Bellmare

Aubrey Posen hated the crown molding in her apartment. It clashed abrasively with the dull gray that slathered the walls and descended in four even steps. She thought it was ugly when she found the place but the hardwood floors made up for the inconsistency in eras. So she ignored it and signed the yearlong lease. She never tended to look up anyway, so what was the harm?

The crown molding was the only thing that she could focus her stare on now. She had read through the paperwork and she couldn’t take a sledgehammer to it even if she wanted to. It made her angry, and she thought she was frowning but couldn’t be sure, because that hideous crown molding wouldn’t be the last thing she saw before everything went dark.

She could smell the greasy odor of the sesame chicken she had ordered from the restaurant down the street as it wafted from the counter. It mixed nicely with a new metallic kind of scent- and Aubrey didn’t’ realize what it was at first.

Getting shot didn’t hurt.

Not the pure action of a lead bullet entering the soft area of her stomach, or the one that hit her knee. It felt like the time right before Christmas when her family took photos on the beach, before dusk. There were horseflies that had no mercy for them- and their bites stung, but they weren’t debilitating. Not in the slightest.

But now her stomach burned and her mouth filled with blood, and she was staring at that stupid crown molding. So it wasn’t an insect with a vengeance, not in the dead winter in New York City. It couldn’t be; so the logical connection was that she had been shot. Twice.

There was broken glass from her balcony and a draft. She felt cold and tired and the front door was left open to the hallway because that was the way that the man had exited. He had missed her the first time, but she was an easy target, standing still in nothing but shock.

She flexed her fingers and wiggled her toes and realized that she wasn’t paralyzed. She could feel every breath move through her lungs and the discomfort of her spine pressing against the wood floor. Aubrey was in and out of consciousness and she couldn’t’ tell for how long. Not initially.

Aubrey had memorized her neighbor’s habits; what times she came and went from classes at the local community college. It wouldn’t be long before she padded up the stairs, refusing to take the elevator, no matter how secure, and found her door open. But she wondered half-heartedly if she would make it that long.

Had she done everything she hoped for in life? She had gotten good grades, had gone backpacking around Europe a year after she graduated college with a bachelor's, traveling was always good. And she had powered through all three years of law school. She hadn’t gotten married, but that was fine. Not many people do, and nowadays something like that didn’t last.

Aubrey had graduated to a prosecuting attorney and had convicted so many people; including the Ripper of Manhattan- that was her golden case, the one that put her in the running to become a DA. One more case and she had it in the bag, one high profile case.

She supposed, as she lay on the hard wooden floor staring at the spotty architecture, that this was a possibility. Something that wasn’t quite a robbery, something that was intentional. Aubrey Posen wasn’t dense, she knew that she had made enemies, that this last court case was a rough one, the whole city was watching.   

Her consciousness wavered again and she felt a cold puddle of blood soak into her shirt. She had hung her blazer against the back of the chair. But she was oddly content- tired if anything. But she was sure that had to do with the 60 hour work weeks.

There was a jingle of keys and the muffled sound of music. Jessica was home and she had removed a headphone. The girl was probably staring tentatively at the open door and Aubrey hoped desperately in her solitude that her fingers were visible. That any part of her was.  

“Bree?” She called out, her words strung together. “I have mace!”

Mace. Aubrey would have scoffed if she could, but everything was becoming harder to do and that acid burn in her abdomen hissed with every breath. She listened as her neighbor walked cautiously into the apartment. It wasn’t long before she spotted her.

“Holy shit, Aubrey!” She felt Jessica drop to her knees, felt her hands, cold from the winter night, on the side of her face, and then on her neck as she pressed for a pulse. She didn’t mind the blood or the fluttering of Aubrey’s eyes “Help! We need help in here!”

She scrambled for her phone, dialing 911 fast. There were more footsteps and the scent of chicken still lingered like a bad hangover. Jessica stayed by her side, and a male voice countered her own. She swore she felt someone pushing down on her chest but latched onto the familiar voice instead.

“…719 East Ord Street- yes, we’re on the second floor. My neighbor has been shot I don’t know how long she’s been here I just found her. Yes, she has a pulse, it’s weak. Please- you have to hurry.” There was a hand on her shoulder, squeezing “You’ve got to keep your eyes open for me, okay? Someone will be here soon.”

