Sara

8

"I'm telling you," Michaelson continued. "It was pretty good for a last minute substitution with the victim. We had had our stories planned for Fields' murder for weeks! But then Darius remembered about the voluntary manslaughter statute and we drew up a new story to fit Leah's murder."

The other guy laughed as Sara fought against her rising anger. They were treating Leah's death like it was nothing, just a minor adjustment to whatever plan they were talking about! A mad desire to jump out of the bathroom and shoot Michaelson through the chest like Darius had shot Leah swept over her and Sara leaned against the door, hands over her mouth in an effort to swallow back a scream of rage. Just keep listening just keep listening just keep listening.

"So I testified that I was Darius' wife, Leah's, lover," Michaelson added. "I mean, who wouldn't cheat on Darius to get some of this?" He sounded very self-satisfied as he laughed again, like he hadn't just plotted Sara's sister's murder, a flesh and blood individual who hadn't deserved any of this. She had just wanted to divorce Darius, to get out of whatever life he had really been leading.

"Sounds like it went well," Michaelson's companion observed. "Is he getting the plea deal?"

"Yeah," Michaelson replied. "I haven't heard how many years he's getting yet, but I know the DA personally, and I think she'll recommend a light sentence to the judge. He might even get out with just a year!"

"A year for two murders," the companion laughed. "Man, what a guy! He'll be at the top when you two are done with this job."

"What can I say?" Michaelson said triumphantly. "He's got me for a handler. If he doesn't end up with the reputation as the best in the business, it'll be through no fault of mine."

"How does he plan to take out –" the companion started, but approaching footsteps made Sara realize someone was about to enter the bathroom.

Jumping backward, she scurried into a stall and slid the lock shut, panting. She heard the bathroom door open and footsteps pad into the stall next to hers and Sara took a deep breath, struggling to get her heartrate under control.

Eugene Michaelson had just admitted his lie. He had lied, like Sara had suspected, about his affair with Leah. It had been made up, completely false, to try and explain why Darius would suddenly pull his gun on his wife of four years and shoot her. Darius had murdered Leah because she knew too much, and Michaelson had helped him cover it up so he would get a lighter sentence.

A little voice spoke in Sara's mind. If Leah was killed for knowing too much, you might want to watch your step. You already know too much. You'll be next.

Not if I have anything to say about it, Sara told herself grimly, and curled her fingers around the gun in her coat pocket.

Reaching behind her, she flushed the toilet and exited the stall amid the noise, quickly washing her hands in the sink and drying them on a couple of paper towels. After using the towels to open the door, she tossed them in the trash and reentered the bar, forcing herself to glance at Michaelson and smile thankfully before proceeding back to her seat and the fresh mug of beer that waited there, courtesy of the liar. She wanted to shudder at the sight of his grin, but kept herself from reacting.

What now?

Sara pretended to take a sip from her mug, careful to not even let the beer touch her lips this time. Having left the drink unoccupied for too long, she had no idea what someone could have slipped inside it, intending to drug her for unspeakable purposes.

So, what exactly is Darius' job? Is he a hitman or something? And who's the victim of the second murder? He's only killed Leah.

So far, anyway.

Sara mulled over her options as she set her mug of beer down, her hand going to her pocket again. She needed to speak to Michaelson, actually speak to him, but not here, not in front of his associates. No, she needed to speak to him where no one else could see them.

An idea came over Sara, an idea so repulsive she shuddered. No. No, no, no. No way in hell could I ever do that.

The image of Leah in her coffin, cold and still, appeared in Sara's mind and she steeled herself. I don't have any other options at this point, do I? This is the best one. I'm still armed, I can still protect myself if things go too far.

For Leah. I'll do it for Leah.

Oh, man, sis, do you really owe me now.

Sara eyed the beer sitting before her and pushed it away slightly, standing and heading over to Michaelson's booth in the corner. "I just wanted to thank you again," she gushed as he and his companion, an African American with curly hair cut close to his scalp, glanced up at her. "For sending that awful drunk away. It was so brave of you, so gentlemanly."

Michaelson exchanged a glance with his companion, grinning. Sara didn't like the look in his eyes but forced herself not to flee. "Um, perhaps this is a bit presumptuous of me, but may I know your name? I'd hate to have to refer to you only as my rescuer from here on out."

Michaelson laughed. "Eugene. Although I don't mind being called your rescuer. Makes me sound so heroic."

Something which you will never be.

"I'm Sara," Sara said, giving him another brilliant smile. She lifted one shoulder, tilting it forward slightly. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," Michaelson said, eyes continuing to gleam, and he glanced across at his companion. "I think we've finished up here anyway, haven't we, Sam?"

"Yep," Sam said, standing. "Have a good night, you two."

"Oh, we will," Michaelson called after him as Sara slid onto the seat beside him. his arm snaking around her shoulders. "We most certainly will, won't we, Sara?"

Sara leaned toward him, keeping her eyes fixed on his gleaming green ones. "Oh, most definitely, Eugene."

/**/

So, Sara's plan is under way. We'll find out if it works....

What do you think? Of what Sara's discovered so far, of what little you know of her plan, of the story in general?

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it; please vote and comment!

Skylar Wittenborn