Page 71 of The Lawyer
“I don’t know what to say, Landon.”
“You don’t need to say anything. Just know that it means something to me—that you mean something to me.” She smiles and looks at the ring again, her fingers holding the box as if it might break. Maybe she’s never held something so expensive, or maybe, she just doesn’t understand what it means. “I would quite like you to put it on, though.”
She giggles and looks back up at me, watching as I pull it out of the box and take hold of her left hand. I’m not sure if words need saying. We started without words. It was just her body. But I suppose it’s far from that now. It’s become an offer of potential. A move in the right direction for more if we both want that. Maybe that's the beginning of love, or the declaration of it inside me, even if I’m not ready to say the words out loud.
“It’s a promise made, Willow. Just stay with me, and we’ll find our way.”
“Okay,” she says, as the ring glides onto her finger.
Okay.
Epilogue
IVY
It’s his eyes that make me shiver, the way they seem to sit low in his head, as he stares at me from across the room. I hold my nerve regardless, keep my chin up and gaze trained on his. Nothing normally changes in these interviews. All military leaders are the same, and the lower ranking militia beneath them certainly are. Corrupt, usually dismissive of anything remotely truthful, and biased to their own cause. This time, though, this one in particular—Asif Hadamain Hussain—seems antagonistic rather than arrogant.
“In the last attempt at a coup, the journalists were blamed for fuelling anti-war propaganda. Explain your new movement precisely so that doesn't happen again.” He just looks at me, slowly rolling his neck as if the option is beneath his status. Given the six armed guards around us, and the whole fucking army standing no less than a hundred meters from us outside, I’m beginning to wonder how close he is to the top of the food chain.
Gunshots ricochet outside the small tent we’re in, driving up the fear levels I’ve been under since arriving here to investigate this story. The only thing remotely reassuring I’ve had to desensitise myself to this situation has been the conversation with Landon. And that’s not something I could call comforting in the slightest.
“I’m trying to tell your side of this, Asif. I can’t write a damn thing if you don’t give me something.”
He stands suddenly, and the chair he was sitting in tumbles to the floor behind him. All six guards turn their guns inwards, not one of them looking at anything else but me. I drop the recorder I’m holding into my lap, both my hands going up in the air.
“You are Ivy Broderick,” he says, his heavy accent making the name sound alien. My gaze flits around, breath trying to stay calm. They shouldn’t know that. I never tell anyone my name, certainly not when I’m somewhere like here. “Tell me what you want, Ivy Broderick.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but—”
“Enough lies. What do you want?”
“The story. Your side of it.” The soft sound of footsteps on sand gets closer to my back, two of the guards walking closer. “You agreed to this Asif. Just give me something and then I can sell it. You want your voice heard, let me help you.”
He walks closer, close enough that I can smell the stench and heat of blood all over him, and picks up the recorder in my lap. “Who sent you?”
“No one. I’m freelance. You know that if you know who I am.”
“I don’t believe you.” Another round of weapons fire outside of the tent, shouts and screams of potential triumph about something following. “General Kalif would not stop. You are here because of him. To infiltrate. To tell lies and breed contempt amongst the new leaders.”
Stupid or not, I stand and hold my hand out for the recorder he’s still grasping, hoping my show of scorn might work. He drops it immediately, his boot slowly closing over the top of it until it crushes under his weight.
“Look, if you’re not willing to talk, I’ll go. I came here for you, Asif, to show the world you have reasons that are relevant. But if you’re insinuating that I’m somehow here to covertly source information for Kalif, there’s no point.”
He looks up behind me, nods, and two sets of hands suddenly haul me backwards so fiercely I squeal at the assault. Nothing stops. They keep dragging me, kicking sand up in my face as they do, until we’re outside the tent and going somewhere else.
Dark night skies hinder my sight, and all I can make out is the lines of walls and old abandoned buildings I’m being towed around.
I stumble, only to be lifted and dragged again.
“Asif? What the fuck?” I call, hoping for a reprieve.
Nothing.
Fight instinct starts to kick in, and I struggle and squirm as I’m hauled towards an old truck. My feet dig in, weight leaning back to try and counter the inevitable. They’re too strong, though, and I end up feeling my whole body being lifted and thrown into the open doors. I hit hard, my shoulder jarring on the harsh steel surface, and listen to the sound of both doors slamming around me.
Fuck.
Pitch black.
