Page 85 of Lela's Choice

“The cops will go ballistic.” The young man locked the door and propped a chair under the handle.

“Don’t tell them.” Hamish scanned the room quickly, recognised a number of regulars, now crouched under tables and benches, white-faced and unnerved by his forcible entrance.

“My girlfriend’s in there.” He held out his hands to show they were empty.

His terse confession rippled around the room, creating a visible wave of relief. A few regulars nodded. The barista had dropped down below the level of the window again. Hamish crossed to the window on the other side of the door, sliding down the wall, with his back against it, knees drawn up while he tried to catch his breath. His heart hammered against his ribcage; sweat rolled down his back.

Ten minutes and no answer.

Ten minutes and his own helplessness terrified him. As did the realisation he could lose her to a random act of violence. That he’d arrogantly assumed being with him was the biggest risk to her safety.

An incoming message. He sucked in a breath.

“What do you know?” It took him a second to realise it was Lela’s father, another to register Lela hadn’t been able to get a message to anyone.

“No news. I’m in a café on the edge of the plaza, as close as I can get.”

“Thank you,” Vella texted. “Keep me informed.”

“Will do.” Hamish stared at his phone after he pressedsend.Vella expected me to be searching for Lela.

Rolling to his knees, he lifted the edge of the thick curtaining. The building, one of those steel and glass creations testifying to the power of humankind, was in his direct line of sight. The plaza, jammed with shoppers and office workers on meal breaks on a normal day, stood eerily empty. Hamish remembered the last city lockdown, when lives had been lost.

“Lela, you must be okay.” He scanned the building for signs of activity. “Please, be okay,” he muttered the mantra to himself.

“There’s movement,” whispered the barista to the room. “Someone’s coming out. A guy. He’s putting down the gun and putting up his hands.”

Police and ambulance staff entered the building, but no one exited. Thirty minutes later, a cop knocked on the door of the café and gave the all-clear.

Thirty minutes when his brain played with scenarios of where Lela might be, what had happened to her. In each one he was helpless. By pushing her away from him, he had no legitimate claim to be the first to see her. He made his way towards the building—barricades blocked his path. The heavily armed police stationed at one-metre intervals were turning everyone away.

“My girlfriend’s in there.” He’d framed arguments to get him through, but doubted he’d get past security.

“Only immediate family of the hostages are allowed in at this stage, sir. We’re still checking to make sure all staff are accounted for. Thankfully, no injuries.”

“Can people inside ring family, friends?”

“They’re free to call whoever they want. But we won’t be allowing anyone into the building for a few hours.”

“No injuries. Immediate family of hostages can go in. Everyone is free to use phones.” Hamish pressedsend, and waited for Vella’s response. Please God, if Lela was safe, she’d have let her family know first.

“No word yet,” came the terse reply.

Frustrated by his powerlessness and wanting action, Hamish jammed his hands in his pockets and paced back to his office. Pointless to wait in the square. He trusted Vella to let him know she was safe. Media crews were now swarming the site and sending live feeds to news outlets. He could pick those up in his office, plus, he’d be able to get back in minutes if Lela called.

Why would she call him after the way he’d treated her?

At his desk, he trawled through all the news sites. All agreed it was incredible no one had been hurt. With no reply to his text, Hamish left a voicemail. “Lela, please talk to me. I need to know you’re safe.”

Slumped in his chair, staring into space, he accepted the simple truth he should have known all along. Staying clear of her didn’t guarantee her safety. It guaranteed he had no right to defend or protect her when she needed him; no right to tell her he loved her, would always love her.Why did I wait?

“Hamish.”

“Lela.” He tipped over his chair in his rush to reach her, was halfway across the room before she held up a hand.

“How?” he asked.

Her pink tongue glided across dry lips, moistening them, revealing what her honesty was costing her. Standing in the open doorway, her arms folded across her chest, she looked uncharacteristically fragile. Her posture was defensive, a warning to stand clear. Her courage in coming here after the lies Hamish had told her humbled him.

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