Fracture

34. Stella

CHAPTER 34

STELLA

A cool breeze blows through the golden leaves as I walk the path down the side of the modest white house. Six steps lead down to a door with a giant biohazard sign on it, and I knock three times. I wait for a moment, hearing movement inside, which then stops. After 30 seconds or so, the door remains closed, so I knock again, louder this time.

“I’m not here!” The man’s voice is tight with irritation.

“Well, maybe you can be here for just a minute, this won’t take long!”

There’s shuffling, and suddenly the door flies open to reveal a skinny young man with scruffy dark hair, lip rings, and a thick spider tattoo around his neck. He gazes at me curiously with his dark brown eyes, tonguing one of the lip rings before his mouth lifts in a smile.

“I’d say I’m happy a pretty girl finally made it down here, but I don’t think you’re here for me, are you?”

I shrug, lightly. “Sorry, Flea, not today.”

“Damn.” He steps to the side and gestures into his apartment. “Would the lady like to come in? Excuse the mess, I wasn't expecting company. Though I am impressed you managed to find me.”

“Hmm, I have my ways.”

I step over the threshold, into a dimly lit room. It’s hardly messy, everything neatly lined and orderly, the only sign of any mess is some diet coke cans lined up on the window sill beside the desk. The desk that holds three enormous computer screens, where lines of code flip wildly and location pins move on maps.

“I hope I haven’t interrupted, you seem busy,” I say as I turn to face Flea, who closes the apartment door and leans back against it.

“It’s fine. For you, I’ll make time.”

“Well, thanks.” I sigh, shifting on my feet. “It’s sort of strange, you know so much about me and I know nothing about you.”

“That’s kind of the point of a hacker,” Flea replies with a crooked grin. “Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me.”

“That’s kind of what I’m banking on.”

Flea lifts an eyebrow and folds his arms over his chest. “Oh yeah?”

“Have you been watching the news? Kept up with the case?”

“Your case?” His face remains neutral, and his shoulders jerk in a little shrug. “I guess so. A few details keep filtering through.”

“And are there any details you think are missing?”

Flea’s poker face is award-worthy. His expression doesn’t shift an inch. He simply gazes at me, the corners of his mouth turning down for a split second before another nonchalant shrug twitches at his skinny shoulders.

“I have no idea. You tell me.”

“In the seizure of Levi’s family property, the police recovered a diary, with appointments in it.” I look out the window at the late afternoon sunshine, illuminating the slowly changing leaves. “Those appointments pertain to some abuse I was forced to endure.”

“Well, you’re right, that hasn’t been mentioned at all.”

I look back at him with a bitter smile. “That’s right. But you and I both know they have it.” I take a step closer to him, hugging my arms around my waist. “You’ve seen it, right?”

Flea scoffs. “What makes you think I’ve seen it?”

“My stepmother wasn’t stupid. She would have never kept only a physical copy of that book. She had those details elsewhere, and since you’ve most certainly hacked every bit of technology this family possesses, I know you’ve seen it.”

I keep my eyes locked on him, as though I can draw the truth out of him if I just look at him long enough. But it doesn’t even take that long. Flea’s shoulders slump, his hands falling from his chest to be tucked into the pockets of his ripped jeans, his gaze dropping from mine as he sighs.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “I’m so fucking sorry that all happened to you. It’s was so… so wrong.”

“Thank you. It was.” I take another step towards him, dipping my head a little to try and meet his eyes. “I need that list, Flea.”

His head lifts and he gives me a side glance. “What are you going to do with it?”

“What I should have done years ago, but I was always too scared to do.” I shrug and shake my head. “I know that Dylan and Levi won’t let this go, and I think you knew that, too. Which is why you never handed that list over, right?”

Now I have surprised him, and the poker face is gone. His eyebrows shoot up, underneath the tousle of dark hair covering his forehead.

“I just… I didn’t want…” He breaks off, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“You didn’t want Dylan getting hurt.” I finish for him, and give him a warm smile. “And you knew he would, if he went after all those powerful men. That’s why you framed Michael Gray, for what happened at the house that night.”

“Hey, now…” Flea pushes off the door, putting one hand on his hip and gesturing to the air with the other. “I mean, I’m not admitting anything, and you’re a lawyer you know-”

“I’m not here to get you in trouble, Flea, that's the last thing I want.”

He puffs out a heavy breath. “Dylan’s, you know, he’s alright. I was a kid in prison, I was barely 18. He looked after me, you know? I mean, look at me.” He gestures to his lithe torso, and hacks out a laugh. “I was an easy target, but he made sure no one bothered me. He’s a good man.” Flea’s voice is heavy with admiration. “And good men make mistakes. I didn’t want him to make another one.”

“So you kept that list to yourself, huh?”

