9
Bridget sat at her kitchen table, finishing case files. She smiled as strong fingers curled lightly around her eyes.
“Guess who?” came a voice behind her.
“Umm…” Bridget pretended to consider. “Joan Ferguson!”
“Fuck off!” Franky laughed, removing her hands. She leaned over, placing a soft kiss on Bridget’s lips.
Bridget hummed happily. “Mmmm,” she murmured. “That’s nice.”
“Well, of course!” Franky retorted, gently caressing her shoulder before heading toward the kitchen cupboards. “I am the epitome of lesbian lovers!” she exclaimed, rounding the table. “I am the pinnacle of pussy aficionados! I am…” she paused, rifling through the cupboards.
“You are hungry,” Bridget finished for her.
“I am hungry,” Franky agreed. “Seriously, Gidge, you would be too, after the day I’ve had.” She started to pull ingredients from Bridget’s shelves.
“Bad?” Bridget asked.
“I don’t even know where to begin!” Franky stated, grabbing a cutting board. “I assume you heard about the Freak?”
“That she was acquitted? I’ll have my work cut out for me tomorrow.”
“That’s only the half of it, Gidge,” Franky turned suddenly serious. “It was the Freak who gave the hot shot to Allie.”
“What?” Bridget asked, alarmed. “How?”
Franky shrugged. “I don’t know how Ferguson did it, but she told Bea that Allie was ‘collateral damage.’ And I don’t think Allie’s okay—it seemed pretty serious. Bea left to take a phone call with her.” She picked out onions. “Red has it bad, by the way. It’s disgustingly sweet.”
Bridget’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean ‘just before she left to take a phone call?’ How do you know about this hot shot, Franky?”
Franky’s hand paused while she chose a knife. “I visited her,” she stated slowly.
“You visited Bea Smith? In Wentworth?” Bridget stood, leaning on the table.
Franky nodded.
“Is that a good idea?” Bridget asked. “Are you ready to visit Wentworth?”
Franky put the knife down. She turned to the sink, rinsing her hands. Drying them, she finally approached Bridget. “This wasn’t about me being ready to go back to Wentworth,” she informed her, reaching for Bridget’s waist, pulling her close to her. “This was about saving a kid’s life. This was about stopping the Freak.”
Bridget returned the embrace, but shook her head. “What are you trying to tell me, Franky?”
“Do you remember Nils Jesper? Ferguson’s hit man?”
Bridget nodded.
“Ferguson convinced Shayne—Jianna’s son—to kill Jesper!”
“What?” Bridget pulled back. “I just heard that his brawler had gone missing! Have you told anyone? You have to go to the police, Franky! You have to tell them what you know! If Shayne killed Jesper…”
“No, no, Gidge,” Franky responded, shaking her head. “It wasn’t Shayne. I stopped him! Red called me, warning me about it, and so I went to Ferguson’s house to talk to him—”
“You went where?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Franky interrupted, holding tightly onto Bridget’s arms. “He wasn’t there. I found him near the courthouse. He had a gun, and he was convinced that he had to kill Jesper ‘for Auntie Joan!’”
“Oh my God…” Bridget muttered. She abruptly pulled out a chair, sitting down. “I should have known! Why didn’t I see this coming? I should have tried harder to get her sent back to the psychiatric facility. She should never have been released into Wentworth…”
Franky kneeled from behind the chair, wrapping her arms around Bridget’s shoulders. “We all know she’s a murderer, Gidge. But she gets around the system. This isn’t your fault.”
“I knew that she was a danger,” Bridget responded. “I knew that she was a psychopath without limits. I just thought, once she was placed in isolation…”
Franky squeezed her tightly, wrapping her hands over Bridget’s heart. “Not. Your. Fault.”
Bridget covered Franky’s hands with her own. “But you stopped Shayne? So if it wasn’t him… who got to Jesper? And how did Ferguson get out of her cell to give the hot shot to Novak?”
Franky leaned her cheek against Bridget’s shoulder. “I wish I knew, Gidge. I wish I knew.”
