Learning to Live Again (A Josh Ramsay Fan fiction)

Chapter One:

It was late Friday afternoon, around 5pm.  I just finished interviewing a client who will be participating in my anger management program, walked him out of the building, told him to have good weekend and I would see him on Monday at 630pm for his first anger management session with my nine other group members.  He said, “Goodnight Miss, have a good weekend yourself”, smiled and got into his car.

I locked the front door behind him and headed back to my office.  I told Kevin, the last Parole Officer in the office, that I was all done and thanked him for staying.  You see, no one stays in the office alone when they are meeting with an offender on parole in the community.  Especially one who has issues with women and is still serving time for very violent assaults committed against his previous partners, including forcible confinement, and sexual assault.  I thanked Kevin again for staying and apologized for keeping him after 5pm on a Friday in July.  Kevin told me not to worry about it and said he was able to catch up on some reports. 

“Would you like me to stay a bit longer?” he asked. 

"No, that’s alright, I’m simply going to write an email to Mr. Smith’s Parole Officer to let him know that I have met with him, and he will be starting with me on Monday, then I am out of here too!  It will take no more than 20 minutes to finish everything up and I will lock up the office.” 

 “Are you sure?” Kevin asked. 

“Absolutely, go home, enjoy your weekend.  The front door is locked so I am all good!” 

“Alright, see you on Monday”, he said.  I thanked him again, and headed back to my office.

Twenty minutes later, I had written a quick email to Mr. Smith’s Parole Officer, gathered my things and I was off for the weekend.  I doubled checked the front door to make sure it was locked, went back to the main reception area of the office, essentially the waiting room, turned off all the lights and double checked to make sure there was no one else left in the building.  When I was sure I was the last person, I set the alarm for the building and left through the side door – which is always locked.  As always, when I exited the side door, there were some customers from the restaurant / bar, which is right next to the Parole Office, blocking the doors.  I opened the door carefully and said,

“Excuse me gentlemen.”  Like always, they smiled and apologized stating that they did not realize someone was coming out of the building. 

“No worries” I said with a smile.   

As I was double-checking the door to make sure it locked behind me, I noticed a very tall, good looking man standing off to the side, alone, closest to the front doors of the Parole Office.  For the type of ‘clientele’ the restaurant normally caters too, he seemed a little out of place.  You see, a member of the Hells Angels Biker Club owns the restaurant, so a man wearing black skinny jeans, black dress shirt, red tie and dark hair with a blue streak, sticks out like a sore thumb.  He seemed to be very irritated by his phone and I saw him mumble the word ‘FUCK.’

“Excuse me,” I said to the ‘out of place man’, “I just need to check the door.”

“Sorry,” he grumbled without looking up, still fiddling with his phone, but moved slightly out of my way. 

As I moved to the front doors of the building to make sure they too were locked, I said to myself, ‘he looks really familiar, where have I seen him before?  Is he supervised by someone at the Parole Office?  And if so, why is he hanging out here?  Is he allowed to be at a bar?’  I made a mental note to check with the Parole Officers on Monday.  Once I was satisfied that the doors to the Parole Office were secure, I started walking towards my car, smiling that it was Friday, warm out, and I was on my way home after a very long week.  I was so lost in my thoughts thinking about what I was going to do for the weekend, that I did not notice that the offender I had just interviewed, Mr. Smith, was still standing outside his car in the parking lot, watching me intently. 

As I was lost in my thoughts, I vaguely heard someone say,

“Excuse me, Miss?”

Not thinking they were talking to me, I continued on my way and turned the corner of building, where there were no patrons from the bar.  Just as I was out of view of any watching eyes, I felt someone grab my arm.  Shock and surprise pulled my out of my thoughts.  A sheer sense of panic filled my mind, and my breath caught in my lungs.  ‘Good job’ I said to myself, ‘did you forget who you work with, and where you are?  There is no one here, did someone see?  Oh my God, please let me be ok?’