Like To Be You ✓

thirty seven

For twenty-seven long seconds, the world is silent.

Randall watches me, his eyes cold and passive, his face set in withering stone, his hair bleached white with age. Slowly, my fingers let go of the steering wheel, the movements jerky. My blood feels cold when I step out into the wintry air, and the chilly wind is nothing but a nip.

"Why are you here?" I say. I hold the car door open, ready to shield myself if he decides to pull a gun out on me and shoot me between the eyes.

Mom, I think, my eyes flickering between the window of her room and Randall's stiff figure.

"It's time I cleared up some things." He says. His voice runs like a jolt of electricity over me, straightening my spine and raising the hairs on my skin. "And there's no need to call the police." He continues, sparing a glance at my hand which creeps up to my pocket. "I'm only here to talk."

He flicks a finger toward his car, and the driver steps out, moving forward to press the bell.

I wait, tensed, for my mother's voice to come through the speaker. Randall and I stare down each other, and only break our eye-contact when a voice crackles through the air.

"Yes?" My mother's voice comes through.

"Maira." 

Silence ensues on the other end. 

"Neil's here with me." Randall continues, sparing me a glance. "It's time for you to know the truth, now that the restraining order is finally off me." 

Above, the cameras move and come to a stop on me. I lamely raise my hand in a wave. 

The gate buzzes open, and I get back into my car, following Randall's vehicle. The door ahead opens, and my mother stands, her phone in her hand, one of her security personnel next to her.  

When I get out, she beckons the man beside her to frisk Randall and his driver. He pats Randall down, then his driver, and retrieves a gun from his holster.

"He's also my bodyguard." Randall offers, waving his hand. The golden Rolex on his wrist mockingly glints in the dark. My gut clenches.

My mother gives him a pointed look and holds her hand out. Her bodyguard passes the gun to her. 

"Get inside, Neil." My mother tells me. "We're not having a discussion without Harvey." 

x

Twelve minutes later, a bleary-eyed Harvey Jacob, our lawyer, arrives. He straightens when he notices Randall in the lobby, who's nonchalantly observing the paintings on the wall. 

"Picasso." Randall says when Harvey enters. "Never really liked his style." 

Harvey squints at Randall, looking between him and my mother. 

"Come in." Mom says, leading them into the living room, where I've been sneaking glances from and texting Tyler simultaneously, giving him updates. 

Please don't die, his latest message reads. 

I'll try my best, I respond. 

Pocketing my phone, I stand beside my mother.

"Have a seat, Randall." She says. "You too, Harvey."

My mother nods her head at me, and I sit beside her. 

Randall's coat flares out on the sofa, and he places his hand on his crossed knees. Harvey awkwardly settles down on a single chair, placing his briefcase beside his leg.