Page 66 of Frankie and the Fed
My hands are shaking, and I almost drop my phone.
The rest of the story contains difficult-to-view photos taken by the police.
I click on the blurred pictures, and a wave of nausea washes over me. These are pictures of Michael and me. Everyone can see my battered body, my injuries. I lean over and throw up into the toilet.
No. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t breathe.
The sobs come out of me in force. I’m panting so much that my head spins. I have to get it under control. Inhale… Exhale…
How did they get the pictures? Why? All the memories of that day float over me and rise. The pain, the fear...
Just as the incident is starting to fade and my life is finally returning to normal. I can’t stop shaking, can’t face the people outside.
My phone rings non-stop. Numbers I don’t recognize. Likely news reporters celebrating on my blood. I turn it off.
Hours pass as I sit in the bathroom stall with my head between my knees, hyperventilating. My whole body hurts, but I dare not leave here.
Someone enters the bathroom and calls my name. I put my legs up on the toilet seat and remain silent, waiting for them to leave. I want to disappear. I want the earth to open up and swallow me because I don’t know how I can continue to live after everyone has seen those pictures.
I’ll wait until the evening, when I know no one is around, and then sneak out.
CHAPTER27
Ethan
Iarrive home tired after the flight. My muscles ache from sitting for so long. But none of that matters. I’m happy because, in a week, Ayala will be with me in New York.
When I arrive at the entrance to the building, I understand that something is wrong. Journalists surround the entrance.
I put a blank expression on my face and enter through the parking garage, aware of the flashes of the cameras. When the gate closes behind me, I allow myself to relax.
What the hell?
I rush upstairs and call Ryan. “What did I miss?” I shout as soon as he answers. “What’s happened?”
“Ethan, did you land? Are you okay?”
“Yes, tell me what’s happened. Why are there reporters at the house?”
“Michael’s parents have accused you of murder, and they released the photos to the press.”
“What? What photos?” I completely ignore the first sentence.
“Michael’s and Ayala’s.”
“What photos of Ayala, Ryan?”
“All of them.”
“Fuck! I told you not to publish anything.”
“I didn’t do that! Do you think I would go to the press behind your back? I only talked to Summers’ lawyer about a settlement. They got angry. They said the only thing they want is to destroy you.”
“And you didn’t think to warn me?”
“I thought it was just a threat.”
“Post a response.”
