Any Last Words

By Grace Powell-Horn

Lacy Hollgrum's life has been mapped out since birth. The daughter of a powerful, abusive family, she is expected to join the family business. But when she meets Richard, a man on the run from a crime he didn't commit, she seizes the opportunity to break free. Together they travel the globe, meeting new people, but their adventures are cut short

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885908535

Grace Powell-Horn

Grace Powell is a writer inspired by fairy tales, fantasy, DC comics, history and science. She lives on a hobby farm in Middle Tennessee with her beloved horse, Stormy Jo.

Book preview

Prologue

I grew up in high class society. To anyone else that would mean I got whatever I wanted, but I just wanted to be anywhere else. I was to be a good girl. I was to do exactly as I was told. Sit still, speak only when spoken to, smile at the right people, curtsey in the right way, and never stray from the path. I am the daughter of two of the best lawyers money can buy. Where I come from that’s all that matters; money begets status, and status begets membership to the elite. To stay in the club I must be their perfect daughter. I must follow in their footsteps, marry who they say to marry, and associate with whom I am told to associate with. My schedule is laid out everyday, and my life is planned for me. I used to close my eyes and dream of being anywhere else, but that was quickly put to an end. Do as you’re told Lacy, nothing more, nothing less. All I ever wanted was to pursue my own path and to follow my own dreams, but when you are in this life, there is no leaving it. Not for my family and certainly not for me. Do as you’re told Lacy is something that was spoken frequently in my house. Don’t complain, we built this life, don’t ruin it is the response I received if I ever tried to argue with the plan. Don’t embarrass us is what I would hear before any public appearance. I am who they say I am, that is how I survive, I am a good girl. When I finally did escape that house, it was to be exactly what they told me to be: a lawyer.

Chapter  1

Lacy, you have got to get a life!" I look up from my notes during lunch to see my one and only small group of friends standing over me. Maya, the slightly psychotic best friend who followed me from high school and never fears to state the truth. She is rightly studying to be a prosecutor.

She is right you know; we could skip studying today and go on a shopping spree! Following Maya is my one and only gay friend, Roger. He is studying to be a defense attorney. He really can always see the good in people.

I would rather have us go party, she needs to let loose and get drunk. Maybe finally lose her V-card to a total stranger since otherwise it isn’t going anywhere. You really just need a get out of jail free card from your controlling parents. Welcoming my ‘party whenever and still get amazing grades’ friend, Riza. We became friends my first year of college, and she became my study partner for law school. Becoming a criminalist was always her dream. She gets access to my classes to learn about the system, I get access to her biology and science courses. These are my friends. My small, but amazing group of friends.

Guys, I can’t. I have this big exam coming up and I need to study. I object, going back to my notes only to have them snatched by Riza.

You wouldn’t happen to mean the exam that is coming in, like, six months, would you? Riza questions.

No, Riza, I mean the exam that is coming up in a few weeks. I reply stubbornly.

What class? Maya inquires, crossing her arms.

Infrastructure of the supreme court. I answer without thinking.

I’m in that class Lacy! There isn’t an exam until the mid-terms in six months! She snaps back.

Lacy dear, I think you have a problem. Roger states.

Yeah, it’s called being a study-o-holic! Riza jests.

You know what, Riza is right, you do need a drink. Come on, Maya starts pulling me up from the table and away from my notes.

Wait, my notes! I protest. Roger grabs them at my pleas and walks after Riza and Maya dragging me away from the library. Wait, stop! Where are we going, I don’t drink! Maya, Riza, Stop! Hey! They shove me in the back seat of Maya’s Mercedes and Riza sits next to me to make sure I don’t escape. Roger sits shotgun and Maya drives. This is technically kidnapping, I comment.

Please, Lacy, you really need it. One drink isn’t going to hurt you, comments Riza. She flicks me lightly in the forehead for good measure.

Call this an intervention sweetie, says Roger.

No kidding, okay, so to Riza’s place? Maya responds.

What makes you think I got shit at my place? she counters.

You’re Riza, that’s why. I answer.

We drive down the road to Riza’s place. It only takes us a few minutes. The sleek black car pulls into a space, and I get dragged out and up the stairs to her apartment. They sit me on a couch and Riza starts pulling an assortment of liquors from her freezer.

Oh, good, so we have to wait for it to melt, right? That gives me time to prepare for this. I speak as though I am about to be tortured, which I feel like I am.

You’re kidding, right? Riza looks at me like I have just said something really stupid. I just stare, unwilling to answer as she sets the drinks on the table in front of me. They slosh slightly in their bottles. I close my eyes, realizing my mistake. Chemistry 101, alcohol doesn’t freeze. Roger sets shot glasses on the table, and beer is retrieved from the fridge.

Why in the world do you have all of this? I ask, amazed at the many bottles in front of me.

I like to drink after a hard day, it helps me relax. Riza shrugs while dishing out glasses.

And now, we drink! Maya commands while holding up a shot glass full of Bacardi. The others, myself unwillingly included, hold up our own glass.

Cheers! the three of them say at once.

Cheers, I mumble, and take my shot.

