my father’s voice booming in the hallway. I thought we’d get the beating of a lifetime and have no choice but to return back home with him. Unfortunately, it was worse than that.”

There were warm tears rolling down Piper’s cheeks now. She could feel them forging itchy paths on her face, but she didn’t wipe them away. If Bobby was going to insist on hearing this then he could deal with the consequences of what it did to her.

“My mother finally opened the door and without a word my father cocked his fist back and punched her across the face. She fell backward onto the floor and was disorientated. I pressed myself up against the living room wall, feeling like a helpless child again. I thought about grabbing a knife from the kitchen or the baseball bat from under my mother’s bed, but my father was too strong and too fast for me to take such a chance. I had resolved to endure the thrashing and beg for mercy as my mother was doing on the floor. But my father changed the game, he pulled a large metal spike from his jacket, and my mom shrieked in a way I had never heard before. She begged him not to do it, she begged him to let her live. I didn’t know it then, but my mother knew exactly what my father was about to do. He struck her again in the face with his fist and then pinned her down by sitting on her stomach, his back to her face so that he could hold down her legs. He raised the spike over his head and plunged it into her thigh. He yanked it back out and blood, an ungodly amount of blood, poured out of her. I did nothing. I didn’t scream or run over to her or try to stop him.” Piper choked back her quivering voice.

“I stood, still pressed against the wall, praying he would forget I was there. When my mother stopped moving and the blood had stopped spurting from her wound, my father pulled a switchblade that was clipped to his belt. I couldn’t see what he was doing from where I stood, but whatever it was took precision. When he stood up, I begged him to let me go. I promised that I wouldn’t tell anyone. He didn’t blink, he didn’t speak. He walked slowly up to me, hit me in the face, and shoved me to the ground. He was about to pin me down when we both heard the sound of sirens approaching. I thought, he’d stop and run. But he didn’t. The sirens had distracted him but not stopped him. I decided in that moment, that I didn’t want to die that way. I didn’t want to be someone who didn’t fight back. As he tried to pin me down the sirens grew closer, and he finally just raised his arm up, spike in hand, and plunged it into my leg as I tried to twist away from him. I was pulling at his hair and clawing at his back. Finally, he spun around, grabbed my hair, and slammed my head into the floor, knocking me out.” Piper might have been furious at Bobby for forcing her to tell this story, but there was something cathartic in saying the words out loud, about admitting what had happened to her.

“There is a lot more to this story, Bobby, but I know you need to get to work and it’s important that I tell you the information I have.”

“I don’t need to go to work. I have the afternoon shift today. I was being a jerk. I’ve got time and I want to listen. I’m sorry this is so painful for you, but I promise none of this changes how I feel about you,” Bobby said, wiping a tear from Piper’s warm red cheek. It felt so good to touch her again.

“That’s easy to say, Bobby, but there are things I still can’t forgive myself for. Don’t assume you’ll be able to look past it,” she said, pulling away from him slightly. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. Can we please get in your truck and go for a ride? I don’t want to talk about it here.” Piper stood up and ran her fingers through her hair pulling the loose pieces away from her face and tying them back into a messy bun. She knew her lack of sleep, lack of makeup, and overall ragged appearance should have kept her from leaving the apartment, but all she wanted was to be riding in the passenger seat of Bobby’s truck watching the world zip by. Most people would assume that the memory of nearly being killed and watching your mother take her last breath, would be the hardest thing to reminisce about, but really it’s what happened next that Piper struggled with the most.

Bobby and Piper climbed into his truck, and he started to drive with no real direction in mind. Piper waited until they were out-of-town and heading down a long stretch of open road before she started to speak again.

“The police came and stopped my bleeding just in time. My father had fled, and, because I wasn’t conscious, they had no leads to start hunting him down. When I woke up in the hospital there was a woman sitting next to me.” Piper conjured up the memory of that haunting and familiar face she had awoken to. She remembered she had short jet-black hair and the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Her skin was a rich dark espresso.

“I remember thinking how beautiful and strong she looked. She was dressed in a perfectly tailored gray suit, and she smelled like peppermint. I thought for a minute that maybe I was dead and she was some kind of spirit. But I realized quickly I was alive and that life was about to get much harder for me. The woman told me her name was Special Agent Lydia Carlson of the FBI. She was sorry to inform me that my mother had not survived the brutal attack in our apartment but that, miraculously, I had. She told me she knew I was tired, and this was not an ideal time to have to rehash the horrific details, but time was of the essence.