C'est La Vie: Such is life...

Chapter One

"I

did it! I killed Paul Brettinger—Amber didn’t do it. The mysterious woman in the front row throws off her sunglasses and walks up through the center of the courtroom toward the judge. You can’t arrest her—take me," she says, as she continues forward with her wrists together.

Amber’s mind whiplashes between being found guilty of murdering the man who raped her and seeing her identical twin sister come forward, taking the blame. The same sister she wrote out of her life years ago.

Brandy, what are you doing here? Amber says, shaking her head in confusion. Wait! Wait! You killed Brettinger? And pinned it on me? Sudden clarity strikes and Amber’s hands ball into fists and daggers fly from her eyes, slicing at her sister. The table between them is preventing her from lunging at her.

Brandy turns and walks back toward where Patrick is standing next to her. No! Yes! I mean no… she says, shaking her head. The tough facade she always wears, shredding before their eyes.

I didn’t go to kill him, honest—I went to ruin your reputation. Brandy’s eyes dart up and then back down quickly. I went to have sex with him, and that’s it. I knew about his reputation, and I was pretty sure he’d try to get into your pants. But I knew you wouldn’t go for it. So, I set up to go back and take your place. Brandy’s eyes settle on Amber’s as the tough-girl persona reappears. She sashays the rest of the way over to the table and leans on it with one hand. Looking over her shoulder and after licking her lips, she says, You suddenly changed your mind and decided you wanted to pound him. It was pure luck you forgot your portfolio.

Patrick catches Amber as she lunges across the table toward Brandy.

Brandy never flinches. She raises her hand and examines her fingernails and says, He asked if you came back for another round, so I knew I was too late. I couldn’t believe my sweet little innocent, carbon copy, would willingly have sex with that fat slob.

Brandy’s exterior cracks again. She pivots, walking toward the judge, shaking her fists. He raped her—I knew it, and I just got so mad. No man has the right to force themselves on a woman—EVER!

Spinning back around facing Amber, her face red and her eyes wide, she continues. "I saw an ice pick on the floor in the bathroom. I planned to put it on the vanity, but when I heard him spouting off at the mouth—I couldn’t believe my ears. It was in my hand when he said I must have loved it. I did put it down, just not where I had originally intended. That disgusting pig. He deserved it. I’d kill him again if I could."

Amber drops heavily into her chair. Her shoulders slouch as her eyes glaze over, gazing at an invisible spot somewhere on the floor in disbelief.

I’m sorry it got this far. I thought Patrick was going to get you off.

Brandy shifts her eyes, now with hatred toward Patrick. I thought you were a better attorney. You should have been able to save her—not me.

She turns again to the judge, pleading, Your Honor, take me—she didn’t do it.

Bailiff, can you please come and take this woman into holding and get a statement, the judge responds, shaking her head, in disbelief.

As the Bailiff is escorting Brandy away, Patrick chases after them. Don’t say anything to anyone until I can get in to see you.

Amber and Brandy jerk their heads up, staring at him.

Amber says, You’re going to represent her? After she set me up for murder? Whose side are you on?

Brandy drops her head back and laughs hysterically. No way in hell you’re going to be my lawyer. She didn’t even do it, and you couldn’t get her off. This is rich—so rich!

Patrick rushes back to Amber and grabs her hand. She’s your sister. I know she meant to ruin your reputation, but she stood up and is taking responsibility for her actions—she didn’t have to do that.

Don’t worry sis, I’ve been through the system many times; they’ll get me an attorney—a better one, Brandy says as they remove her from the courtroom. She’s shifted entirely back to the hellion she’s always been. With her shoulders pulled back, she looks at every person she passes directly in the eye, defying them to say anything or look at her wrong.

Patrick rushes back to the judge. Your Honor, in place of this confession, can we drop the charges against my client?

Nice try, counselor, you know that’s not the way this works. Your client has been found guilty of second-degree murder. She will go to the Broward County Jail, where she’ll await sentencing.

Please, your Honor, don’t make her go there—she didn’t do it, Patrick begs the judge.