At first, the drinks are forced upon me, but at some point, I stop feeling forced and start just drinking. I still have some reserve, but after a few more hours even that goes away. Maya turns up some music and Roger dances with me as if he were straight. The bottles slowly start to lower their fill line, and as the night goes on the number of bottles lessens. So much laughing and talking. Saying so many things I never mean to say out loud. The floor seems flat, yet it rocks under my feet. The corners shake slightly in my vision, and I can’t stand without wobbling. Maya catches me from falling and hurting myself a few times, but when I do fall, I can’t help but burst out in laughter. Something else is given to me, but when I drink it, it doesn’t have the bang. Water. Somehow when I drink it, there is a thirst I didn’t know I had that is quenched. I am on the couch when I just lay down, close my eyes, and pass out.

I open my eyes and squint at the light. I look around to see Riza and Maya together on the armchair and Roger passed out on the floor. I push myself up and lean back onto my arms. Still squinting, I realize that the light is just the sun coming through the window. I look at the table to see what’s left of the liquor still there. The sudden overwhelming feeling of being really sick makes me dash to the bathroom. I barely have time to lift the toilet lid before I’m spilling my guts into it. I sit on the floor at the toilet’s feet and lean my head into my arm on the seat. The same hand pulls my hair back while my other just hangs limp at my side. A rush of the sick feeling and a following flow of regurgitated alcohol leave me feeling terrible the whole hour it devours me and the next hours after. At some point Riza comes in and helps hold my hair while talking me through my first hangover. She gives me Aspirin for the headache and some Sprite for the sickness. It’s all she has, but it helps a little. When I finally rejoin the group in the living room, they are in the same boat aside from the sickness. Maya is leaned over herself holding her head with her shoulder length red curls covering her face in an unbrushed mess. Roger has flipped over and is lying on his back with his knees bent. He has an arm covering his eyes and he moans occasionally to indicate his own hangover. Riza disappears into the kitchen only to come back with water for Maya and Roger. She pulls me into the kitchen afterwards and pours me a glass of water, handing it to me directly.

So, did you have fun? You sure seemed to let loose. She asks after a moment of silence.

Um, I don’t remember. I mutter as I run my fingers through my tangled brown hair.

Oh, yeah, you did drink enough to black out. Well, do you want me to tell you what happened? she questions, pouring herself a glass of water.

Do I want to know? I mumble, giving up on my hair.

Riza considers for a moment before nodding. Yeah, you sure threw out some things you needed off your chest.

Like what? I inquire. I decide to just throw my hair up in a messy ponytail. ‘I’ll take a shower when I get home,’ I think to myself.

Like the fact that you hate college and you just want to travel. You also said that you hate studying to be something that you aren’t good at. Oh, and something about not telling your parents about a class you failed? Did you fail a class and not even tell us? she asks after counting the instances on her fingers. I blush deep. Those were only things that I had ever thought about. I don’t realize they are true until Riza says them out loud. The flunked class is a different story. I had been planning on making up the credits before my parents found out, especially since it is a Lawyer’s fundamental. It’s how I officially determined that I am not good at being a Lawyer in the first place.

I, uh, I sigh deeply before blurting it out, I flunked Court Functions 103.

Oh, wow, I didn’t know. Her eyes widen in surprise.

Nobody did except the professor. I asked him to keep it a secret. I shrug.

Riza holds up a hand, as if asking me to wait before saying her thoughts out loud. Wait, isn’t that just practice court?

Yeah, exactly. I couldn’t fit into any area of the court room except the jury. I flunked it because I lost every case and couldn’t even be a proper witness. I had to win at least one case to pass the class with a C and I had to be a good witness to make a D. I explain. Riza is silent for a moment. Please don’t tell anyone. I plead.

Oh, I won’t, but Maya and Roger know you flunked a class already, since you blurted it out last night. She admits. I lean over the sink. I can’t believe that I said anything about it at all. Somehow, I feel like loads have been taken off, but in another way, I feel guilty that my friends found out because I was drunk and couldn’t control my tongue. Lacy, we aren’t mad at you. We can understand why you didn’t say anything about it.

I’m sorry, After a pause I decide to cover another topic that I apparently mentioned. Do I really want to travel?

Hell, if I know. It’s the first time you’ve said anything about traveling. We were all a bit surprised actually. Riza takes my empty glass and refills it before handing it back to me. I think more about it. The only time in my life I remember anything about traveling was when I was just a kid. I mentioned the thought to my parents and they went berserk. I’m to be a lawyer, not waste my time doing stupid things or having stupid dreams. If I remember correctly, I had been about seven years old when that happened. I have been making straight A’s and forgetting those dreams since. I knew that I hated college, but that was mainly because I hated my major.

I don’t want to disappoint my parents. I whisper.

I am really sorry if this offends you, but you need to start doing shit for yourself now. I mean, you are moved out. Do what you want! You have been their perfect child since way before I met you. I think they will understand if you want to change majors. She replies harshly.

Then you don’t know my parents. They pay for my college because I’m going to be a lawyer. The only thing they are fine with is the fact that I don’t know what kind of lawyer I want to be. In fact, they are pressuring me to choose that too. I need to have everything decided and I can’t stray from the family tree. I mutter.

Lacy, you weren’t even allowed to get a summer job because they had you studying all the time. Get your own life. They can’t control you when they are God knows how many miles away. Just call them. Maybe they will accept you for who you are if you tell them about the class and how you don’t want to be a lawyer. Just tell them the truth. She says as she places a hand comfortingly on my shoulder.

You really think that will work? I ask hopefully.

