Vengeance (Updating Weekly)

Part 1

Two years. Two more years and I'll be out of here. No more baseball fanatics or struggling blues musicians, and no more petty criminals and failed lawyers. I always knew I'd have to work to get myself through law school, I just hoped it would be for a big corporation rather than a local legal clinic, let alone one outside New York City. I didn't even know Missouri had a law school until they put me here. It's definitely no Harvard or Yale, and this clinic sure isn't anything notable, but as Simpson always reminds me... this is the safest option. If it were up to her, I'd be in the middle of nowhere — a deserted town up in the mountains with no WiFi or constant CCTV. I'm lucky they're even letting me go to law school. Not that it'll mean much. A degree from St Louis is worthless compared to a degree from Yale. I'll never be able to work at a Big Four, climbing the corporate ladder until I'm high up the skyscraper with a corner office. That's not in the cards for me anymore. The local Legal Aid is all I'll be able to get. And I have to be okay with that. I chose this. I could've declined Witness Protection and risked my chances.

It's been years now, with not a hint of danger in sight. Not even a single attempt to find me, at least that I know of. I suppose that's the point, though — Witness Protection at work. I can't get complacent. I can't underestimate what Simpson does to keep me safe.

This day couldn't end soon enough. I'm out the door before the clock hits 5. Usually, I'd at least try to finish my paperwork, but this affidavit will have to wait. I'm not in the mood. My mind is racing today. I've had to rewrite every note I've made so far. The anticipation is eating me alive. Simpson has news for me today. Good or bad, I don't know and I don't care. Any news is good at this point. It's been far too quiet.

I say my goodbyes to the other paralegals, not bothering to stay and chat. The other employees here are either new parents heading home to their kids, or fresh college graduates wanting to save up before they head to law school. The former view me as a child and the latter consider me an ancient relic. I wouldn't think 26 classified me as either, but I haven't taken the time to prove myself to either. I try to keep my distance. I wouldn't be able to answer any personal questions they ask me. I've become a pretty great liar, but it's hard to keep up the facade once I start to feel comfortable. Lying to people I care about is a whole different ballgame. That's why my arrangement with Jeremy is so great. I don't have to share anything, and in return, he gives me more than friendship.

He's standing in the hallway when I return home, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He's dressed in his gym clothes, clearly heading out to meet his trainer. He's probably fucking her, too. And he should. He's hot. He should take advantage of that. As long as he gets regular STD tests.

"Hey," he nods my way. "Are we still on for tonight?"

"Yeah, just come over anytime after 8," I tell him. I should be well and truly back from my meeting by then.

"Perfect," he heads off to the elevator, only shooting me a coy smile as he walks away. He's good company to keep. We both give each other what we want and no more.

My apartment looks nothing like I'd want it to. It's not a flashy NYC penthouse like I've always dreamed of; instead, it's just a shoebox studio with barely any closet space. I've tried to spruce it up as much as I can, with a couple of stylish pieces I found online, but it's nothing special.

I stay in my apartment for a total of 2 minutes, only picking up my laundry basket before heading back out. Simpson has no business at a laundromat, but it's a perfect place to meet — public enough to reduce suspicion and private enough for no one to notice. I already have my clothes in the machine when Simpson shows up. She's in her usual undercover outfit — simple jeans and a t-shirt from the vet across the street. Her sister owns the place, so it's a perfect cover for her. She fills a machine with towels before taking a seat beside me, pretending to wait for the machine to finish.

"How've you been?" she asks me.

"Fine. Just... the usual. Nothing to note."

"Good."

"You said you had news?"

"Yeah," she sighs. "I do."

"Well?" It must be bad. She never wants to tell me bad news.

"Things are escalating," she says. "He's working on an escape."

"Is he succeeding?" I already know exactly what that means for me.

"Not yet, but he will. You know him. He'll find a way out."

"And when that happens?"

"We may have to look at moving you."

"No," I protest. "Not again."

"We have to. He's never going to stop searching for you."

"But I have it good here. I can't start again somewhere else."

"I'm sorry, Erin. We don't have a choice."

I shake my head in frustration. If I had known how long I'd be on the run, I might not have snitched on him. But he just won't give up. He's going to keep hunting me for as long as he lives, even from behind bars.

"Look, it's not certain yet," Simpson continues. "I'm just warning you things are heating up. You need to be prepared."

"I will be. I'm not worried. I'm just sick of this."

"I know. We'll keep you here as long as we can."

"It's fine. It's not your fault," I end the conversation there. We can never talk for long, and there's no need to. I expected Simpsons news would be bad, but I had remained hopeful. One day, that man will die and I can finally start to live without looking over my shoulder. That will be a day to celebrate. Unfortunately, today is not that day.

Scanning the area is the first thing I do when I step outside. It's still busy with commuters making their way back home, but the paths are more or less bare. It isn't until I reach the grocery store that my senses come alive. Something's wrong. There's a group of men standing beside a white van at the entry of the store, and another group just a few feet away from me, tailing the parking lot. It could be nothing, but I'm not going to risk it. I turn back around, only to see another white van pulling up before me. A man jumps out before the car comes to a halt. I jump into action. I've prepared for this.

The man lunges for me, but my fist meets his nose before he reaches me. He stumbles backward, giving me a chance to hit the duress alarm on my watch, alerting Simpson to the emergency. I reach for the weapon around my thigh. A gun is never something I thought I'd need, but here I am, ready to take these men down one by one. This is be or be killed. And I'm not fucking dying because of him.

The world around me suddenly goes dark, a thick fabric blocking my vision. Someone hits my arm, forcing the gun out of my hand.

"Hey! Don't fucking touch me!" I protest. They grab me from behind, forcing me up off the ground. I kick my legs around, desperately fighting my attacker as much as I can without my arms. "Leave me the fuck alone!"

"Stay fucking still, will you?" a voice grumbles in my ear. I kick backwards, hitting his knee with the heel of my boot. "Fucking bitch!"

"Let me go!"

A sharp pain shoots through my neck, and I'm knocked into unconsciousness.