2. Wyatt
2
WYATT
It takes seven hours for the fear to creep in.
Seven hours with no sleep. Just me staring at the cracked ceiling, wondering what the fuck I was thinking going to The Firm of all people.
What if they ask me to rob a bank? To smuggle drugs? Fuck. What if they ask me to commit murder? Can I do that?
Last night, I thought maybe I could. But in the cold light of day, I’m less certain. No, not less certain, really fucking fucked. I’ve made a mistake. A huge one.
I obsess over it, turn it all over in my mind. What if the price they demand ends up hurting Jackson? What if he’s the price I have to pay?
Maybe I’ve made the wrong choice. There has to be another way, right?
You’ve already exhausted every other avenue. This is the only one left.
That doesn’t stop me from slipping my shoes on before Jackson is even awake. As I do, I feel the tackiness of the infernal gum on the sole. It wants to remind me of who I am, of who I’ve become.
Yeah, gum, I fucking know how low I’ve sunk. No need for the reminder.
The air is bitter on the return trip to the church but I barely notice. Sunshine doesn’t make the decrepit building any more appealing. If anything, it elongates the shadows. It reminds me of who could be hiding. Who might be watching.
I don’t know who the members of The Firm are. I don’t ever want to know.
I didn’t bother to bring my coat, the anxiety riding me too hard, but I don’t feel the cold. I don’t even think about it.
All I think about is getting that fucking letter back.
My hands were trembling last night, but now they’re vibrating so hard that I can barely grip the brick. It takes several clumsy attempts to finally get it free.
I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the blank space where my letter had been.
It might be minutes. Might be an eternity.
It doesn’t matter how long I look.
It’s not going to make the letter reappear. My fate is sealed. I think it was the moment I left the graveyard the night before.
Fuck.
A loud caw startles me into almost dropping the brick. The raven from the night before is back, his head tilted to the side like he’s judging me.
“Judge away,” I mutter darkly, flicking him the middle finger. “See if I fucking care, bird.”
I wish I didn’t care. I’ve been so numb for so long that I should be welcoming this development with open arms.
But I’ll take the numbness over the fear clawing up my throat.
Fear makes me weaker than I already am.
No, putting that damn letter behind the brick made you weak. They’re laughing at you now.
I kick a pebble and the bird flaps its wings, warning me.
“Fuck off, asshole,” I murmur and then tilt my head up and stare at the roof. It’s crumbling, just like my life.
I feel bile rise in my throat and I choke on it, nausea flowing through me.
I can’t believe I did this and now I’m stuck. They won’t let me change my mind, they won’t let me go. Not until I fulfill my end of the contract.
I lean my forehead against the church wall and inhale deeply, swallowing the urge to vomit. The cold hits me then and I shiver, swiping at my wet cheeks.
I can’t believe I was so weak. I can’t believe I did this.
I stand there for what feels like forever until I’m finally able to come to terms with it. Straightening my back, I stuff my hands in my pockets and turn on my heel. I try to ignore the unease bubbling in my chest.
My legs wobble as I exit the churchyard, that damn raven cawing loudly. I murmur that there’s no use in fretting about it. It’s too late now. They’ve gotten the request.
I’m fucking done for.
* * *
The first notification comes in as soon as I step through the apartment door.
Americana Bank: a deposit of $75,000 has been made
I fall back against the wood and then slide to sit on the floor, the broken lock rattling as I do.
Another notification. A different account.
Fifty Second Bank: a deposit of $100,000 has been made
I blink at my screen, unable to believe it. No, that can’t be right. I asked for a fraction of that amount. There has to be a mistake.
Yet another notification. Another deposit to Americana Bank.
Two hundred thousand this time.
No, no, no.
I almost drop my phone in my haste to open my banking app. My throat is so dry I can’t even swallow, it clicks over and over, trying to come to terms with what this means. But I know. It’s clear.
And there it is, in black and white.
My available balance, once my overdraft has been cleared, is two hundred and sixty thousand dollars.
I don’t pause. I move straight into my other banking app, willing it to be different. But nope. Another one hundred thousand is merrily sitting there.
What in the actual fuck?
I asked for fifty thousand—a sum that would cover the next wave of Jackson’s rehab. I figured I’d find another way to catch up on the mounting medical bills later.
Now though, I don’t have to.
This can’t be happening. This is so much money. What will they ask of me in return?
I should be overjoyed, jumping up and down, screaming that there’s finally a light in the darkness.
But that darkness is still there. It’ll remain there, overshadowing everything, until I know what they want from me.
I sit for far too long, just staring at the screen. It’s only when my back starts to protest that I realize there’s no going back. I’ve got the money now. I don’t know what the fuck they will want from me as payment, but I may as well clear some of our debts.
Who knows if I’ll be able to do it in a few days? I might be incarcerated, or somewhere deep in Peru smuggling cocaine up my ass.
Or dead. There’s that too.
