Page 35 of Damon
Next to Damon stands a man who, previously, held a gun to my head as my parents begged for my life when I was fourteen years old. A man who shot them both dead in front of me in cold blood because they couldn’t repay the small debt they owed.
Terrified, I run for my front door and disappear upstairs to my apartment, needing to be as far away from the unfolding nightmare as possible.
***
Damon
I watch as Emma halts in the center of the pavement and gapes in my direction. She’s wrapped up in a black winter jacket to her knees that’s fastened up to her chin. Her long blonde waves fall messily in all directions. Those bright blue eyes take one look at me and widen. She turns fast, almost slipping on the slick paving before running into her apartment block.
“Pretty little thing,” the bastard I’m standing across from says. “Not sure if she was checking you or me out, Officer.”
“Chief Constable.” I correct the asshole who is insisting his name is Colin, and that he’s merely a graphic designer who uses the desk here once a week.
“I wouldn’t mind a bit of it anyway,” he says, handing me his supposed passport. The document seems genuine, but every time I look at this creep something tells me I’ve seen him before. I just can’t place where or when. All I know is, he’s not called Colin and graphic design isn’t his source of income. He’s wrapped up in this money-lending scheme somehow, and my gut tells me he’s the connection to Brenton at the top of the chain.
“She’s far too young for you,” I tell him, keeping my eyes on the passport in my hands, turning it over in search of an imperfection that will demonstrate it’s fake.
“And you,” he jibes. “Both of us have too many years’ experience to bed that bit of skirt for any length of time, but we could have fun trying. There’s something appealing about young meat, don’t you think? So fresh and innocent. Always so keen to prove their worth, they’ll do almost anything you ask.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I mutter.
“Your loss. Can I go now? I assume you have the answer to your questions.”
“Yes, but don’t go far. We’ll be back.”
“Any help I can be, Officer.”
“Chief Constable.”
He shrugs. “Good night.”
I watch as the only link to Connie’s killer walks off into the London night. Our conversation had been short and pointless, which I knew it would be. He’d given me a cock-and-bull story of his reasons for being here, then played the idiot. Every name I mentioned, he blinked at me dumbly with wide gray eyes. The whole set-up had been a waste of time, and if anything, we have given those further up the chain notice that we were getting closer, though it doesn’t feel that way. Deflated by the pointless mission and Emma’s appearance, I turn in the direction of my car to head home.
***
Emma
My dinner sits prepared on the counter with a protective cover over the top. Place in microwave for three minutes, the small note tells me sitting beside it. Don’t work too hard. Love Mrs. D. I smile to myself. The woman has become like a mother to me these past weeks, but she finished up today for a short break. I’m going to miss her.
After popping my meal in the microwave as instructed, I take a sweeping glance of the room. Everything looks as it should, but something is off. My mind wanders back to my unexpected glimpse of a man I never thought I’d see again. Samson Moreno. I wasn’t aware he had been released, and I prayed he hadn’t recognized me in the brief glimpse tonight. But deep down, I know he did.
Why would Damon be meeting him? Is he not the man I thought he was? Is Damon somehow caught up in illegal dealings with Moreno? The thought is depressing and terrifying. Could I have lived with a man for twelve months and never known his true nature? Could I have fallen in love with a man who stands side by side with the bastard that robbed me of my childhood?
After pouring myself a glass of wine, I open my laptop which sits on the counter where I left it this morning. Tonight, I am grateful Damon never pushed the breastmilk requirement of our surrogacy contract. My milk came late, and his daughter was already settled on formula. Harrison advised the service wasn’t required the day after I came home from hospital.
Tentatively I type Moreno’s name into the search bar. A recent news report appears as the first result. I click the bright blue link. Every fear I have ever had since that day in court where I watched him being sentenced rushes to the forefront of my mind as I read.
Samson Moreno has been successful in his recent appeal to the UK Court of Appeal to overturn the murder conviction he was sentenced to life in prison for. Moreno was convicted of murdering Richard and Barbara Haining in their home in June 2013. It is believed they were in financial debt to Moreno and were unable to pay. He was granted immediate release. Compensation for his unlawful incarceration is still to be decided, but it is to be in the region of six figures.
Infamous defense lawyer Harrison Waite was hired by Moreno almost twelve months ago in a final attempt to clear his name. It was found that discrepancies in evidence collected by the police at the murder scene and uncorroborated witness statements were used to convict Moreno. Waite, who has made a name for himself by finding technicalities to have convictions overturned or cases thrown out of court, once again proved why he is seen as one of the most exciting law professionals in London today.
Stunned by the news, I run to the bathroom before retching empty air into the toilet. I won’t be eating my microwave dinner now. My stomach contracts painfully as I collapse onto my knees, leaning my elbows on the toilet bowl and dropping my face into my hands. The cold tiles calm the furnace of horror sweeping across my skin.
The revelations of how connected my life is now with the one I’ve been running from circle in my mind. All the old emotions flood back with force. I’m furious at the thought of Damon being a man nothing like I believed he was. My instinct is to storm back downstairs and confront him on the street below, assuming he is still there. But, if the preposterous possibility is true, he is much more dangerous than I ever imagined. Having felt the sharp end of men like that’s retribution, my head tells me I need to be careful.
As for Harrison, sickness threatens to burn my throat with the feelings of betrayal soaring through me. The man I idolize as a mentor freed the bastard who killed my family. The reality shatters my belief in the only part of my life I was truly happy with, my career.
Nothing makes sense, but everything gels together in one big puzzle with no clear solution. It feels impossible to comprehend that I could have fallen into a situation so absurd. If my identity was known, I could ask the questions I want to, but doing so would expose the past I want to keep hidden. Is everything connected or merely coincidence? I’m not sure which scenario I prefer.