Don’t know unless you try? she shrugs. I sigh deeply again and pull out my phone.

You have to be there when I call. I condition. Riza just gives me some dorky thumbs up to indicate she is all for it. Riza whips around, her black and red striped hair twirling around her shoulders at the motion. I walk back into the living room after her and notice Roger and his dirty blonde bedhead sitting up, eyes closed, like he is trying to wake up. Maya has only moved enough to reach her water sitting on the table. I relay them the ‘flunked class and calling my parents’ story. These seem to wake Roger up, and Maya just nods, still not totally sober yet.

Okay, but can we eat first? I’m starving for something super greasy, Maya whines.

Here, here, Roger attests. I agree, despite the sickness from earlier I am starved. Riza grabs her keys and she and I leave the apartment to go pick up some food.

So, what are you in the mood for? Chicken, pizza, burgers or cultural? Riza asks as she drives down the road. Her old Toyota truck has a musty smell with old fabric seats that look slightly ripped in some places. Her truck is clean, yet because of age it looks dirty. It is a truck bought on a saved part time salary.

Burgers sound nice. I say absently as I stare out of the window.

Awesome, then burgers we will get! She cheers. I don’t know how she manages to keep this upbeat morning attitude after a night of so much drinking. We pull up to a Five Guys and walk in. It’s not too busy inside. We have only one person in front of us ordering. We just stand there twiddling our thumbs waiting for our turn. We don’t talk too much and just stand there awkwardly until it is our turn. I look at the menu and decide to get a burger with everything on it. I know that Maya will want it basically plain with only a few sauces on it, but I hope that Riza knows what Roger would want, because I look at the menu and get lost in the words trying to think of what he would like. The person in front of us moves on and we take the two and a half steps left between us and the counter. Riza starts ordering.

Okay, I need a burger with mayo, ketchup, cheese, onions, pickles and bacon. Another needs just cheese, ketchup, mayo, and mustard with pickles, and I need one that has ketchup and mustard, pickles, mushrooms, bacon, onions, and tomatoes. Then... Riza turns to me, What do you want?

Oh, um, one with everything on it please. I answer. I’m caught staring at Riza. I am slightly flabbergasted that she knows so clearly what everyone wants. Riza has muscle memory and can literally remember anything and everything she wants to. It’s how she passes every class she’s ever had with A’s. Even if she skips class all she needs to do is read the textbook or get some notes from a classmate and she can pass anything. I was always slightly jealous of that power, but it is still amazing to see it in action. I don’t blame her for not remembering what I get though, I change it every time. Nobody would remember. We go to wait at the other counter for our food and Riza starts talking about her sexy class crush Liam in Psychology 220.

It was almost like I was in high school again, passing notes back and forth. He is so cute I just want to ask him out myself! she bursts.

Then why don’t you? I ask.

Tsk, tsk Lacy, you should know that it is against the girl code to ask out a guy. Rule number 22, never ask out a male counterpart with whom you have a crush, no matter how long it takes! She holds up her finger like she is teaching a lesson.

In what rule book? I giggle at her.

Mine, duh! And every girl should follow it! She makes the evil villain laugh in a joking manner which makes both of us crack up.

Here’s your food ladies, the employee states while handing us a huge bag. His eyes take effort to leave me; I shrug out from under them. We thank him and walk out to the truck. I open it and slide the bag in before me. After closing the door, I take a deep breath and look around the truck again.

It’s not a Mercedes, I know, but it’s mine and I bought it on my own. Riza states when she is in the truck.

I didn’t... I start.

I know you didn’t say anything, you just always look around this truck as if you expect it to be different. I know, I am the poor friend in the group, I bought everything I own, and I am in school because of a scholarship, but I did it on my own and I am proud of that. I just had to get that off my chest. She lets out the breath she was apparently holding.

I know, but I didn’t say anything, not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t need to. I am actually jealous of you. I explain.

She looks at me weird. Why would you, a girl who has everything and can get anything she wants at the drop of a tear, be jealous of me, a poor inner-city girl who had to work for everything?

I would rather work for everything and be allowed to do what I love than to get anything I want and be forced to do something I hate. That is all I have to say for her to nod and look away. She understands. We really get each other. She works for everything she has; I’m forced to follow a career I hate. The other two in our group will never understand because they have everything and are pursuing what they love. I may have been friends with Maya since we were in diapers, but I am closer to Riza now because she understands the struggle. The drive is quicker back than it was there. Maya and Roger are up and ready to eat when we get back. Our conversations are casual and normal, nothing about the drunk night before. Just about school, parents, and the possibility of going shopping later that day.

Lacy, you should call your parents before we go shopping. I don’t want you to worry over it instead of having fun. Roger complains.

Mm, I agree, Maya swallows her food, You will totally let that eat you up today if you don’t go ahead and get it over with. Maya contends.

Hey, she should be able to do it when she wants. Lacy, you don’t have to call your parents now if you don’t want to. Riza counters.

No, I think they’re right, I just need to get it over with. I pick up my phone and dial my home number. The tone beeps sound almost like the death walk as I dial the number. I put the phone to my ear and listen to the ringing on the other end.

Hello? my mom answers.

Mom, hi! I haven’t talked to you in a long time. I try to sound friendly.

