Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
Gertie lets out a mournful meow and leaps into my arms as soon as I unlatch her crate the next morning. We’re still within the confines of the fluorescent-lit police station, but as she nestles against me and purrs, my jaw unclenches and the world is suddenly just the smallest bit brighter. I’ve always seen Gertie as Khala’s pet, but pressing her close to me, I understand: She’s mine too.
The officer at the front desk hands me papers to sign and smiles at the two of us. “In case it helps you feel better, I heard she was looked after. Had a litter box, food bowl, and everything.”
That does make me feel somewhat better, but—“Darcy saved my life,” I tell him. “She doesn’t deserve to be behind bars. Who can I talk to about this?”
“She’s giving us her statement and going over the timeline. No charges have been filed against her.”
“Lena and Tanvir.” I’m almost afraid to ask. “Are they—”
“It’s an ongoing investigation,” the officer begins. But then, taking in my expression, he lowers his voice. “Look, they’re unharmed. The guy’s phone activity led us straight to one of those fancy lakeside cabin-mansion combos out in Woodstock—same place we found your cat. Property belongs to the suspect’s father. We found the guy’s car parked around the corner from where he confronted you. His trunk had ropes, zip ties, drugs—it’s an open-and-shut case, really. Your friend’ll be going home soon.”
I let out a trembly breath. Lena and Tanvir are safe. Darcy will be released. My stalker is dead. It’s over. I wait for relief to envelop me, but instead I feel like I’ve slipped into an ice bath.
—
The bell chimes overhead when I step into the office the next morning.
“Nura!” Genevieve jumps up from her desk. Hurries toward me. “How are you even here?”
“You need a month off after everything that happened,” says Borzu.
“I’m only here—literally standing here—because you saved my life.” I choke up. “If you all hadn’t been working on this late into the night, figuring out who it was…”
“Darcy figured it out,” Borzu says. “She went through Lena’s file. Even your old spiral notebooks, page by page. She found a throwaway line about a man named Farhan who’d gotten obsessed with her. I did a search in our company-wide emails and found his name in your inbox.”
“ Mine? ”
“Basit Latif mentioned his son’s name in your initial email correspondence. That’s when everything started to fit. It took a minute to triangulate his whereabouts, but when we realized he was in Atlanta, we knew we had a problem.”
The front door chimes again. Darcy. She’s dressed impeccably as always in a solid shift dress. She barely makes it inside before we tackle her into a group hug.
“I’m okay.” She hugs us back. “Really.”
We spoke on the phone after she was released from the police station, but this is our first time seeing each other face-to-face. I try to speak, but tears spill instead. What can I say to the person who saved my life? No words will do.
“Thanks, Darcy,” I finally manage to say.
“The way that girl ran out the door once Borzu identified the location!” Genevieve lets out a low whistle. “She had major ‘mother lifting a car to protect her baby’ energy.”
“I just…I can’t believe it really happened,” Darcy says. “That image of him with the gun pointed at you, it’s burned into my brain.”
“It’s over now. Thanks to you. I can’t believe you’re in the office today,” I tell her. “Go home and get some rest. Honestly, you hereby have my permission to quit here and now and still get a paycheck from me for the rest of your life.”
“I can’t stay home. I just keep replaying the night over and over in my head. I’d rather be here and get my mind off of it if I can. For a little while at least,” Darcy says. “I have a meeting with my lawyer in a few hours. Until then, I want to busy myself as much as possible.”
“Lawyer?” Genevieve frowns.
“Nura got me all set up.” Darcy looks at me tearfully. “Thanks again.”
“Of course,” I tell her. “The agency has your back one hundred percent.”
“Why do you need a lawyer?” Genevieve asks. “There is no prosecutor in the world who would bring a case against you.”
“Genevieve’s right,” I say. “It’s just a matter of dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. This will be in your rearview mirror in no time.”
“I hope you’re right,” Darcy says. “I can’t believe I killed someone.”
“It was self-defense! And Nura defense. I’m sure Nura’s aunt’s security cameras captured at least some of the exchange,” says Borzu. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“See, this is exactly why I wanted to come in. I was coming up with all the worst-case scenarios. I feel a little more centered now.”
I understand how Darcy’s feeling. It’s good to be with people, and maybe work will clear all our heads. Except it turns out that none of us can work today. With the wall-to-wall press coverage about Lena and Tanvir’s rescue, we stay gathered in the conference room, sharing updates back and forth.
