25. | the puzzle pieces

There are two types of people.

The first kind consists of people that, no matter the surroundings, hints or previous trust issues, take a long time to find the puzzle pieces, let alone putting them in the correct place. The second kind, however, consists of people that recognize a present connection, it doesn't take long for them to complete the entire puzzle.

I'm obviously the first kind.

As the questions in my head keep multiplying by the second and my brain feels like it might explode due to the pressure, two yellow post-it's on my desk catch my eye. I walk closer and pick up the first one to see an unfamiliar handwriting.

I knew you wouldn't accept to meet me alone, I understand. However, please come meet me at the nearest park to your house, tomorrow. It's a public area, so you don't have to worry. Just come alone, I can't afford to trust anyone. — Reed.

I frown as I take the other post-it next to it, smiling at the sight of a familiar writing. Ethan must have written it when I had to leave my office because I was summoned by another guard.

I know that even if I told you to not go, you'd be stubborn and still go so just be careful Daisy. You deserve to know more.

After reading both post-it's, I text Cole and Lexi both to ask which one of them is available tomorrow morning. I'm just going to insist on having someone next to me.

The next morning arrives rather quickly, as I am already in my office working on some stuff I'm behind on. I munch on my toast while typing out a report on a client. Cole has texted me back about having to work all day, Lexi told me she had to leave this morning due to some family emergency.

Before my conscious kicks in and stops me, I grab my bag from the couch and walk out of my office, locking the door behind me. Trying to not catch anyone's eye, I hurry down the hallway while calling a cab to pick me up.

Once again, I am reminded of the fact that I should really start driving lessons. It's not even the money, this paid work practice is more than enough to pay for it, but it seems like I just can't find the time to actually call and plan a first lesson. Another thing that should be added to my to do list, but first: let's see what Reed has to tell me.

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"Thanks." I say as I hand the cab driver the money for the ride and jump out of the car. This feels like the third time this week. Taking a bus would also be an option but honestly, I really do not have enough patience to wait for those.

I shiver as the cold winter wind blows in my face, cover half of my face with the fuzzy scarf around my neck and start walking to the area where I think he'll be waiting for me. I continue following the main path, glancing around at people walking by. I squint my eyes and notice a male figure in the distance.

As the figure sitting on the bench next to a ditch comes closer, my steps become faltered. He turns around after sensing my presence and stands up to his feet right away.

"You actually showed up?" He speaks in surprise. Yeah, I'm just as surprised.

"I'm just desperate for answers." I shrug as I shove my freezing hands in my pockets. "You better make it worth it, Reed."

He lets out a silent chuckle as he does the same with his hands. "Yeah, let's go inside and I'll tell you everything I know." He nods towards a little café near us and I approve, following him inside. I don't plan on freezing out here.

After ordering some warm drinks, we walk over to a silent corner and I wait for him to start talking. He just keeps fumbling with the local paper he took from the empty table next to us.

"Will you start anytime soon?" I break the silence while glaring at the way he's acting.

I've never seen him this nervous, this vulnerable before, making me wonder what on earth this man has done.

"Three years ago," he begins, wiping the sweat from his palms on his thighs. "I was jobless, homeless and just lonely for way too long. I had been wandering the streets for months and I had no hope for life whatsoever. I got money from people who either pitied me, or I stole and spent all of it on drugs and alcohol. Basically, anything that would help me forget about my crappy life, my reality."

I don't say a word and lean towards him, wrapping my palms around the cup to warm them up. Making sure to have an open body language, I try to make him comfortable. The more comfortable, the more he'll tell.

"One day, I was just walking around town as a drunk man, the usual. I didn't notice a car was following me, so I kept walking at a normal pace. But after minutes passed, I got suspicious and started running as fast as I could in that drunken state. They kept following me and drove me to a dead end. I thought they could be undercover agents, following and checking up on me for my crime record. But much to my surprise, they looked rather... normal? One of them was a middle-aged man—"

"My dad?" I can't help myself but interrupt him, not taking my eyes of his to make sure he doesn't twist the truth. After all, I'm a psychology student, I notice when people start lying.

"Yes." He breathes out, looking at me directly. "But he wasn't alone. There was this younger guy next to him. He had a face mask covering the lower half of his face and a black beanie covering his hair, but I could see blonde locks sticking out."