Reluctantly, I force my thumbs to move. Before I can transfer any money, an email pops up at the top of the screen. It’s from Universal Health, the company I was about to pay. The subject line has me freezing.
Thank you for your payment.
What the fuck?
I scan the email frantically to find that my account has been cleared.
Cleared.
Before I’ve finished processing that, a text from my landlord appears.
Landlord
You’re lucky you paid today, you little shit. I’ve literally got the eviction notice on my counter. Fuck me over with rent again and no one will be able to save you.
“Fuck,” I drop my phone, raking my hands over my exhausted face. A disbelieving laugh breaks from me. “ Fuck. ”
Not only has The Firm filled my bank accounts again, they’ve paid all my debts.
I feel sick, nauseous from relief and dread. Oh god, they’re going to bend me over and fuck me.
Maybe even literally, but this is what I asked for. I asked for my ass to be plundered.
“Wyatt?” Jackson shouts from his room, and I stand up so abruptly that I knock a kitchen chair over.
“Coming,” I say and move into the bedroom, trying to steady my shaking limbs. “What’s up?” I ask when I see him lying in bed, the controller on his lap, his pale skin waning.
“I didn’t hear you move for a while and thought you died.”
I mean, I feel like perhaps I have died and this is some kind of eternal bad dream. Is it bad? I can’t quite tell. It’s limbo, perhaps. One I can’t escape until I have answers.
Answers about what comes next.
“No, I was just thinking.”
Jackson frowns. “Next time, think louder, yeah? You’re all I have left.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll try.” I lean against the doorjamb and meet his gaze, knowing that everything is going to change. Things will get easier for him and harder for me now that this has happened, but I can’t tell him. I can’t admit it, not yet.
“What?” Jackson asks, rolling his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like you’re about to cry?”
“I’m not going to cry. It’s just musty in here. We need to fucking move.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t afford it. So we’re stuck, aren’t we?”
Not anymore , I think, but I don’t say that out loud. I just stand there, my mind reeling from the way this money will change our lives.
My asshole clenches.
Better get started on working my sphincter open to fit the drugs in.
It’s definitely going to be drugs.
* * *
I’m on tenterhooks for the next week.
Every time someone so much as walks past our door, I jump. My phone lives in my hand, just like the days when I worked at Lawson and Smith. Or, Lawson and Buckingham, I suppose, given Matthias and his brothers have officially changed the name. Those days are so foreign to me now, it’s as though it was a different person who lived that life. A Wyatt who had hopes, dreams, a future.
This Wyatt has none of those. All I want is to make Jackson’s life better, and to know what The Firm wants from me. The suspense is killing me. I have no control over the latter, but thanks to my now-bursting accounts, I can at least take care of the first part.
The day the money landed, I went grocery shopping. Nowhere fancy, just Walmart. I didn’t even fill the cart. What if the money disappeared? What if they’ve taken it back somehow?
I shouldn’t have worried. The bored cashier drawled that the transaction went through before he handed me the receipt.
That night, Jackson ate like a king. I swear, I could see the meat growing on his bones as he filled his stomach with all the proteins and nutrients he so desperately needed. It was so much better than just beans and rice.
Me though? I didn’t eat a bite. I couldn’t.
Might sound crazy, but I’ve gone this long without feeling full. What if I get used to it again? It’d make returning to my current state even harder.
But four days later, the money was still there. So, I bit the bullet and booked Jackson an appointment at the rehab clinic and another general check-up with his doctor. I could afford it now, so why not?
Now, a full week after the money came in, I find myself scrolling through apartment listings. Nothing fancy, nothing like what I used to share with… her.
I try not to think of her name. It doesn’t make me angry exactly, that’s too strong of an emotion these days.
But I don’t like the memories associated with her. The ones of her holding up my bank statement, screaming in my face.
Her recoiling in horror when she saw Jackson’s injury. When she realized how broken he was.
When she knew I was going to be the one to care for him.
When we learned how much it would cost me because he didn’t have insurance to cover any of it.
Shoving her back into the box in my mind, the one almost bursting from the trauma I’ve packed in over the years, I turn back to the listings. For each, there’s a reason to dismiss it. Too expensive. We don’t need one that big. Too many stairs for Jackson. Won’t accommodate a wheelchair.
“What are you doing?” Jackson asks suddenly, peering over my shoulder. He’s up on his crutches, walking around. It makes me nervous, wary even. What if he falls over? What if I can’t get him back up?
But then I think about all the money we have now and my heart stops hammering.
“Nothing.” I click off the tab, but it’s too late. He saw.
“Are those apartment listings?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me, bro. You’re not good at it.” He reaches over and throws a bit of bread roll at me that I’d been nibbling at. I want to pick it up and force him to eat it. We can’t waste any food.
But he’s already glaring at me, so I leave it where it’s fallen.
“I thought we could barely afford this shithole.”
“Don’t swear,” I say automatically. I’m supposed to be parenting Jackson, right? To be fair, I haven’t done much of that really. Not that our parents did either, but alas.
