Learning to Trust: Curtain Falls

Although it happens everywhere every day, there is no way to fully
(and properly)
prepare
to deal with
death. You can brace yourself for impact
(which might be imperfect)
,
or shirk and hide, burying it all inside of you
and
pretending that it was never a real thing at all
(also imperfect)
.

Th
e problem is, when you hold onto it like that
, it
can become
like a poison, one that rushes through your veins and e
ventually drowns you in an absolute sea of sorrow—
un
less
you embrace it.
By delaying, you create the literal possibility of a mountain out of a molehill, a ceaseless avalanche, a crumbling, decaying structure that houses nothing but poorly addressed regret and hurt. Going head-to-head with death hurts more up front, but lessens the long-term burden.

I
lost relatives growing up like most kids. None of them were that close to me, so it wasn't that huge of a deal
. Sure, I was sad when my
grandmother passed away—but it wasn't for me at all what it was like for my mother. She cried and cried and cried, a significant part of her life suddenly wiped away. The only thing that remained was memories, memories that she could pretend to perceive with her senses, pretend to experience in her mind. It was only temporary
pain
though, and soon time began to clean the slate.

It became harder for her to remember, harder for her to
feel
. I wouldn't want to call it
numbness
, because I don't think that's w
hat it was. It was more of a gre
y acceptance, something that was bland, yet satisfying enough to permit
her to move on
.
She wanted it, yet she didn't want to admit that she did. And that wa
s exactly how I felt right now—
I was begging to be over this, even though I hadn't come to terms with any of it.
Imperfect
.

Is this how
soldiers
felt?
Assassins
?
CEOs
of companies that acted immoral and greedy? I honestly felt like my skeleton wanted to burst out of my body, my backbone and morals departing and leaving me a flimsy mess of sagging flesh and blood. As usual, I was thinking about the consequences of my actions, wishing that I'd never met with
Ramón
even though I was a part of something
much
greater than myself.

Damnit!
Why had I listened to him when he told me to do the drop-off?
This was
his
fault, right? It wasn't
my
fault. I just was playing along with his bigger scheme!

But p
eople were
dead
. Not just that scumbag,
Marcu
s—
innocent people
. There was a bomb in that briefcase and I'm the one that took it into the building. Sure, I could try to blame the guard outside for not checking the contents of the case more thoroughly. I could blame
Ramón
for telling me to do it. I could blame Roland for obviously masterminding the whole thing.
Yes
, I had to blame Roland no matter what. But there still was that inevitable fact that
I
took the case in there and left it.

I started to sob, thinking about how much I had hated Marcus after our encounter. He was an awful, awful man, but I hadn't wished for anything like this. Yeah, he got what was coming to him—but why did it have to be
this
? Thinking about the previous day—that beautiful, perfect day with Roland that every girl dreamed of—made my nausea return. I was dry heaving and crying at the same ti
me, my tears collecting in the water of the toilet bowl
.

God, people had died at my hands
.
Damn you, Roland!

I cursed the day I ever took the assignment to come here. All I wanted to do was move up, to get a good story and establish myself as an authority in the industry. Sure, this was a
great story
, all right. I was right in the middle of the action,
dead center
amongst the controversy. Couldn't I go to
jail
over this? The thought brought out even more tears.

How much could I possibly cry
?
I was certain I'd never work as a reporter again after this.
I felt ashamed to even
consider myself a reporter at all.

Time became a blur, and I stayed in the bathroom until I could stand up again. Had it been
hours
?
Minutes
? I had no clue. I left my purse and cell phone by my desk. I had to get out of there. I had to eject
now
. It didn't matter what I would be leaving at Roland's or anything else. I was a total wreck.

I flushed the toilet multiple times, the spiralin
g of the water so hypnotic to my weary, impressionable self
. Oh yes, I wanted to flush it again and again
, to distract myself from anything that mattered
. Finally
,
I got a grip and walked to the sink. My eyes were
swollen
from all of the crying. I splashed some water against my
blood
-red cheeks
. How appropriate!
Deep breaths...