Honey, shouldn’t you be studying? We are paying for your future; you should work hard to get good grades. Then you can have a straight shot at any agency you want, but of course we hope you choose the family agency. She chuckles at her own words. She knows that I wouldn’t really have a choice.

Mom, it’s Thursday, my day off, I don’t have class today. I remind her.

Oh, dear, that is ridiculous, you should always have class. That way you don’t get out of your routine, you know that a routine is... she chimes,

Is a great way to make those A’s, yes, mom, I know. I roll my eyes.

Oh, is that the stupid logo she is repeating? Riza comments. I hold my finger up to her, telling her to be quiet.

Remember, keep calm and breathe, Roger calms. I do the same to him.

Yes, of course you do. So, why don’t you have class today? And even still, you should study so you can keep up that GPA! Mother chimes like it’s her little theme song. I sigh deeply.

Yeah, I did study, I am just taking a break. It’s good to take breaks. Look, I have something I need to tell you. I fit in.

What is it sweetie? she opens.

I don’t think I am cut out to be a lawyer. I rush.

Well of course you are! It’s in your blood! my mother counters. I can tell already that I will lose this battle, but I try to gain ground, maybe this time she will see me.

No, mom, I sigh, I flunked Court Functions 103. I couldn’t fit into any part of the courtroom. There is silence on the other line. Mom, I am good at biology, maybe I could major in something in the field. You know, maybe I could be a doctor?

Lacy! Stop. You just had a setback. It is fine, you can make it as a lawyer. She ignores.

But mom! I knew it, I’m going to lose this battle.

Enough, Lacy! She screams. My friends hear her and sit back. I hear her take a breath, as if she is calming herself. We are paying for your future because you are following the family traditions! No more of this biology nonsense! Just do well and study hard. Making an F in one of your classes just proves you aren’t studying enough. I think it’s those friends of yours, they don’t take college seriously like you do. I think they are a bad influence on you. You need to just study. I can call the school and get you a tutor, and they can help you obtain a strict study schedule.

Mom, I don’t need that! I study all of the time! I exasperate.

Well apparently you need more time to study and less time to waste calling home and hanging out with your hooligan friends! she yells again.

Mom, no, that’s not... I need her to see me, to hear me.

End of discussion, you need to tell those friends you don’t have a day off today or any other day. You need to study. I am going to call the school and make sure that they give you a tutor. They will make sure you study. And with that, she hangs up. I take the phone slowly away from my ear and just stare in front of me. I feel tears start to well up and brush my hands on my face quickly, so they are not noticed. My friends stare at me around the table. I look down and away from them.

She doesn’t like the idea of me being a doctor. She said no. I just have to work harder so I don’t flunk another class. I just have to study more. I say with a monotone, defeated.

Lacy, you couldn’t have helped flunking that class. It’s not really a study type of class unless you count the case files. It’s a performance-based class. Riza comments softly.

No, I just, I need to go home. Maya, could you drive me home? I get up and try to find my things.

What about the mall? She answers looking after me.

I don’t have time for a day off, I need to study. I repeat my mother, beaten by her words. I will always be defeated when it comes to my parents. The three of them look at each other.

Lacy... Roger starts.

No, Stop. I need to go home. I have studying to do. I mean it! I shake away any residual tears that try to make their debut.

I’m sorry Lacy. This was my idea. Riza whispers.

No, it’s fine. It was bound to happen anyways. I grab my notebook and walk toward the door. looking over my shoulder to make sure Maya is following me. She grabs her keys and says she will meet the others at the mall. I get in the car and Maya follows, sitting in the driver’s seat. The ten-minute ride to my apartment closer to the college is silent. I can feel Maya looking at me ever-so-often in worry, but I keep looking out the passenger window. I can hear sirens in the distance. Part of living in the city is the sirens.

Chapter  2

Maya drops me off on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. I walk around the side and up the stairs to my door and fiddle with my keys. I felt my face and realized I had been crying in the car. I quickly open the door and run to the bathroom to look at my make-up. My eyeliner is thicker from being slightly smudged, but other than that it is fine. I clean my face and just leave it without make-up. I look at my now make-up-less face in the mirror. My eyes have faded dark circles around them. My pale green eyes look even paler. My face seems tired, like it’s finally starting to show the many sleepless nights I have had. I turn away and hop in the shower. I smell bad from the hangover. I allow the thick steam to envelope me, smothering me. I step out and wrap myself with a towel, then comb out the tangles that bothered me earlier.

I just dress in a baggy, gray shirt with jeans. Since it’s a nice day outside, I pop open a few windows. Being on the second floor gives its advantages, including easier access to great weather. I pull out a few of my books and notepads and start studying. Psychology 312, Criminology 102, Debate 240, and Infrastructure of the Supreme Court. I tie back my bland brown hair, so it doesn’t get in my way and lean over my books, devouring any and all information that I can. The sirens are louder through the open window. I’m not bothered by them at first, but when I hear them get louder and stay loud, I get up and look out my fire escape window. I can’t see anything, so I lean back in my house to sit down back at my books. I jump when I hear gunshots and run down into the hall out of instinct. I sit there, silently panicking that I have just heard gunshots right outside my window. After a while I am brave enough to peek around the corner. I hear my fire escape rattling like someone is jumping onto it. I keep looking around the corner, praying that whatever it is doesn’t come through my open window.

