Shattered

16: An Empty Mansion

  "This is crazy. This is absurd. This is ridiculous," muttered Bradley, as he paced the sidewalk on the busy Cleveland street. His phone was held up to his ear, as he heard an endless dial tone. 

  "Hello," Warren's voice rang out from the speaker of Bradley's phone.

  "You're crazy. You're absurd. You're ridiculous!" he exploded to the man on the other end of the line, as he continued to pace. 

  "Ah, Mr. Worthington. I expected this call," said Warren in an almost amused tone. "Go ahead, say what you're going to say, but keep it PG, I'm in public."

  "How the- heck -do you expect me to defend my own father in this case?" Bradley yelled, running his unoccupied hand through his hair in frustration.

  Warren did not reply, and Bradley continued. "If you think I'm going to go through with this, you must be off your rocker."

  "Well, then, what'd you say?" asked Warren.

  "I said I'd do it," said Bradley, sighing in frustration. 

  Warren laughed wheezily through the phone, and took quite some time to stop. Bradley shook his head angrily, and paced faster, as he waited for the man to stop.

  "What the eff is so funny?" Bradley roared, scaring a passing pedestrian, who quickly scurried onward. 

  "I knew you couldn't refuse," said Warren, regaining his pensiveness. 

  "And why is that?" asked Bradley, standing still at last, for he had run out of stamina. He was burning on the inside; a mix of fatigue, anger and frustration.

  Warren sighed through his nose, and spoke. "Because, you may think you hate him, but you would not want anyone else to be his lawyer. That's why we all passed it up. This case is going to be televised; of course we all wanted it! But we knew that this case was for you. It's supposed to be this way, man. This is going to be a good thing."

  Annoyed at how right his colleague was, Bradley could not respond. Was it that predictable that they knew he would accept the case? He didn't even know why he had accepted it, but seeing his father in the state he was in: pale, aging, fearful; there was no way he could have said no. He hated himself for doing it, but he knew he would be hating himself even more if he hadn't done it. 

  "Did you get much of a chance to actually talk to him?" asked Warren; sounding as though he was eating something, wherever he was.

  "Not at all, actually," said Bradley, reflecting on the occasion. "He didn't speak much. It was terrifying to see him like that. Prison has done its time on him, that's for sure."

 "Mmm," said Warren, swallowing something. "That's why he needs you. He's an old man, most likely innocent-"

  "-we'll see about that," Bradley intervened. 

  "-and also your father," Warren continued without taking notice of Bradley's interruption. "It's a good thing. A really good thing."

  "I suppose," said Bradley in an undertone. He kicked the concrete in a melancholy fashion, resulting in a scuff mark on his shoes. It didn't bother him that time.

  "When's the case, then?" asked Warren loudly, as he was now in a loud room.

  "Not for a long time," said Bradley. "It'll take a lot to get the facts of this tragedy. I've got my work cut out for me, but I've got time."

  "In the mean time," said Warren, still speaking loudly, "you've got to get your act together, and straighten some things out. You're not whole, Worthington. You've got some things to fix; everyone can see it. Stay with this case, and stay with the people  that need you, because you undoubtedly need them too."

  Bradley did not reply, as he tried to remember all of the words spoken to him. He wished he could write them down, for he felt he would need them again. His silence did not end, and Warren decided to say good-bye and hang up. 

  Reflecting on his words, Bradley walked slowly through the buzzing afternoon streets. As usual, he paid no attention to the people around him, but the difference this time, was he was not thinking entirely about himself. As much as he hated to admit it, he was thinking about his family, and how lovely it would be to have a normal life. But things were hardly ever "normal" in the world he lived in, and the more he thought on it, the less he wanted things to be normal. 

  If things were normal, he never would have had the courage to achieve what he had in his life already. He was only going on thirty years of age, and look at the life he had made for himself! An incredible career, a wonderful place to live, good friends; but he realized that those things were not happiness. They would never be enough to please him, as much as he thought they would. 

  The saddening part of it was that he had no choice but to be happy. He was a man, not a miracle worker. If he could not be content with the good things in his life, he was a man with an empty mansion.

  Before he knew it, Bradley was walking into his apartment building, and stepping onto the elevator to go to the penthouse. He was ready to have some downtime, and just be alone for a while. 

  "Have a good afternoon, Mr. Worthington," said the elevator man, as Bradley stepped out.