The bathroom continued to hold me like a prison, my body rejecting the possibility of progress every time I sorted out my courage. I wasn't sure if I could face the world again after that. I just had to get moving. It would get easier. I'd be able to sort out my feelings, only if I could move, only if I could—

After losing track of time again, I was
finally
ready to leave the bathroom. My heart was pounding as I flipped the lock on the door. Thankfully
,
no one had come to this bathroom
while I did my languishing
. It was in the end o
f the building that most of the employees never came to. I peeked my head into the hall. Empty.

Doing my best to maintain my composure, I walked back into my office and sat down. I needed to get out of there, but first I needed to ensure I wasn't just going to collapse into pieces
if I walked too fast
. I was struck with somewhat of a morbid curiosity, so I decided to check the news about the event, to see what had been released to the public. Oh yes, this was big news, all right.

12 DEAD AFTER DOWNTOWN BOMBING

Investigators struggling to piece together
information about heinous downtown crime. Potential terrorism links.

This was serious as hell.
Terrorism?
I was praying that
Ramón
would figure out the connection.
Oh god
, I needed to call him.

They went on to mention
the Provence
and the collapsing apartments above the restaurant. Just reading it was making me feel ill again.
This was such big news.
Then
I got to the part in the middle:

The only suspect is a
female with dark-brown hair that was captured by area security cameras entering and leaving the restaurant around 20 minutes before the bombing occurred. If you have any information that could aid investigators, please call the police department or the anonymous tip line provided below.

Blackness—there it was, growing inside of me again like cancer.

Damnit, damnit, damnit!
I was a
suspect
! This was impossible, the worst nightmare imaginable. Roland had held me at the secluded place in the woods so that I wouldn't know what I had done! I thought about that notification sound his phone had given right as we pulled up.
It was someone telling him that it was all over. The bomb had gone off.
The path was clear
now. Roland's deal could finally go through.
Nothing else stood in his way.

He must have jammed my phone somehow, prevented mine from receiving any signal while his continued to function. I didn't think about it at all after it happened. Roland had been sloppy as hell, and I just totally missed it. Well, he hadn't been sloppy about
everything
. No one was suspecting him, but then again, why should they?

Suddenly there was a knocking at my door. I almost screamed. It was the receptionist.

"Hey, Marisa," she said. "I was wondering when you were gonna be back. There were a couple of guys here looking for you. Pretty serious looking. Maybe cops. I told 'em to get lost."

I continued to sit there in silence, my face totally blank. My hand started trembling on the desk, so I trapped it between my thighs. "T-t-t-thanks," I said. "I don't know what they wanted."

"Me neither. I've got to go though." She closed the door again and left. The messenger spoke—and then departed. Somebody was already after me. Were they cops? Or even worse, Marcus's goons?
I wasn't sure if Ramón would have actually interacted with the local police force or just kept to FBI business.

It became very clear to me that I needed to run. I needed to go somewhere and call
Ramón
. I shut off my computer and gathered my things, dimming the lights in my office and staring out through the cracks in the blinds. According to my phone, it was the late afternoon—and my battery was low.
Great!
It was still too early for Roland's car to arrive. I guess I'd just walk somewhere and then take a cab. But to
where
?
Should I just turn myself in to the police? At that point, I was legitimately entertaining the idea.

I crept out of my office and headed toward the door, walking briskly, but trying not to attract any additional attention. As I neared the door, I started to increase my pace, to walk faster and faster, approaching that goal, that precious—

Collision!

"Whoa, Marisa!" Frederic said. I had run right into him.
Oh god, Frederic!
In so many ways, he felt like the only guy I could trust. I mean, he was close to Roland, but they'd had their differences recently. For some reason, I just
went for it
.