His Lady Justice

Chapter II

        I don't know how I arrived back at the mansion in one piece. Although most of the guests were wasted beyond recognition, I slipped past everyone to reach my private room. I stripped myself of the sweat-drenched attire and stood under the warm water of the shower for what felt like hours. I wanted to wash it all away, everything, as if it never happened in the first place. After stepping back out into the chill of the room, I weakly threw on a pair of pajamas and fell onto the bed.

            Maybe all of this was a sick dream. I'd wake up tomorrow to the noisy sounds of the New York City streets below my condo, refreshed and ready to take on the world. Or so I had desperately hoped.

            I found myself under the twisted sheets, my pajama shirt sticking to my perspiring body. It was those eyes again. Before that, it was the sound of the gunshot that burst through the man's head, sending crimson everywhere. I clutched my chest, remembering the gore I was met with when I rammed into him. That bloodstained shirt... the metallic smell... It felt all too real.

            It was real.

            In a panic, I shot out of the bed, pausing only to wrestle myself free of the sheets.

            5:09 AM.

            I rushed around the room, gathering my belongings and haphazardly stuffing them into any suitcase I could find. I had to leave. He was going to come back for me. There's no way he meant it when he left. Maybe it was a game. He was waiting for the right moment. Maybe he was waiting outside, waiting for me to step out again, just so I could pull the trigger on myself.

            After stuffing everything into my luggage, I sat on the edge of the bed, laying my head in my hands. I was paranoid, probably borderline insane. I needed to get out of here as soon as possible. Everything will be fine again once I land in New York. This was just a passing nightmare.

            Sometime between then and dawn, I managed to fall asleep again. It was around 7 AM when I heard the police sirens and commotion coming from the first floor. They finally found the body. I stepped out of the room and warily looked down from the banister to find reporters rushing back and forth from the entrance to the backyard. There was a woman hysterically crying in the corner.

            "My husband would never do such a thing!" She wailed, "He's not that kind of a man! He was an honest man, he would never commit suicide!"

            Suicide?

            I heard a nearby reporter doing a live broadcast.

            "Prefect of the regional unit of Heraklion here in Crete, Giles Chronis, is revealed to have committed suicide at a party last night due to guilt from the embezzlement of state government money. He wrote a letter of apology prior to..."

            I zoned the noise out while putting the pieces together. Those bastards framed the murder for suicide! The letter... the gloved hands... the forced hold on the gun... it all made sense now! They made it out to look like the regional representative committed suicide by shooting himself with his own gun, all with an apology letter to backup his motive.

            Only I knew the truth.

            "It would be best if you pretend that you didn't see anything."

            His words rang throughout my mind. No one could know that I knew the truth. It wasn't safe. I wasn't safe. Hastily, I ran back into the room and gathered my belongings, finally returning to the entrance in record time.

            "Anastasia, sweetheart!" My distressed aunt approached me.

            I greeted her with a feeble smile, "I-I'm going back home. This was lovely - I mean, up until, you know, now - but really, thank you for inviting me."

            "Oh dear, I'm so sorry this had to happen, I'm sure you're startled." She sighed before continuing, "A festive home has been turned into a suicide ground. Of course that old crone had to go and use my daughter's wedding for his public pity show, as if he'd get on national television with a silent suicide otherwise."

            I nodded. Aunt Camille was a great woman, truly, but inherently vein. At this point, I figured it came with the pedigree. If only she knew what had really happened. Would she be more or less worried?

            "Camille, come help me deal with Mrs. Chronis. She's going hysterical!" Another anxious woman approached her.

            "I'll be right there! Ugh, the havoc this place has been going through since morning. You wouldn't believe it, but corrupt politics are normal around here. There's no difference between the government and the mafia, honestly." She looked at me again, "Anyway, thank you for coming. I hope you visit again soon, my poor niece, living all by yourself in that big city. Be sure to call often! And remember, we're just a plane ride away." She bid her goodbye with a hug and a kiss.

I would have taken offense to her nonchalance had it not been for my numbing stupor, but at the same time, I didn't expect any more attachment from a woman I had met just a few times in my life. But I wondered if the group of men I saw last night were actually part of the mafia. If so, Aunt Camille may be a lot more clever than I gave her credit for.

            "Why did you leave me behind?! To deal with all the humiliation by myself? Oh Lord, save me from this misery!" Mrs. Chronis screeched as Mr. Chronis' body was taken by on a stretcher.

            I tried to look away, dreading the sight, but failed. The white clothe moved as they passed, revealing part of the corpse's forehead. The fresh blood I witnessed last night had dried to a crusty maroon, but the hole was still very evident. I felt sick; the familiar feeling of lightheadedness came back.

            I had to get out of here.

            With that thought, I stumbled down the stairs and met the taxi service. The man had managed to maneuver his car through the media vans and police cars with ease, reminding me of how the poor infrastructure of the area created the most experienced drivers.

            "Please take me to the airport." I told the driver after getting in.

            I laid my head against the window, attempting to tune out reality by resting my eyes. Big mistake. I could see those images clearer with my eyes closed than open. Those haunting eyes, the frenzied widow, the bullet hole...

   "My husband would never do such a thing!"

 "No, no please sir, I have a family, a wife and children!"

"You should have thought of that before messing with us."

"I beg you, please spare me!"

"Hold it to your head."

"He's not that kind of a man! He was an honest man, he would never commit suicide!"

"Please... I'm begging you..."

            My eyes shot open. I couldn't handle this. Corrupted or not, that man was murdered. It wasn't suicide; his family shouldn't have to suffer that shame. I couldn't help but think of the Greek goddess Themis, who's existence Lady Justice is derived from in every courtroom. How could proudly I don my black robe in the future and fail to uphold the very system it rests on? 

            "Driver, could you please take me to the nearest police station instead? It'll just be a quick stop."

            Or so I thought.