I shoot her a look. Greg and I are ancient history, sure, but still.
“What? It’s true. You know I’m right. He isn't like all these guys who fight and clamor to get on the big investigations. He didn't want to go out in the field or do undercover work. You know he doesn’t care about serial killers or terrorist attacks. He has always been perfectly happy to stay at headquarters and look into cybercrime and fraud. You are the most interesting thing he's ever associated with, and even his relationship with you was straightforward and predictable and safe.”
I shoot her the same look again.
“No offense,” she tries, only half meaning it. She clearly is loving putting me on the defensive here. She takes another swig of her cream soda and continues.
“But just all of a sudden, he decides he's going to break up with you for no reason, then disappear out into nowhere? That's just not the type of person he is. Something else has to be going on, and because of your history, you just might not be the right person to be digging into it.”
“Is,” I say.
She looks at me strangely.
“What?”
“You said 'is'. When you were talking about my father, you talked about him in the past tense. But with Greg, you are still talking about in the present,” I clarify.
Color flushes against her cheeks, and she invests herself in another deep swig of her cream soda.
“I'm sorry,” she says. “I should be more careful with what I say. I didn't mean...”
I shake my head. “It's alright. I understand. He's been gone for ten years. Most people would want to talk about him in the past tense, too. It just makes more sense that way. I just hate to think about it,” I tell her. “Besides, I'm starting to wonder if all that running really was about the CIA.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know some of it had to do with his work. I never got any details or anything, but I heard my parents talking about it, and when he was gone, sometimes men he worked with would come over to check on us. But there were other times when he would leave, or we would have to hurry off without any warning or preparation. They seemed so much more on edge during those times. It was like they were afraid of something. I can't help but wonder if there was something else going on,” I say.
“What do you think could be going on?” she asks.
“I don't know. But lately, I've...” my voice trails off, and I shake my head.
“What? Lately you've been what?” she asks.
“The people in Sherwood think I have gone crazy,” I sigh. “And think I went back there, and I'm taking time off because I broke and haven't been glued back together yet.”
“Well, they just don't know you like I do,” Bellamy says.
“Thanks,” I try to smile.
“You cracked a long time ago. We've all gotten used to it.” She grins, and I swat at her with one of the throw pillows on the couch.
“I'm serious,” I say, my face falling back down to neutral. “What if they're right and I just don't realize it? I've started seeing him.”
“Seeing who? Sam?” she asks.
“My father,” I say.
Her face doesn't change expressions for a few seconds.
“Your father?” she asks.
“I told you. It sounds ridiculous. But there's been a couple of times when I looked up, and I saw a man, and for a brief second, I could have sworn it was him.”
“Have you ever said anything to him?”
“No. And he's never said anything to me, either. As soon as I look at him, he just walks away. It's like I miss him so much, and I want to know what happened so badly I've just started superimposing him over other people's faces. I'm just making it up whenever I feel like it,” I say.
“That's normal,” she says, pressing her lips into a tight line and offering her hand to mine. She squeezes my fingers softly. “You never got a chance to grieve for your father. Whether he's…”
“Past or present tense?” I offer.
She nods. “Either way, it doesn't matter. He's not here and hasn't been for a long time. Any type of separation like that needs grief. You have to grieve the relationship you had and the man you knew. You have to grieve for all the time that you've missed together. You've never given yourself the opportunity to do that. It's possible that now, especially being back in Sherwood, your mind is kind of trying to force you to do it.”
A few days later, I'm back on a plane to Richmond. Only this time, it's legitimately paid for by the Bureau. I'm not going to check in on the investigation into Greg or even look at the bus station. This time I'm there for a hearing in Jake's case. It's not something I've been looking forward to, but at the same time, I'm glad it's finally here. The more hearings I get through, the closer I am to having the entire mess over with so I can just put it behind me.
Riding up to the courthouse, I see exactly what Eric was talking about when he described the people flooding to the city because of Jake. Police have set up barricades and are standing on either end of sidewalks and in the streets, doing the best they can to control the crowds. Some of the people gather there to shout threats and hold up signs describing various methods of public execution they would like to reinstate just for Jake's benefit. The more subdued protesters simply stand there, holding up poster-sized pictures of the victims. Looking at some of them still takes my breath away. I stood right beside their bodies. I touched some of them. But I wouldn't have been able to recognize some of them just by picture alone. Jake did his best to preserve them, but too many were destroyed by decay or taken apart for parts.
The other half of the crowd is the complete opposite. Women scream like fans gathered outside the back door at a concert, waiting to be that city's flavor of the night. Some stand to gather in a circle holding hands, singing something that could be a hymn. I'd really like to think they're singing for the victims, but I've done this enough to know they're not. They see Jake as something far more powerful than he is. That is what's scary about Jake. Not what he did, but what he has the capacity to do. Compelling and charismatic, smart and creative. He has the ability to draw people in and give them exactly what they need without them ever realizing what's happening to them.
Creagan managed to convince me to have a fifteen-minute sit down with my therapist yesterday. I'm not about to start peeling back my layers again. Not right now, anyway. But a fifteen-minute session to prepare me for today was a compromise I could live with. She asked me if I was ready for today. She thinks the same way most people do. They expect me to be terrified to walk into the courtroom with him. I should be scared or uncomfortable. Some wonder why I don't cry.
I won't pretend it doesn't affect me to see him. There's no way it couldn't. But for every bit of fear and hesitation that comes over me, I push back. I fought for myself, and I pushed back for every one of the people who didn't get the chance to walk away from him. He is the type of man who could convince people to trust him again, and while I will always lay a heavy portion of the blame for what happened to the devastation of his past, I will stand in the way to stop anyone from being fooled by him again.
The hearing goes as well as could be expected. I sit in the witness chair and talk about my role as an undercover agent. I explain what I witnessed and how I uncovered the truth about the secrets in Feathered Nest. It's not the last time I'm going to have to tell the story. I know that. But each time I do is cathartic. I remind the world of what really happened. I get to say their names.