Page 119 of Babalon

Julie pushes off my bed, unsure when she sat down, and treks her way to the door. Pulling it open, just slightly, to see who was on the other side before she pushes it all the way open. Low and behold, another snake standing on the other side.

“Nadia, may I come in?” Whitlock requests.

I turn away, he knows I don’t want him here, but that folded up piece of paper in his hand let me know that he isn’t going to take no for an answer. Not anymore.

Warrants have that power.

At least he was being respectful, and a gentleman, about things, asking for permission and shit.

Drawing in a breath, I nod. If he didn’t see it, I don’t care.

Casually he rounds the end of my bed and pulls up a chair, keeping distance between us as he folds into it. Wearing a dark green button up shirt and black slacks today—hair slicked back to where you could see the shape of his hairline versus letting it run wild.

Folding one leg over the other, he sits back and withdraws his trusty notepad, then a black phone and places it on the armrest of his chair. Waiting patiently in silence for me to look over at him. Instead I allow my eyes stare off into the distance, beyond the parking lot of the hospital, to the tree tops and the mismatched shingled roofs of the surrounding neighborhoods. Out there, there are families that are whole, who get to go home to each other every day, and watch each other grow old. Not mine though. In a handful of months, my baby will be taken from me and I’ll be alone.

Just like I wanted.

“Go on, Whitlock, I’m dying to know what you have to say today.”

“As much as people prefer for me to talk, it’s you who needs to speak, Nadia. You’re well enough to start the investigation, and the easier you make this, the better.”

His sarcasm is no match for Kace, which does bring me the slightest bit of comfort.

“You want confessions?”

“That’d be the best thing, but I need stories, examples, players, everything.”

“You’re invasive as fuck, Whitlock.”

“Just doing my job. I told you we could do this one way or another. You needed a warrant to speak, well here it is.”

“That was about the fire,” I chide but not loud.

“You know damn well it was about the drugs. Now that the prosecutor has seen the evidence on this phone, you have more to confess. So, out with it.”

“What do I get in exchange?”

“Well, for one, a lawyer. Do you have anyone you want to bring in? I can get a public defender in before we begin, if you want to go that route,” he states.

“Call the defender, you know I can’t afford a good lawyer. While we wait, you can show me what’s on that phone.”

“You and I both know what’s on the phone. We will cover that once you have council.”

He pushes away from his seat and tugs out his personal cell, lifting it to his ear as he strides out of the now open door.

I hate my life.

Whitlock joins me again after his phone call and scrolls through his cell while we wait for the public defender to arrive. It’s like he isn’t letting me slip through his fingers this time, and since he has to wait to collect on his warrant, he is going to babysit me while Julie goes to lunch and makes her rounds.

He feels… safe.

I know he’s going to be the man who tears me the rest of the way down, but there is something calm and soothing about him. Maybe it’s because he’s the only man that hasn’t made crude remarks, threatened to kill someone, or spoke about the slop from the cafeteria. He exists in his own world, his is just overlapping with mine for a very brief amount of time and with the silence, this is the safest I have felt since waking up.

His phone starts ringing and he answers it with a single snap of his last name, only to rise and walk to the door. Yanking it open there stands a much shorter, older, man with a briefcase in his hand. His receding hairline giving me a full glimpse of his dry scalp.

“Nadia Pierce?” he asks.

“That’s me,” I utter.

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