Why did I not shut that? I mouth to myself. Then I see a man clutching his side come up the fire escape and swing into my living room. He shuts the window and closes the blinds then slides his back down the wall until he is sitting. He hasn’t seen me yet, but my phone is on the table in the living room he is in. I just keep watching. His face reads every version of pain and when he pulls his hand away, there is blood. He twists away from it and clenches his jaw. He is huffing and puffing like he has been running a lot. He pushes himself up off of the floor, leaving a bloody handprint on the white carpet and starts walking toward the kitchen. I press myself closer to the wall; he will have to walk right past me to get to any other part of the apartment. He will see me. He hobbles closer to the kitchen and closer to discovering me, but he doesn’t see me. He walks right past me. I can hear some drawers rustling and I can hear him in my silverware. I hear him close it and I hear him pull out other drawers and close them too. I try to sneak further down the hall, maybe into my room, but I am too late. I don’t hear him come out of the kitchen and when I see him, he sees me.

Frozen, we are both frozen where we are. He has a red towel, a knife from the block and a spoon. I shift slightly away from him again and he straightens himself up from his hunched walking position. He clears his throat.

Um, may I borrow these? He indicates the items he holds. All I can do is nod very quickly. Do you mind if I borrow your living room for the moment? He asks again. I shake my head. Great, thank you miss. He then proceeds to the living room and sits on the floor. I feel brave enough to peek around the corner to see what he is doing. He struggles to peel his shirt off which makes me blush and turn away. I take a deep breath. I am a biology fanatic and it will be best if I look at where the blood is coming from. I peek around the corner again and see him trying to maneuver the knife and the spoon to dig out a bullet lodged in his side. My mouth opens before my brain can process the words.

No! Stop! I dash out and grab the knife from him, cutting my hand a bit in the process and shoving him over as well.

What the...Hey, you said I could use that! He protests.

Yes, I don’t care if you use it, but you can’t do it yourself! You could kill yourself! I might have only had a few anatomy classes, but I can tell that the bullet is between or behind his ribs. I impulsively lift his arm to check my assumption. His thin and muscular torso makes it easy to prove myself right, I reach and touch around the area to make sure nothing is broken.

Ouch! Shit woman! That hurts! He jerks his arm away and I back up instinctively.

Your rib is probably cracked, but not broken, but the bullet is in between your ribs. You will have to let someone else get it out; otherwise you could really hurt yourself. I explain.

Oh yeah? What do you know, looks like you’re studying law, not doctoring? he counters.

How do you...never mind. Look, for your information I have been studying biology too. I defend. He blows it off. I can tell that whatever his pain is, it is getting worse. He is starting to sweat, and his wound is bleeding more. I take the knife in the kitchen with me and grab the strongest pain medication I have and a pair of tweezers.

Okay, all I have is Naproxen, but if you take a few it should be a bit better. I hand him a few pills.

What are you suggesting? He looks suspicious, and rightfully so.

I am proposing that you let me get that bullet out for you. I state, as if the answer is obvious.

Are you out of your mind? You’re not a doctor! he protests.

Neither are you, but you were all for cutting it out yourself! I yell back.

But it’s me! I would be responsible for my own death. Look, if I died at your hands, that would suck for you. He gets slightly dizzy and leans back against the wall.

Well I can do it; I might not be a doctor, but I can dissect a frog pretty well and I am just getting out a bullet and if you don’t hurry and let me then you are going to have problems. You might even bleed to death. I gesture.

Great, now I’m a frog. he says to himself.

Do you want my help, or do you want to try getting it out yourself and risking a hell of a lot more pain? I question him, placing my hands on my hips. A small part of my mind questions myself, but I push it away. He studies me for a minute. He looks almost like a hot rock star. His spiky blonde hair, dark eyes, tattoos and the rings on his hands.

Fine, just don’t kill me, I want to live a bit longer. I stare at him for a bit before giving him a glass of water for the Naproxen. I then indicate the towel in his hand.

You might want to bite down on that. I suggest.

Do you have any alcohol? He asks.

No, I don’t drink, why would you think that I would have that? I state defensively. He raises his hands in surrender.

Sorry, I just assumed you were like any other average woman. Every woman needs alcohol. He explains.

Well, I don’t; now bite down on the towel! I command. He obeys, staring at me as if he was a child with an attitude toward his mother. I have him lay on his side after a few minutes of waiting for the Naproxen to kick in. I look at the wound and have a new confidence. A small cut is enough to cause more bleeding that I dab with paper towels. I use the spoon to scoop the bullet closer to the surface and use tweezers to pull it out. All in all, the small operation takes about thirty minutes. He passes out after screaming through the towel for about fifteen of those minutes. I sew the wound up with a sterilized suture needle and thread from my first aid kit and dress the wound with some of my bandages from when I had a gash in my leg. I then start cleaning up the blood he left on my carpet. I pour some hydrogen peroxide onto the carpet and scrub the blood away. I manage to pry the stain out and pour a little bleach to whiten up the carpet. Then I take my makeshift surgical tools over to the kitchen sink. I dump hydrogen peroxide on them and scrub them clean before also wiping them down with bleach to finish anything else off. I use another strip of gauze to cover the cut on my hand and wrap tape around it to hold it all together. I glance over into my living room where the man I just performed amateur surgery on lays passed out with his side wrapped up. The door buzzer rings, and my head bolts up in response. I look back over to the unconscious man lying on my floor.