“Looks like there’s a new video from Lena,” says Borzu. He mirrors his phone to the screen. “It was posted a few minutes ago.”
There’s Lena on the television. Her first public statement. Her face is devoid of makeup. Her eyes are red and puffy. Her fiancé sits by her side.
“These have been the most terrifying few days of my life,” she says, her voice welling with emotion. “We were tied up. Blindfolded. We didn’t know where we were. If anyone could hear our screams. I didn’t know if we’d make it out alive. I was making my peace with the end.”
“It really put everything into perspective for me. About what really matters.” Tanvir looks tenderly at Lena. “I admit it. I lost my way leading up to the wedding, but who cares about a wedding ? Only one thing matters, which is being with you, Lena, for the rest of my life.”
Tears stream down her face, but she’s smiling. “We’re stronger than ever now, and we’re only just beginning.”
He kisses her.
I wipe away my own tears. I spoke to them this morning. They were shaky but in good spirits. Still, seeing the visual of them together now and watching hearts fill the screen, it really and truly hits me: They’re together. They’re safe.
“Check out the views,” Darcy marvels. “It’s gone from a thousand to half a million since we started watching. Maybe our inbox will finally get under control now.”
Borzu looks at his phone. His expression shifts. “The police are holding a press conference.”
Switching over to the local news, we watch officers gathered at a platform. A man in a blue uniform stands at the center and speaks to a crowd via a dozen mics affixed to the podium. We listen with bated breath: As expected, the suspect has been identified. Farhan Latif, son of a Michigan state senator, kidnapped the heiress of a cosmetics empire along with her fiancé on the eve of their wedding.
“So it begins,” mutters Genevieve. “It’ll be a 24/7 circus from here on out.”
She’s right. This is tabloid gold. This is the stuff of a soapy Netflix miniseries.
“How soon before news outlets are reporting that we took a call with Farhan’s father?” I murmur.
“Why would that matter?” Borzu says. “We kicked him to the curb when he gave us bad vibes. Farhan was obsessed with Lena way before we got into the picture. A video went up a few hours ago. One of Farhan’s old college classmates was talking about how far back his obsession goes. This doesn’t tie back to the agency.”
“Except for the fact that I’m the one who killed him,” Darcy says softly.
“Oh, Darcy.” I look at her. “They didn’t mention anything about that.”
“It’s only a matter of time. Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. But the thought of it getting out, people talking about it…looking at me, knowing I’m a killer.” She shudders. “I don’t know if I can take it.”
“You’re a hero for what you did, Darcy. If word gets out, people will throw a ticker-tape parade in your honor,” says Genevieve. “You did what you had to do. Remember, no matter what happens, we’ve got you.”
“Whatever comes, it’s like Genevieve said, we’ll weather this together.” I give her a hug. I’m worried about potential fallout too, but she saved my life. I will never be able to repay her for her bravery, but I’ll do whatever I can to ease her worries. She has enough trauma to deal with—taking a life, even under the circumstances she was forced to do so, has to exact a cost.
—
Back in my office, I close the door and settle down at my desk. Pull out my tablet. Click back onto the private browser I’ve had up since this morning. The one with the open tab and the quarter-column article that took hours of searching to unearth. I’ve read it so many times it’s ingrained into my brain at this point. Two Fatalities in South Mission. A murder-suicide. Dispassionately described as “a domestic dispute between a Pakistani woman and her estranged husband in San Francisco’s crime-prone Mission District.”
A domestic dispute. Tears prick my eyes. They didn’t even say my mother’s name. They just flattened her into another statistic. Calling the area “crime-prone,” like what happened was her fault, since she was in a dangerous part of the city. And what did being Pakistani have to do with any of it?
I look at her photo, the one I’d saved to my phone years ago. She’s smiling into the camera. She has on a yellow blouse; her dark hair is pulled back. Bangs frame her eyes, which look so similar to my own. She’s younger than I am now. I’ll never know what she went through. The particulars of the abuse she suffered. I’ve helped multiple clients over the years, from a variety of different faiths and backgrounds, who have overcome abusive relationships. I supported them. I held their hands when they wept. All that time I had no idea my own mother had experienced the same thing. She’d endured unspeakable abuse until I arrived. From then on, she did everything she could to protect me. To keep me from knowing such horror.
I click on the other open tab. After hours of searching, I found the social media profiles of some of Fiaz Usmani’s family. Nephews. Nieces. They all have the same full mouth as my own. An elderly woman sits in a wheelchair in one of the photos, holding two great-grandchildren in her arms. Is she his mother? I grip the tablet tighter. Does she feel shame for looking the other way? For the monster she created?