When was this place built? The molding shouldn’t be this out of style. It doesn’t match the stainless steel of the appliances or the nice wooden floor. It clashed with her throw pillows, and she’s bought at least seven different ones just to make it acceptable. But nothing was.

            She doesn’t remember waking up. It’s not something Aubrey put too much thought into until it came into question whether she would or not. There was an uncomfortably bright light that buzzed like a trapped fly above her head and a television in the corner of the puke-colored room that played soap operas.

Aubrey could tell from the bad acting and the grainy quality of the scene in front of her. She knew she was in a hospital room; the beeping of the monitors and the IV that was taped roughly to the top of her hand gave that away. They could never find a vein in her arm because it was right on top of a nerve. She hated getting blood drawn, and hated ones lodged into her tendons even more.

She blinked a few times, focusing on the dotted ceiling tiles as she moaned. Not so much from the pain, which was ever-present, but from the stiffness of her body. The heart monitor picked up, and whoever had turned on the television in the first place flicked it off.

“Easy,” Jessica’s voice came from the side of the bed, and an instant wave of calm washed over her body. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Her bed was somewhat propped, facing the busy hallway. It must be evening, she assumed. From the lack of nurses at the station directly across from them. There was a guard sitting in a metal chair in front of the glass windows, skimming through a magazine that she couldn’t’ quite read.

A cynical part of Aubrey expected more people to be here. There was a vase of purple flowers on a side table that had begun to welt and a card that had her practices logo on the side of it. Jessica had her laptop open to a school assignment- and she didn’t’ know what else to expect. She didn’t’ have very many friends in the city unless the wardens at the prison counted. She became well acquainted with them each time she walked through the doors to speak to a client.  

“Where am I?” She asked, regardless.

“A Hospital in Baltimore, you had an accident.”

An accident? She supposed that was the simple way of putting it. It had been no accident, though. Someone was sitting on her couch when she walked through her front door. They knew where she lived when she would get home. Who she was, and they easily raised a 9mm and fired off three rounds.

“How long have I been here?”

“Three weeks.” Jessica frowned, trying to remember the exact time “You’ve had twelve surgeries. It’s a miracle that you’re even here right now.”

Aubrey didn’t’ think it was quite a miracle, but she still held her life in her hands. What a life it was, so focused on trial after trial. She lifted her chin weakly at the guard “Who’s that guy?”

Her neighbor hesitated and then let out a small breath “He’s here for your protection. They still don’t know who shot you.”

There was a thick form of tension in the room and Aubrey felt her fingers curl around the fabric of the bed. The needle in her hand tugged so she unwound them. “What are you not telling me, Jess?”

Her neighbor stepped away from the bed and flicked on the television again. This time she changed the channel to the news; a generic reporter stood in front of their apartment building. His eyes were dark and tired, a hat pulled down over his hair, and his nose red and raw. She struggled to focus her eyes on the moving text at the bottom of the screen. It used to be so easy to listen to the monotone words and the flashing subtitles.

MANHATTEN PROSECUTOR FOUND SLAIN. KILLER STILL AT LARGE.

She didn’t’ understand; the television continued to drone on but she wasn’t listening. Had this been a serial attack? Was she a lucky one out of all of the lawyers in the city? She wasn’t aware of anyone else in their building having a background in law.

Her heart monitor must have picked up its pace because Jessica’s hand was wrapped around hers, calming and warm and grounding. “Hey, hey, relax. You’re here, okay?”

“They’re talking about me?”

She nodded “Aubrey, you were the last on a long list of people. The case you’re working on, all of the witnesses… they weren’t as lucky as you.”

She swallowed the cotton taste in her mouth and made a small noise. There was always a danger to her job, angry people with access to firearms. She didn’t flinch at the profanities shouted at her as she walked down the halls of the state facility, or the horrible articles spread about the people she put away being innocent. But she never expected this, never wanted this.

“I don’t understand” She whispered, frowning.

“They needed to make it look like you died, Aubrey.” Jessica explained, her voice was soft and sad “for your protection, you can’t stay in Manhattan. Not anymore.”