"What color were his eyes?" I ask, eager to find out more about this newly introduced player in our wicked game. Blonde locks sound an awful lot like someone I know, after all. Still, it's not like blonde hair is a rare thing in the United States.

"Piercing blue. But there was this darkness behind them that stopped me from looking at them for more than a few seconds."

Before letting him continue his story, I ask further. "Did he look the slightest bit familiar? Is it someone I might know?"

"Kind of yeah, just hard to figure out where from. And no, I don't think so." He stops fumbling with the paper and throws it on the table between us. "But honestly, I'm not sure about anything anymore these days."

I sigh, nodding, familiar to the feeling of not even trusting your own thoughts, things you once thought you knew for sure.

"Go on," I force myself to take a sip of my drink in order to warm my insides, "I feel like you haven't told me the actual part that matters."

I sound convincing as the words leave my mouth, but am I really ready for the blow I am about to receive?

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O L I V E R R E E D

I look at the broken yet strong woman in front of me, once again reminding myself that this will help with my guilt.

Taking a deep inhale of breath, my mind goes back to that day and my mouth starts to spill, taking her with me by describing every single detail I can bring myself to remember.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, my voice clearly shaking from way too many drinks and the fear of these unknown men in front of me. "I will make a scene if you step closer I swear."

"Chill," The younger one with the face mask speaks in a disturbingly calm voice. "We just want to do some business."

"With me?" I slightly laugh to cover my panic, "I think you have the wrong guy." I'm just a homeless drunk.

"No, you're exactly the one we were looking for." He clenches his jaw with every word he pronounces, his calm demeanor quickly evolving into a demanding one. I notice the outline of a gun strapped to his side, almost as if he made it visible to me on purpose. He probably did exactly that.

Reading the room, I take a few steps back. "Look man, I don't want to be a part of some creepy homicide or rich people business. I have a lot of shit on my record, but murder will not be one of them." I hold my hands up in a defensive manner, desperate to save myself from this situation. My eyes fall behind them, could I make my way around them and run? But then again, everything's a blur. For fuck's sake, why did I drink this much?

The older one chuckles, making unpleasant chills run down my spine. "What makes you think we want you to kill someone?" He glances quickly at the younger one. "The job has been done. We're just going to need you to do some covering. And fast, it has to happen tonight."

I shake my head because I know where this is heading. Being a part of a first-degree murder, even if it's covering up one, will get me behind bars for many years.

And I do not want to rot the rest of my already pathetic life in prison.

Yet, when I look at my surroundings, I sadly realize that jail might be luxurious to me. An actual bed, instead of benches in parks. Food, water, books, a roof above my head and maybe even a small TV or a radio.

As my mind wanders to that kind of life, my mouth speaks for me.

"What is in it for me? Besides risking to end up in jail for a mighty long while."

The older one takes a few steps closer to me, patting me on the shoulder.

"You're going to jail," he smiles wickedly, "but not as an inmate. Of course, if you strictly follow the orders in the plan we've been making for weeks now."

I stare at him with my mouth slightly open and a thousand question marks in my mind. Without me having to ask, he starts explaining.

"I'll get you a guard job at the California state prison. You will be able to make actual money and pick up your life again, as a free man. I will make sure your entire record gets wiped clean." He winks at me and my eyes follow the younger one who takes a black bag from the backseat of the car.

He must have noticed my frown at his last sentence and adds an explanation to it. "Let's just say I can make the governor eat from the palm of my hand, son." God, this has become even more wicked.

"All you have to do is stick to the plan, it's written on a note in the bag. But most importantly, no matter what happens. You will not tell anyone we were the ones making you do this. I don't think your sick dad would enjoy getting punished for what his son has done, right?" He glares at me, knowing he got me wrapped around his finger with that final sentence. "Do we have a deal, Reed?"

"And you had no choice but to accept the offer." Brooklyn finishes for me, shaking me out of my trance.

"Yes." I answer, looking up from my feet. "It was selfish, but I had been on the streets for too long. I was exhausted, weak and by mentioning my dad, they knew they would convince me into doing the damned job. They knew I couldn't decline the offer."