I know Khala feels bad for keeping the truth hidden from me. She looked haunted when she told me about my past. But I’m too raw right now to unpack everything. And I can’t help but wonder: Would my mother have kept all of this from me like Khala had? I was barely older than Lilah is now when she died, too young to process any of this, but when I was old enough, would she have given me the ugly truth? I’ll never know. This man took her away from me before I’d ever find out. He upended my life without a second thought. Meanwhile, his relatives smile and pose for selfies. They pretend it never happened.
My phone buzzes. I check it even though I know who it will be—Azar and Khala have been checking in nonstop. Khala’s called five times today. I texted her back that I’m well and I’ll be in touch when I’m ready. I’ve sent her videos and photos of Gertie. I told her I love her, but I’m not ready yet. I need time to process everything.
But when I take a quick look, the incoming text message is not from Khala.
Logan here. Hope you’re faring okay. I received critical information we need to discuss. This is a complex story with lots of moving parts, and I can’t do it justice without your perspective on everything. I hope you will reconsider.
I grit my teeth and toss the phone facedown on my desk. I’m not sure how he got my number, but it’s hard not to read between the lines of his text. A story is coming out soon. I can be involved in the story or simply the object of it. I massage my temples. I do not have it in me to take on one more thing, least of all this.
My door creaks open, and Darcy slips inside.
“I come bearing coffee.” She pushes a latte forth.
“I should be getting you coffee.”
She shakes her head. “I just want to pretend nothing changed.”
But things have changed. I look at Darcy’s forlorn expression. Farhan was unhinged. He was poised to shoot her. He would have if she hadn’t stopped him. But that doesn’t change the reality that taking a life is no small matter.
“Have you had a chance to see Dr. Higdon?” I ask her gently. “It might be time to get a regular schedule started.”
“He’s squeezing me in tomorrow morning,” she says. “He thinks we should meet twice a week for the foreseeable future, but I don’t know how much talking helps anything. I’ve talked to the police so much, my voice is going to give, and they still keep coming up with more questions. Like I’m going to remember something that will make any of this any less fucked up? I just want to knock myself out and forget any of it ever happened.” She shivers. “The sooner this all is behind me, the better.”
“I get it. I wish I could erase it all from my mind’s eye as well.”
She looks at me worriedly. “How are you ?”
“Still shell-shocked. I keep thinking I’ll go for a run after I get home from work. I know it’s safe now. He’s gone. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I feel exposed even thinking about it.”
“My body hasn’t gotten the memo it’s over either. I spilled my tea this morning when the UPS guy rang the doorbell to deliver a package. That was when I knew I had to come in to work.”
“This whole thing is going to be a marathon, not a sprint. We need to figure out how to not think about it 24/7 or we’ll slowly go insane.”
She purses her lips. Then brightens just the littlest bit.
“Uh-oh,” I say. She picks up her phone and types. I know that look. “Darcy, you’re not signing us up for a meditation retreat or something, are you?”
“No meditating, but I do think we should get our minds off things. Even if it’s only for a little while.”
“What do you have in mind? I don’t think I’m up for axe-throwing.”
“Me either. I was thinking of something a little more low-key. Like a double date?” She points to her phone. “There’s an opening for seven o’clock this evening at Meta Sushi. You and I have been meaning to go there forever.”
“This is the exact worst time to try to set me up, Darcy.”
“Nura! I didn’t mean literally. I texted Azar and Samir for a casual get-together. Samir’s in.”
I fidget. It was my idea for us to try to get our minds off of things, but I’m not sure I’m up for fine dining this soon.
Her phone chimes. She glances at it, then me.
“That’s Azar. He’s in too. If you’re not comfortable, we don’t have to. I guess I just thought it might be nice to be among friends. Celebrate that we’re alive? Besides, you and Samir haven’t had a chance to really get to know each other. The engagement party was swamped with people. Maybe this could be a small way to feel normal for a little while. What do you think?”
She gives me her most winning smile. Even though she doesn’t need to. I’m not sure I’m in the mood to be out in the world at large, but that doesn’t matter. Darcy needs a distraction, so of course I’m in. This woman saved my life. I’ll do whatever she asks. Thanks to her, the danger is over. I wish my brain could communicate this to my body, which still feels tense as a live wire. Waiting for what comes next.