Trying to keep us alive has taken up all my energy. Besides, Jackson is technically an adult. He probably doesn’t need me on his back all the time.
He proves that thought correct with the next words out of his mouth. “Oh, fuck off, Wyatt. I’ve lost a leg, surely that means I can curse? I mean, I’ve earned it, right?”
I wince at his casualness, making him flick more bread at me. “Dude. You gotta laugh. Crying isn’t gonna bring my leg back. Now, tell me what the fuck is going on.”
I shift in my seat. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Bullshit.” He’s speaking around the roll now, but at least that means it’s in his mouth rather than on the floor. And he’s taken a seat which is making me feel a lot better about the state of the world. “I lost my leg, not my eyes or brain. Do you think I haven’t noticed that we suddenly have actual food? Or the new pajamas you gave me yesterday? Or how about those two appointments that have appeared on the calendar for next week? Appointments I know we sure as shit can’t afford.”
“We can,” I sigh. I don’t know how I hoped to hide this from Jackson. He’s always been an astute fucker. Even as a kid, he saw right to the heart of the matter. Still, I can’t tell him the truth.
If Jackson finds out I went to The Firm…no. He won’t like that.
Not one little bit.
“I found a job,” I say finally. “They paid me the first month in advance.”
“Fuck off,” Jackson murmurs. I sigh internally, deciding right then and there to ignore the cursing. Not that I can blame him, he probably learned half of them from me. “Jobs don’t do that.”
“No, jobs like your stint at the fast-food joint and working at the restaurant as a busboy don’t.” I hide the lies in heavy layers of sarcasm. “But real, grown-up ones do.”
The conviction in Jackson’s eyes fade, the insecurity of youth taking over. “What, so you’re going back to Lawson and Smith?”
I try to hide my flinch. “No. They won’t take me back. Not in a million years. And it’s Lawson and Buckingham now.”
Not that I blame them for letting me go. I’d been in the middle of the biggest case of my career, picked over several partners to be the representation.
But when the call about Jackson’s accident came in, I’d walked out of the courtroom without saying a single word to anyone. I didn’t hear them calling me back, didn’t hear the judge bang his gavel. I just left.
When I’d finally returned to the office, bruised and battered from a lost night of sleep, I found my desk cleared.
Thankfully, Matthias hadn’t been around to gloat. He’d been out of the country on business. And thank fuck for that. I didn’t give two shits about him or his smug face.
If the empty desk hadn’t been enough of a context clue, the letter left on top of my meager belongings cleared up any misunderstanding.
I’d been fired. Of course I had. I’d left the most important case of my life without giving a reason. I was in contempt of court.
“So, some other place then?” Jackson asks, his eyebrow raised.
“Yeah,” I clear my throat, unable to look my brother in the eyes. “Some other place.”
“That’s awesome,” Jackson says. “Hey, I was thinking?—”
I don’t get to hear what he’s thinking about. My attention is caught by a flicker of movement by the door to our apartment.
To the white rectangle that’s been shoved underneath it.
For a second, I’m paralyzed. Maybe a smarter person would run to the door and throw it open to try and see who delivered it.
But, let’s be real, it won’t be someone from The Firm. It’ll be some poor schmuck like me.
Maybe that’s what you’ll have to do. Delivering some mail won’t be too bad, right?
Something in my gut tells me I won’t get off that easily, that the price I’ll have to pay will be higher than even my greatest fears have anticipated.
Suddenly, I have to know. I can’t wait another second to learn my fate.
Ignoring Jackson’s questions, I shove back my chair. I grab the envelope from the floor and keep moving. I don’t stop until I’m in the bathroom, the lock twisted to keep Jackson’s prying eyes out.
Shaky hands turn over the envelope again and again. I lean back against the sink, letting the cold ceramic ground me.
It’s funny, how innocuous it is. Sure, the envelope is fancy. The inside feels like heavy cardstock instead of the cheap stuff.
But there’s nothing to suggest that whatever it is, is about to change my life. There’s no name on the outside. No address.
But there’s no doubt in my mind as to what it is. Who it’s from.
Steeling myself, I slip my finger under the seal. I curse as it cuts into my finger, a smear of red dripping onto the envelope.
I ignore it. I let it float to the floor as my eyes race over the contents. I read it once. Twice. Three times.
But still, it doesn’t make sense.
It’s short. Just two sentences, an address, and a date and time—ten a.m. tomorrow.
It’s the first part I return to again and again.
You have been selected to fulfill someone else’s request. Negotiation is not an option.
I let the card fall to the floor, realizing that it doesn’t tell me anything else. Just like before, my fate is in the hands of The Firm. And so soon too. I didn’t expect it to happen so fast.
But really, it’s worse than that because it’s in the hands of a stranger. Someone who needs something. Someone who, just like me, was desperate enough to go to The Firm.
Fuck.
I’m so screwed.