Instead of glaring at me, Brooklyn sends me a rather empathetic look. "What was in the bag?" She asks calmly.

I frown, remembering the contents of the bag, and how disgusted I was at the sight of it. "The plan, a few bloody clothes, a Q-tip with blood on one side and a pair of keys."

She clearly swallows, her expression changing into a sad frown, once again realizing it's her mother's blood I'm talking about.

"The plan was simple. They were going to blame the murder on Ethan. They never told me why Ethan, even though I tried asking. I told them that I should at least know why I would be a part of ruining a teenager's life. Your dad said that it was a deep, emotional case but like I said, never did he tell my why. To be honest, I was afraid of asking any further. He was armed and I was sure he was capable of murder."

My mouth feels dry, but my chest feels lighter already. I take a few sips from my coffee, which has turned lukewarm by now. "They gave me an address. I went at night and left blood traces on the door with the Q-tip. I had to drop the clothes in a bin, about 200 meters from the house, along with some other stuff that was stained with h- her blood and his DNA." I admit my cooperation to the cover-up.

"Everything went right, I did everything according to the plan, but the entire time I realized and felt the guilt of ruining this innocent person's life. God, it was so selfish of me."

I let out another frustrated sigh, eager to finish this disturbing story which I am ashamed of, the story of how I climbed up to where I am now.

By dragging someone else down.

"They arrested Ethan the morning after because all the evidence led to him. And I got what I was promised." I look at Brooklyn, who looks like she's deep in her thoughts. Before I have to speak up, she does.

"If you knew Ethan was innocent all along, then why did you constantly shade him, tell me to stay away from him?" She finally asks the question I was already expecting. "Searching him and finding a self-made knife in his pocket, all to make me think badly about him. You know they used that as evidence in court, to prove that he was planning on more violence, right?"

"I didn't want you to find out about how big of a coward I am. Ethan knows I'm involved; he just doesn't know how exactly. I know this sounds terrible, but it felt like I was trying to protect myself. I needed time to talk to you, I didn't want someone else to tell my story, incorrectly, to you."

I don't look her into the eyes as I continue, "Your father made me find that knife in his pocket that day, it's been a while. And I was upset he had a bond with you, honestly. I'm over it, and I know the more I speak, the more of an idiot I sound like. I wish I could make it right; I swear I wish I could. There is not a day in which I do not regret it which is why I decided to quit the job yesterday."

She huffs at this, "Quitting your job won't give Ethan either his freedom or his past three years back, will it?" she finishes, folding her arms.

"I know it won't, but let's not forget that the actual culprit is still out there. I was merely the homeless drunk that did some of the dirty cover-up work.

She sighs as she lets her face drop into her two palms, while leaning onto the table with her elbows. After a few minutes of silence, she breaks it with another question. "What about the keys?"

The keys. "The keys were to some sort of storage bunker thing, just out of town. I had to put the bag and other remaining stuff there and was supposed to drop the keys in a ditch, but I never did." I answer, once again causing Brooklyn to frown.

"Wait," she speaks up, looking as if she's on the verge of finding something. "What was the code of that bunker?"

I close my eyes trying to remember the code. It's been three years, after all. "I think, I might have typed it into my notes that day." I realise out loud and quickly take out my phone, opening the notes app. I scroll all the way down to the old ones, trying to find the code.

"C. 3576 A..." I read, causing Brooklyn to jump up from her chair.

"That's it, that's the code I found a few days ago!" She lets out a breath. "Where are the keys? You have to give me the keys and location of the bunker, Reed."

"I can drive you?" I offer, not wanting to let her go alone.

She doesn't even think before nodding frantically. "Let's go." She nods towards the door and I follow after her, hoping she'll be able to forgive me slowly for what I've done if I help her. I'm hoping for her forgiveness, more than anything. But not only hers.

Hoping that I can make things right, even with Ethan.

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A/N; hello lovelies, brooklyn's making some real progress now ;) hope it was enjoyable to read something from reed's pov for once!

i hope there aren't any typos i've overseen, though i think there are. i have the worst headache and can't bear to look at my screen for any longer. have a nice weekend <3

thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.

please don't forget to vote & comment, i really enjoy reading every single one of them.

— lyra b.