Convicted (Consequences)

from every angle—yes, he knew that wasn’t their intent, but he sure felt like it was—he was exhausted. He wondered how he could be tired after being unconscious for over ten hours. Next, the doctor came in and probed and prodded; then he asked Harry questions. The doctor didn’t ask how Harry received his injuries—Harry couldn’t have answered if he did; however, he asked questions like, does this hurt? How many fingers am I holding up? Do you know who the president is? All in all, Harry believed he passed.
    He was just about to doze off when his door opened again. Each time someone passed the threshold, Harry saw the uniformed officers posted outside of his door. Their presence gave him comfort. If Rawlings was bold enough to have him attacked in broad daylight—anything was possible.
    The expressions on Liz and Amber’s faces told him more about his appearance than SAC Williams or any of the nurses or doctors. He must really look like shit! “So, do I really look that bad?” His attempt at levity was lost as both women began to cry.
    It was Amber who reached his bedside first. She started to hug him and stopped. “Oh my God, will I hurt you if I hug you?”
    Harry lifted his arms and Amber leaned in. When she backed away, she asked, “Why Harry? Why would someone do this?”
    He heard her question, but it was Liz standing near the wall with her arms crossed over her chest who had his attention. She was looking his direction with her lower lip sucked into her mouth as she tried to control the sobs she muffled. His heart broke—he couldn’t imagine how scared she must have been when those men took her. He reached out his hand. It seemed like she was moving in slow motion; however, after an eternity her hand finally touched his. “I’m so sorry they involved you in this. You must have been petrified!”
    Liz nodded. “I didn’t know what they were going to do to me...” She allowed the ragged breaths to overtake her words. Amber got up from the side of Harry’s bed and Liz sat down. He pulled her close. As she collapsed across his chest, Harry’s ribs screamed out in pain; however, he didn’t wince. He wrapped his arm over her shoulder.
    “Shhh, you’re all right. Williams said they didn’t hurt you.” His voice changed—hardened—slowed—deepened. “They didn’t hurt you...did they?”
    Liz looked up. Her eyes were red and puffy. “No, but I couldn’t help you. I wanted to save you...they made me watch...” Her voice trailed away as she buried her head into his chest.
    “Hey, I’m fine. No saving necessary.”
    Amber laughed sarcastically. “Yeah bro, you look great! Maybe now you’ll decide to take that SiJo job for real?”
    He looked at his sister like she had three heads. “What are you talking about?”
    “If being in the FBI is going to do this to you and Liz, you need to have a safer job.”
    “No freak’n way! This wasn’t about the FBI—it’s about my research. Rawlings wants me to stop, but I’m not doing it.”
    Liz lifted her head. “Please, Harry, think about this. He didn’t stop at anything when he wanted Claire back. You already know he’s capable of murder. Think about Jillian. You have to end this madness—now!”
    “Jillian is safe and so is Ilona”—he took a deep, painful breath—“and so are we. All three of us will have around the clock surveillance until Rawlings is found.”
    “Three?” Amber asked. “I don’t need to be watched by the FBI. I’ll have SiJo take care of me.”
    Harry shrugged. “I don’t think it’s my call, sis. It’s pretty standard procedure in cases like this. Why do you think I have those nice greeters at my door?”
    Amber asked, “How do you know Jillian is safe?”
    “I really can’t say. I just do.”
    “Well, I’m going to call Ilona.”
    “No, you’re not.”
    Amber’s eyes narrowed. “The FBI has them, don’t they?”
    “I can’t say.” Of course, that was all he needed to say.

 
     
     
    It takes two to speak the truth: one to speak, and another to hear.
    —Henry David Thoreau
     
     
     
    Claire woke up to darkness. She wasn’t wearing her mask; the darkness was the time of day—or more accurately—night. This was her new routine; waking two to three times a night to accommodate their growing baby. Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, Claire wondered if her skin could possibly stretch any farther. The changes to her body only confirmed the miracle living within her—well