Um, who is it? I start to rush around my apartment to pick up the remnants of the ordeal and then toss them in the kitchen.

It’s the police ma’am, we would like to check your home. A certain criminal is on the loose, one officer answers on the other side of the door. I am already dragging the dead weight off toward the bathroom.

Just a minute, I’m not decent! I yell at the door. There is one place that I can hide him. This old apartment has its creaks and one of them is about to come in handy. Sorry stranger, but you’re gonna have to smell a bit of mold. I drag him into the bathroom and open up the long cabinets under the double vanity. I lift the board covering the bottom and proceeded to stuff him into it. It is just deep enough that I can lay the board on top of him and it seals in the front. I toss a few things on top of the board and shut the cabinets. I then wrap a robe around myself, ruffling my hair to sell the indecent look and run to the front door. I open it just slightly enough so I can see the two police officer’s faces.

What can I do for you officers? I ask, trying to control my voice so it doesn’t sound like I’m out of breath.

Hello ma’am. There is a criminal that was last seen in this area and we are looking for him currently, we need to make sure he is not here and at the same time make sure that your apartment is safe, explains one of the policemen.

Well, thank you, but I can assure you that my apartment is safe. I try to close the door, but the second officer wedges in his foot, so it won’t close.

Ma’am, everyone else has allowed us to search their apartment, unless you have something to hide? he makes a suggestive look. As if my mere refusal would suggest that I am hiding anything. I’m not falling for it.

I have nothing to hide, but I am a student at Harvard studying in law and I know my rights. I try to remove the wedge, but he won’t budge. I know I don’t stand a chance against two men twice my size, so I do my best to play the civilized citizen.

Ma’am, we have a warrant to search the houses in the area since this is where we lost him. He holds out a folded piece of paper for me to read and starts trying to get in when I shove him out of the door.

I am sorry, officer, but you cannot come in until I have finished looking at the warrant. I will not be someone who lets you look or take things that are not on this warrant. I proceed to read the warrant given to me. Only when I have finished do I move and let them in.

It smells like bleach in here, why? one of them asks.

I was cleaning the carpets, it’s cheaper than buying carpet cleaners. I lie without hesitation.

There is a knife, a spoon, and tweezers in the dish drainer. The other one comments from my kitchen.

So? I ask. I manage to sell nonchalance.

Our suspect was shot while he was running, you wouldn’t happen to have dug out the bullet, would you? he clarifies.

I had a big splinter in my hand earlier this week and got it out with household items, is that a crime? I counter.

Would you prove that to me? The officer near me states. I pull my hand from my sleeve. Thank god I had cut my hand when I did. They look at my minor wound, then at each other and drop the subject. ‘That’s what I thought’ I think to myself proudly

They start traveling down the hall toward my bedroom and bathroom. They check the closet and under the bed. The first officer only glances in the bathroom, but the other wants to look more.

What about under the sink? he asks his partner; I step in front of him.

I am sorry, but this warrant only covers looking at places that a human could fit in, the underneath of the sink is not one of them. The officers look at each other and open the underneath of the sink. They close it right away, not noticing the slanted bottom, but noticing the mass of pads and tampons that I put under there for that specific purpose. I’m glad that I learned something from those psychology courses. It’s amazing what can make a person feel awkward.

I cross my arms. I could sue you. You know, right? For looking at a place a human couldn’t fit is breaching the warrant. The cops look at me, then at each other again, and tip their caps back toward me.

Sorry to bother you ma’am. It seems your apartment is safe. The first officer comments.

You mean it is clear of all criminals. Not once did you even look at the two windows I have open. That is a safety hazard when a criminal is on the loose. I give them an arrogant look.

They silently ignore me and allow me to escort them from my apartment. My arms stay crossed until the door shuts behind them. In caution, I quickly put my ear to the door as soon as it is closed and listen for their footsteps to indicate that they are away and that I, and by default the man hidden under my sink, are safe. As soon as I am certain that we’re in the clear I dash to fetch the dead weight from under my sink. I lift the board and drag his heavy body out from under the double vanity and just place him on the bathroom floor with a loud exhale.

Whew, I’m just gonna leave you there because I don’t feel like dragging you back to the living room. I tell the unconscious person in front of me. I check his wound to make sure it didn’t get worse in the stuffing and unstuffing process of his hiding. I sit him upright and swing the arm covering his wound over my shoulders. As I tentatively unwrap his torso, I can’t help but notice just how muscular his body is. I blink myself out of staring and look at his face to make sure he is still passed out. I waive a hand in front of his face as a double check, then I pull off the remaining bandage. My not-so-shabby stitching job looks pretty good considering how new I am at this kind of thing. I will have to make sure to take it out later. I touch it to make sure it isn’t inflamed and then when the results are good, I wrap him up again.

I’m about to put the pins back in the bandage when I feel his arm tighten around me. I look up to see him staring at me. He has an awfully suspicious smile on his face.

What? I ask a bit too harshly.

Nothing. There’s nothing quite like having a lady in your arms. He hugs me tighter as if to prove a point. I snap the pins in place and pull away from him.

Don’t do that! Especially when you’re half naked in my bathroom. Not to mention I unintentionally just risked my life and future career by hiding you just now. What was I thinking! Oh my god, I can’t believe I hid you and I don’t even know you! I am going on a panic tirade and his face is just getting more and more confused as I speak.