***
Kneeling, the wood of the floor hard against her knees, Joan clutched her torso. Rocking back and forth, she tried to control the heaving sobs coming in and out of her body. She smacked herself hard against the cheek.
“Stop that!” she commanded herself. “Take control!”
She continued to rock, wiping tears even as she pushed away memories of Shayne.
“Focus,” she told herself, purposely removing her hands from her face.
“Think.”
“Plan.”
She stopped rocking.
She stood.
Control.
It was time to call Channing.
***
Bridget leaned into Franky’s arms. “Either way,” she admonished, “you shouldn’t have taken this onto yourself. You should have called the police!”
“I couldn’t!” Franky cried. “I had to protect Shayne! He’s just a kid, Gidge. He’s a kid who’s been manipulated by Ferguson. The police would have seen him with the gun and shot first, asking questions later.” She stood, releasing Bridget. “I couldn’t let that happen to him,” she stated quietly.
Bridget also stood, turning to face Franky, gently placing her hand on her arm. “Because he was you, at his age.”
“Stop with the psych crap!” Franky exclaimed, pulling back.
“I’m not trying to antagonize you, Franky,” Bridget explained. “I know that you saved Shayne—I love that you have this great big heart,” she gently placed her hand over Franky’s heart, “and that you genuinely wanted to help him. But you have to see how what you did today can be interpreted as a kind of self sabotage.” She removed her hand, sitting back down, gesturing to Franky to sit in the other chair. “Did you stop at any time to consider the risk to yourself? What if the police had caught you with him? What if he had shot you?”
Franky stared at the chair. “It came damn near close to that last one.”
“What?” Bridget practically roared.
Franky gave her a lopsided smile. Sitting down, she clasped Bridget’s hands. “I understand what you’re saying. I really do. And I did consider the consequences—some of them, at least.”
Bridget’s look was stern.
“Gidge, that’s the thing: I knew him. I knew that I could stop him, if I could just get to him in time. No one else could do that—not the police, no one. If I hadn’t gotten to him, and if Jesper had shown up…”
Bridget sighed. “There would have been a dead kid on the steps of the courthouse.”
Franky nodded.
Bridget looked away, staring at something unseen on the floor. “I understand, Franky,” she said, turning back to face her, “but I want you to understand this: you’re not in prison, and you’re not Top Dog. You don’t have to make all the decisions by yourself anymore. You can talk to others—you can talk to me—and we will help you.” She leaned forward, placing her forehead against Franky’s. “Be careful with this new life,” she breathed, pulling back to stare into Franky’s eyes. “It’s beautiful and hopeful, and I don’t want you to lose it!”
Franky stared back. “I won’t, Gidge,” she promised. “I’ve finally found a life I want. I’m not going to let it go!”
Bridget smiled, finding Franky’s lips with her own.
They were interrupted by the persistent ringing of the telephone.
“No!” Franky wailed, trying to hold on to Bridget. “Don’t answer it! I’m busy living my beautiful and hopeful life!”
Bridget chuckled. Looking at the phone display, her brow suddenly furrowed. “It’s Wentworth,” she stated.
“Now?” Franky asked, looking at the clock. “It’s almost seven. Your work hours are long over.”
“Something must have happened,” Bridget responded uneasily. “Hello?” she asked into the phone.
Franky leaned back in her chair, watching.
“Yes, Vera… what kind of emergency?... What?” Bridget looked shocked. “No!” she exclaimed, abruptly sitting. “Who did it? … No, no. I understand, Vera. It was just the shock. I’ll be right there.” She ended the call, absently placing the phone on the table.
“Gidge?” Franky asked anxiously as Bridget sat immobile. “Gidge? What’s happened? Is it Allie? What’s wrong?”
After a long pause, Bridget turned unseeing eyes toward her. “Bea Smith,” she said, finally.
Franky’s stomach seemed to flip. “What’s happened to Red?”
Bridget stared at her.
“She’s dead.”