was nothing I could do to fix the hole torn in who I was.
― Sarah K.L. Wilson
More Bad News
I came home from my early morning jog shaken by the realization I was probably the kind of man I despised.
Emerson was right―you are what you think about all day long. I caught myself off-guard, in a moment of pure joy watching the waves, and saw what was I thinking about―not Clare, but Tess.
It was so ironic. Here I was going to talk to Clare hoping to be reassured I was not a player in our past lives together only to find I was struggling with temptation in the present.
How blind of me to want a Boy Scout badge of merit, or for Clare to at least bandage my aching conscience.
But even now as I framed the thought, I was reminded of the bruise on my cheek and how it got there. Yes, I sounded so noble telling Ahmed I would not be abused by Sarah and all the while I was oblivious of my own mental infidelities.
I wanted to puke. Right now I didn't hate anyone in the world―not Ray Hull, Arthur Reid or Edna Clove, as much as I hated myself.
I changed into a suit figuring I'd at least take Clare to lunch to assuage my guilt, but just as I finished dressing, my cell phone vibrated in my coat pocket.
I hoped it wasn't Tess. and was relieved to see it was Jason Trent, the detective who rescued me from being assaulted on one of my nightly excursions.
"Marcus, I'm glad I caught you. I'm on my way to update Luther Crowe on my investigation and hoped you could join us. Can you meet with us in his law office in fifteen minutes?"
"Hi Jason. Sure, I can make it. Is everything okay?"
"I don't want to talk over the phone, Marcus. There's been some developments―I'll fill you in when you get there."
I felt a wave of apprehension sweep over me and my first instinct was to run, but I somehow pulled myself together and drove straight to Luther Crowe's law office.
I did feel a lot of guilt though, worrying about saving my own skin when I should be concerned about protecting others and being loyal to Clare.
But it's always been the way with me―a greater malady replaces a lesser one.
Maybe dealing with my brain trauma from the accident made me too self-focussed. I just didn't know, but right now, my safety and that of Nat, Tess and Clare were paramount concerns. I'd have to deal with my own inner demons later.
Jason was waiting with Luther in the office when I arrived and they looked pretty sober.
I sat down dejectedly on a stool opposite them waiting to hear what the latest schemes Arthur and Ray were planning to enact against me.
Jason gave me a concerned look. "You look wiped out, Marcus, hasn't my team been looking after you?"
"Oh, they've been looking after me all right," I answered, wincing from the bruise on my cheek, "but I've got a lot on my plate right now besides having to adjust to cameras and a security detail."
I was whining―I knew I was whining―and I knew it had less to do with external threats and more to do with my inner demons.
"It won't be forever, Marcus," Jason said gently, "as a matter of fact things seem to be coming to a head."
I looked at Luther for confirmation but his expression was grave.
"We found out some upsetting news, Marcus. Your father's death wasn't accidental."
"Wasn't accidental?" I repeated, not comprehending what he said.
Jason intervened. "We have an informant who has told us the car crash was made to look like an accident but your dad's car was essentially forced off Mountain Brow Road,"
"Who would do such a thing?" I said, trying to come to terms with the revelation.
Jason stared directly at me. "The same person who cut your anchor rope, hired two thugs to assault you and engineered your own so-called accident―Ray Hull."
I was stunned. Bad enough I was injured and narrowly escaped death, but my father...murdered? I could barely breathe.