He squints and waives his hands back and forth before speaking. Wait, you hid me? Why?

I don’t know, instinct maybe? I just did it, I dragged your dead weight in here and stuffed you under the sink. Now that I think about it, I am almost glad that I did. The stranger starts to get up, slowly since he is still stiff, so I help him to his feet only for him to embrace me with his thick arms. My face gets hot and I’m not sure whether to stay in his arms or pull away, so I do nothing and wait for him to choose for me. I hear him whisper something in my hair, but I can’t quite catch it. When he finally pulls away, he keeps his hands on my shoulders and he has a look of strong gratefulness stamped on his face.

Well, I gotta go then. I have a lot of places to go and not a lot of time to do it, so, goodbye. He starts toward the door and a few seconds later my frozen composure leaves, and I dash after him.

Are you crazy? You can’t leave until I can take those stitches out. It’s not a dissolvable suture string, if it stays in it could get infected and you will have to go to the doctor, which the fact that you are a criminal gives me room to say that you can’t do that. With his hand on the door handle and without looking at me I can hear him sigh and then I see him lower his head and his hand almost in defeat.

I really hope it doesn’t take that long, like I said I have a lot of places to go and not a lot of time to do it. I don’t really know what he means, so I just shrug my shoulders.

Tea? I offer.

Sure, why not. He shrugs. With that, I start making tea for my criminal acquaintance. I place the kettle on the stove and start the water. I have just enough time to question my sanity again and ask myself if this is some sick way to catch a thrill before the pot starts whistling, snapping me out of my head. I steep a couple of green teas and add cold water to cool it enough to drink.

By the way, I start as I hand him his hot tea. I never actually caught your name.

I think it would be best if you didn’t know my name. That way if the time comes you can say with honesty that you didn’t know me. He states without actually looking at me. I follow his gaze to find he is looking at my books.

I am in school to be a lawyer, lying or making people believe what I say isn’t exactly a problem for me. In my head I think over that it is probably the only thing that makes me law material. I hear him chuckle slightly into the tea.

So, you’re studying to be a lawyer and you’re helping a criminal? he laughs a little.

I could be a defense attorney, I joke nonchalantly. He laughs more.

Fine then miss defense attorney, why don’t you just call me Richard. And you? What do I call you? He introduces.

Well if you aren’t going to tell me your real name what makes you think I should tell you mine? He gives me a look and I giggle in response. I’m kidding. You can call me Lacy.

That’s a pretty name. he nods.

Thank you. I sit across from him. I don’t know why, but I don’t get the criminal vibe from him.

So how long do I have to stay here before I can leave? he asks after taking time to drink his tea.

Where exactly do you want to go? I ask.

I’m not sure, everywhere, I guess. There are a few places in particular on my list, but I can’t tell you about them. He says, settling back against my couch.

Why not? I inquire.

Well because I don’t want you accidentally telling the cops and preventing me from going. His eyes squint in confusion as to why I didn’t already know the answer to that question. I thought about what he said for a minute. It is true that if he told me he would be putting himself in danger. Need-to-know information is best and so far, just names are enough.

How are you going to get there? I press.

Well I have already been labeled a criminal, so I may as well go all the way and take a car. He shrugs.

You mean steal it? I summarize.

Well, yeah, I don’t have a car, and I can’t exactly go and ask some neighbors to borrow theirs. He explains. I consider letting him take mine so that he doesn’t have to take one. I never use it and the tinted windows would make excellent cover for a criminal. After taking a few minutes to mull the idea over I decide that it’s a pretty fair idea.

You could have my car. Suggest without care. I see him spurt some tea back into his cup.

You would give me a car, a person who you not only know is a wanted criminal, but someone you just met? How do you know you will ever get it back? he questions with surprise.

I don’t need it back. I can ask my parents for another one. They are both rich lawyers and will buy me anything I ask for. You can have it; I don’t need or want it. I walk to school anyway, and catch rides with my friends, it’s just taking up space. I shrug.

Somehow you sound like a spoiled rich kid and yet in another way you sound like a humble person. He mutters half to himself.

Yeah, I know. Call it someone who hates their destiny and does what she can to avoid it. I would rather become something like a doctor or something else in the biology field than to be cursed with having to become something I don’t want to be and that I am no good at. I concede.

You don’t want to be a lawyer? he asks, taking another sip of tea.

It’s the worst! I flunked a class dedicated to seeing what kind of lawyer I could be. It was just practice court! I hate it and my parents won’t let me change my major. I mumble in defeat.

Did you tell them your perspective on it? he sets his cup down; now giving me his undivided attention. It’s a weird feeling.

I tried. I got drunk for the first-time last night and blurted out to my friends about my childhood dream of traveling all over the world and ended up concluding that I needed to tell my parents about how I hate law and they shut me down. Why am I telling him all of this?

You want to travel? Why did you drop that dream, it’s an amazing dream? he rolls his head as if to enunciate his passion for traveling the world.

Yeah, until your crazy controlling parents tell you otherwise. I really want to do so much, but I feel like I can’t. It feels really good being listened to.

You just need to break free. Just quit and go, grab a shit ton of money and just do what you want. His eyes seem sincere when he says that.

Easier said than done. I mumble.

Why’s that? Are your parents close by? he asks.