“I guess so.” He tucks his hands back in his pockets, nodding his head slowly. “I don’t feel right keeping it from you, and I think you’re tired of all of this. If you really want to end it, do this the right way, then I’ll give it to you.”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do.”

“Good.” Flea moves to his bed, crouching down to pull out what looks like a military footlocker. He spins the dial on the padlock until it flips open, then reaches into the brown metal box. He withdraws a CD and a thumb drive, getting to his feet to hand them both to me.

“Don’t laugh,” he says as he waves the CD in my face. “These might be outdated technology but I like to be careful and back things up every way I can.”

I hold my hands up with a smile. “No laughing here, promise. I appreciate this.” I take the thumb drive and the CD from him. “I just want this all to be over.”

Flea sighs heavily, and squints at me. “You think it will be? I mean, if you name these men, don’t you think it’ll make things worse for you?”

“You know, I don’t know.” I put the items in my purse and turn back to face him. “But I’m done living my life like this. These men deserve to be punished, and if the police won’t do it, I’ll force their hand.”

“Good for you.” Flea nods, crossing his arms back across his chest. “I… I really am sorry all that happened to you. You seem nice, and you have good taste in books. I’m glad you’re, you know, you’re OK.”

“Thanks, Flea. I am.” I want to reach out and touch his arm, to maybe hug him, but I don’t think that kind of contact would be welcomed. It feels so hollow to just say thank you, but it’s all I can offer him. I fish my card out of my purse, and hand it to him. “If you ever need anything, call me.”

“Like, legal advice?” He asks cynically.

I can’t help but laugh. “Well, I hope you never need that again, but if you do, sure. But anything else - a place to stay, a job, maybe a date with a pretty girl?”

He eyes me with a smirk. “Oh yeah?”

“Sure. I know people.”

Flea laughs softly, rolling his shoulders. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that. Take care, Flea.” I give him one last warm smile, before I head out of his basement apartment and into the Fall sunshine. Back in my car, I take out my phone, pulling up the number and knowing it will be answered quickly.

“Stella?” Mallory’s voice is bright down the line. “How’s everything going?”

“Everything’s great, thanks.”

“Do you have the list?”

I swallow hard, putting my hand on my purse. “Yes, I do.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“Mallory, I’m not going to lie. I’m a little scared.”

“That’s totally normal,” she replies, and I can practically hear her smiling down the phone. “I am so proud of you. And you’re doing the right thing. I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah. I’m on my way.”

We hang up, and I dial Dylan’s number.

“Hey, guera ,” he drawls down the line. “Where are you?”

“I have a meeting. I just wanted you to know I’ll be home late.”

“No problem, we’ll be here.”

“Good.” I stay on the line, not saying anything, just staring at my purse.

“Stella?” Dylan’s voice is warm in my ear. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Everything’s great. I promise. I’ll explain when I get home.”

“OK.” He doesn’t sound too certain, but doesn’t press me for more details. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Give Levi a kiss for me.”

“I can do that.”

“Bye.” I hang up before he can respond, and start my car. The engine hums, and I stare out the windshield. This ends now. Under my terms .

The studio lights are brighter than I was expecting. My leg bounces against the soft velvet of the armchair, my fingers ticking restlessly in my lap. I don’t want to break out in sweat and look nervous on camera, so I take a few deep breaths.

You can do this. It’s going to be fine .

Mallory is talking to some colleagues, the final touches being applied to her makeup. She flips through a folder, nodding as the man beside her points to several pages. She closes the folder and waves off the makeup person, before striding across the studio to me.

She sits down in the armchair opposite, and says something quickly to the cameraman, something I don’t catch, because blood is roaring in my ears. When her gaze lands on me, her expression softens, and she reaches across to pat my knee.

“You’re doing great, Stella.”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “You won’t. You’re safe here, it’s just us.”

I suck in a breath and nod. “Just us. Yeah.”

“Ready?”

I nod again, clutching my hands together to stop them shaking. Mallory turns to gesture to a cameraman, and panic wells in my stomach.

“Mallory?” My voice wavers, and she turns back to face me instantly. “What if they don’t believe me?”

Mallory tilts her head, her eyes filled with compassion. She extends a hand to lay on top of mine. “They will. I believe you. Everyone here believes you. They will, too.”

I nod slowly, and puff out a breath. “Then let’s do it.”

Mallory settles back in her armchair, and dips her head to the cameraman. “Ready when you are.”

“Rolling,” he replies, and the studio falls completely silent.

Mallory’s gaze lands on me. “Just for the camera, I’d like you to say who you are, and why you’re here.”

I blink under the harsh lights, focusing on Mallory’s eyes. “My name,” I start slowly, “is Stella Langford. I’m the daughter of Harold Langford. I’m here because for years, my father sold me to powerful men for his own gain. And I want those men brought to justice.”