ignored my comments. We were in a public forum, and I was cutting too close to the truth.
Instead, she spoke to her attorney as if I wasn’t there. “Sooty was a wonder kid. Jumped right over seventh and eighth grades to become our high school’s math champion, literary geek, and resident nark—all that fuss about her brain made her a little too big for her britches, if you ask me.”
“Look, Langley.” I stood arms akimbo to show her she held no power over me. “I’m not going to engage in some clichéd Mean Girls-style showdown with you. We were never friends and seeing you today is nothing but a bad roll of the dice.” I abandoned my equipment and took two steps toward the exit located at the rear of the courtroom. “Congratulations on your case. You seem to have an infinite number of ways of getting out of trouble. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.”
Langley jumped out of her chair and slammed her hands on the table. I stumbled backward.
She spat out a maniacal cackle apparently satisfied by my reaction. “Still a mouthy little brat, aren’t you? Always quick to condemn someone with your goody-two-shoes act.”
“I never condemned you, lied about you, or narked on you. That’s what you choose to believe. Find someone else to blame for your problems.”
My temper flared. I’d finally found peace, and Langley’s presence threatened that harmony.
“Mr. Harriston, I believe your client is out of line. Do I need to call a guard?” I raised my voice and, as if on cue, one of the enormous corrections officers who monitor the holding cell next door stepped into the courtroom from a side entrance.
“She has a point, Ms. Mulligan.” Harriston’s jowls wobbled. “You’re out on bail. The court expects you to conduct yourself as a responsible citizen. We shouldn’t hurl insults and accusations at a state official.” He tapped two fingers on her wrist. “Let’s not press our luck.”
“Take it easy, everybody. We’re just talking.” She cautiously inched around to the front of counsel’s table with her hands raised in surrender and her sights on the corrections officer. “I’m innocent. I never had any drugs. The whole thing was a setup. Although, why would I expect a nark like you to believe anything I say? I saw the way you were cozying up to the judge and that cop. Did you tell them about us?”
“Wow. In ten years, nothing’s changed. Listen, not everything is about you. It’s called doing my job.”
“Is that so? Well, I’m glad to hear that because now I know exactly where to find you whenever I want to…play.”
As the last word slipped from her lips, she twisted her body, grabbed the water pitcher from the table, and flung the contents at me.
Everything slowed to the tempo of a dirge as the fat wave of frosty liquid crashed against my face. Darkness enveloped me. I was fifteen again and back in that pool.
Water thrust its way past my nostrils. Droplets seared the back of my throat. Panic-stricken heartbeats hammered so loud it muted all other sound. Pressure threatened to collapse my lungs until I recognized I was holding my breath in anticipation of a more treacherous onslaught.
Gasping for air, I groped at my bowtie blouse—the soggy clumps of fabric an unnerving reminder of my watery tomb. Voices clamored from all directions.
“Not so high and mighty now, eh, Sooty?”
I opened my eyes to find Langley speaking to me from the ground. She thrashed against the burly prison guard who kneed her in the back and shouted submission instructions as he pressed on a set of handcuffs. Mr. Harriston stood by my side, with his handkerchief, dabbed at my face, and issued rapid-fire apologies. I gripped his arm to steady myself.
“Forgive me,” Harriston said. “That shouldn’t have happened. I blame myself. If I’d had any inkling she was capable of this, I would have—I should have taken her outside as soon as she made it clear you knew each other.”
“Ma’am, would you like to press assault charges?” The guard’s voice echoed in my head. “We could ask for the surveillance video to support your claim, ma’am. Ma’am?”
My heart raced and my thoughts swirled. The emotions of the moment—fear, sorrow, hate, panic—combined with the adrenaline to create an elixir that left me dizzy.
“Please, please. Let’s all be rational.” Harriston’s words came out in a jumble. “This is just a misunderstanding. I assure you Ms. Mulligan meant no harm. This has been a stressful day for everyone.”
“Assault?” I struggled to find my voice. The word seemed foreign but right.
“This is your call, ma’am. I can put her in a holding cell and contact Bickerton P.D.” The guard rolled a handcuffed Langley over into a sitting position while I remained mute. “They’d have an officer here to take your statement within the hour. I could give your office a call when they arrive.”
“Yes…assault. I’d love to press charges.” My vision zeroed in on Langley’s fiendish silver eyes as the fight drained out of them. “Well, Langley, you know what they say about karma.”
CHAPTER 4
I pushed through the double-doored antechamber at the back of the courthouse and squinted as the stark noonday sun and crisp autumn breeze cut across my eyes.
Free at last.
Fresh air and sunlight were exactly what I needed in the wake of Langley’s attack. Gulls mewed overhead as they flew south. Traffic moved steadily along the narrow streets, and a few townsfolk roamed the pavement for a lunchtime stroll. To my right, beyond the County Administration Building, a cacophony of voices floated over from the town center as municipal workers argued over the fastest way to construct the bandstand and lighting scaffold for Wednesday’s Post-Election Festival.
My drenched clothing, trembling hands, swollen eyes, and spastic breathing didn’t belong in this idyllic setting. I needed a fresh shirt from my gym bag and a private place to regroup before Bickerton P.D. arrived to take my statement, so I hurried across the courthouse parking lot toward my Mustang. A few jabs at the keyless entry pad and the car became my fortress of solitude, where I proceeded to talk myself down from the panic attack and impending hyperventilation.
I reminded myself that water was an essential part of how Bickerton thrived. With the town lying four miles inland from where the Delaware Bay met the Atlantic Ocean, the expectation was that the average resident had a healthy relationship with the sea. Some folks were seafarers reveling in their bounty of blue crabs and shrimp, while others were cutthroat sales clerks determined to cash in on the clams and oysters caught by the local watermen. During the summer, fancy restaurants boasted fresh sea fare with an ocean view, eager teenagers hauled surfboards along the beach route, ferries shuttled people across the bay, and thousands of tourists sunned themselves on the sands of the Atlantic.
I’d lived in Bickerton my entire life, so I loved all of those things about our town. Yet, my relationship with water remained distant and crippling.
Several moments passed before I could breathe normally. I pawed at the damp folds of my white bowtie blouse only to find a stress rash forming on my chest. I needed to remove the shirt or risk inducing another panic attack. As I struggled to pull the drenched fabric over my massive crown of hair, I caught the shape