No, I just, it’s difficult for me to feel like I can escape them. I can’t help but remember how my life before this always felt like I was a dog on a leash. Sit Lacy, Stay Lacy, Roll over Lacy.

Hey, I’m definitely not one to tell you how to live your life, but if you never take the jump how will you know if you can fly? Richard smiles and spreads his arms wide like a bird.

I don’t understand, humans can’t fly, at least not physically. I shake my head. He stares at me in confusion and lets his arms fall.

No, um, it’s an expression, anyways, what I mean is if you don’t try, you’ll never know if you can. Again, I’m not one to tell you how to live your life, but you seem like a responsible person. If you want to do something, just do it. No one but you can hold you back. His words make sense and he even has me believing it’s possible until the oncoming darkness outside reminds me of my current situation. It is almost night and I have class tomorrow. I spring up from the couch and start rushing around. I gather all of my books and stuff them in my bag and I find all of my notes and shove them in with the books. Richard’s eyes follow me through my hectic routine.

Look, I have some classes tomorrow. You cannot and will not leave this apartment while I am gone. Any wrong moves and you will snap your stitches so just stay here, relax and watch TV or something. I have books too and you can help yourself to whatever. Oh, and make sure that all the windows and blinds stay closed. I am going to bed; you can sleep on the couch. I hand him a fluffy blanket and a pillow and then head off to bed myself. His face shows shock at the sudden change of the situation. I slip down the hall and into bed after shutting my door. It has been irrationally easy to talk to him. The whole night I can’t help but imagine the possibility of just running away and traveling all over the world. It doesn’t take me long to drift into sleep.

That night I had a dream. I’m looking at the world around me and all I see is the sky. Bright blue sky with puffy clouds that kids like to draw in school. If I move then the sky below me shakes and shimmers, so I stay still to preserve the beauty. When I wake the next morning, I can’t help but feel a sort of elation. Like I am walking on air and my dream never truly left me. I walk into my kitchen and grab a bowl, milk, cereal, and a spoon. My breakfast is going to be just as simple as my life. Then I walk into the living room, and I remember just how not-so-simple my life has become. Moment of elation gone as I stare at my new project of problem.

Morning! He says from behind one of my books. I cock my head to the side, eyes squinting as if I’m not sure what is going on. Come to think of it, I’m not too sure I do know.

What? You said I could read your books, he excuses.

Did you even sleep last night? Don’t sit like that, you might damage the stitches, they’re not exactly strong, I put my breakfast on the table and reach over to fix his horrible posture.

Yes mother, seriously I’m fine. Why are you so bossy? he bats away my hands.

I am a mature science nerd in law school who just performed bullet removal surgery unlicensed on a criminal who technically broke into my home and gave him stitches and bandages made out of supplies from my first aid kit. I’m bossy because I know how fragile you are right now. The least you can do is not be difficult. I answer snidely. He nods and throws both hands in the air in surrender.

Touché, alright, I’m sorry. He apologizes.

Not to mention I lied to the police for you, I mumble under my breath. His eyebrows spike up.

What? he asks sharply.

Nothing. I brush aside.

Wait, you lied to the police? They were here? When? he presses.

You were unconscious from the crappy surgery I performed. Wait, I told you this! I point.

No, you didn’t, you said you hid me and never told me from what, but first of all I’m alive right now, so I’d say crappy is not the word to use on your skills, second, why the hell didn’t you turn me in? he stands to enunciate his feelings of shock.

I don’t know the whole story, plus I might have gotten in trouble for my part in fixing you and those police officers were real dim-witted jerks. I cross my arms in frustration as I remember them.

Normal people would have turned me in no matter if they knew the whole story or not. Are you out of your mind? You really are crazy, aren’t you? You tell me I can take your car, you fix me up, and you don’t turn me in, but instead you protect me and lie to the cops because, and I quote you, you don’t know the whole story? What if I was a serial killer? he counts on his fingers, points, spreads his arms, and all around feels like a dad scolding his daughter.

You would have killed me as soon as you could. I’m sorry.

What if I was a bank robber? What if I was some freaky rapist? How could you know? he swings his arms up over his head. He really isn’t sure how to take my kindness.

Well you didn’t have bags of cash, and you didn’t even try to touch me, plus you just used the word freaky to describe a rapist which tells me that you don’t like them either. You don’t seem like the kind of guy that would be wanted nor the kind of guy that would do something so horrible or serious. He stares at me, his finger and thumb caressing his chin. His posture is bad again and makes me fidget. My parents would swat me if I ever had bad posture. His eyes narrow a bit, noticing me twiddling my fingers and biting my lip.

What is with you? he asks with a squinted expression.

You, um, well you have bad posture again. I reach toward him to fix his slouch and he pulls away. He straightens himself and waves my hand away.

Don’t you have class? He changes the subject. I jolted up. I dash over to the microwave to check the time. Oh crap, I have twenty minutes to get to class. I gasp and start dashing around the house. Somewhere between getting dressed, gathering my things together, and brushing my teeth I catch Richard putting away my breakfast items. As I dash out of the doors, I grab the car keys that I never use. ‘Just this once’ I tell myself. I wave goodbye to my house guest and I am out of the door before he can say goodbye back.

I skip steps on the way down to the parking lot and toss my bag in the passenger seat. Keys in ignition and the purr of the engine are so unfamiliar that I have to slow myself down to process that