"Mr. Simpson—Patrick, I understand how you feel; however, right now, we have someone who claims to be the murderer. Until we can investigate, your client is guilty, and we will follow procedure. Do you understand?"

Yes, your Honor, Patrick replies as the vein pops out of his forehead and his jaw tenses.

Hearing the judge’s words, the room begins to spin, and the floor feels as if it’s falling out from under Amber’s feet.

Patrick turns toward her, watching her face turn white, and her eyes bulge like a deer caught in headlights. It’s going to be okay. I’ll immediately file an appeal, and I’ll be on the detectives’ backs to get through the investigation as quickly as possible.

Amber slowly looks up at him. Or rather, she’s looking through him, trying to digest everything that’s happened in the last ten minutes. She’s going to prison. The only other time she’s been this afraid was being pinned beneath the very man who not only took her body against her will, but who is now taking away her way of life.

The bailiff walks over to Amber and gently puts the handcuffs on her. As they leave the courthouse, Amber’s eyes never leave Patrick’s.

Her best friends, Debra, Dominque, and Zya, watch, with tears streaming down their faces, as they usher her away.

Amber is numb and dumbfounded; she doesn’t hear the ding on her phone from a text.

You should have taken me up on my offer; you wouldn’t be going through this right now. But then again, maybe this is better than the agony and terror you’ll feel when I get you. You will be mine, Amber. In the meantime, your Patrick has thoroughly pissed me off! He’s gonna have to pay now that I have to wait.

Chapter Two

A

mber goes through the motions, yet she hasn’t come to terms with what’s happening. Not sure if it’s the 98ºF temperature plus high humidity, or the fear of what lies ahead, that has her clothes drenched with sweat. She keeps replaying the morning over in her head when her security guy at her building told her everything was going to be okay. She believed him. Everything is definitely not okay.

Once they arrive, she allows herself to be pulled along, not wanting to think beyond each step, for fear of the next. The female prison guard assigned to her smiles and takes her the rest of the way. Everyone was filled in about the theatrics in the courthouse, but then again, they all say they’re innocent. To actually have one, has the whole prison abuzz.

One of the holding cell occupants sits next to Amber and picks at locks of her hair, telling her how pretty she is and offers her protection. Amber’s eyes never move from the tiny black spot on the wall directly across from her.

The guard yells, Keep your fingers to yourself, or you might be the one needing protection.

Amber’s admirer slinks away to the other side of the cell.

Amber slowly turns her head toward the guard and nods, acknowledging her.

The guard leaves, returning just moments later with her file. Amber Fiore, she calls out.

Amber turns her head and says nothing.

Come with me. Let’s get you processed and out of this cell with the wolves. I’m in uncharted territory here, but I’m sure this is not where you need to be.

Amber does as instructed, at a pace slower than a snail. As she shuffles along, her eyes never rise above anyone’s knees. Keeping her eyes at this perspective blocks out the world she finds herself in, the one she’s still unwilling to accept. Although she knew this was a possibility, never in a million years did she dream this would happen. She didn’t kill him. He raped her, and she’s the one being punished. She can’t get her mind to wrap around that this is happening—to her.

Personal belongings go here, she says as she points to a white rectangle plastic bin.

As Amber pulls her phone from her pocket, she glances at it and sees the first few lines of the text. She drops the phone as if it were a hot coal. Her knees buckle as she folds to the floor. She quickly scoots backward to the wall like a spider. She finds a corner and wraps her arms around her knees, hugging them tightly, making herself as small as possible. Her eyes are as big as saucers—her breath comes in short bursts, bringing her to the verge of hyperventilation.

The guard picks up the phone and reads just a few lines she can see while the screen is locked. Her face turns pale as she reaches her hand out to Amber. Come with me.

Amber looks up at then reluctantly takes her hand. Once she does, she doesn’t let go. She pulls her body up as close to the guard as possible, making it difficult for either of them to walk.

The guard pulling Amber tight against her escorts her into a small, empty room and asks her to sit.

Reluctantly Amber lets go and fits herself in a corner, again pulling her knees up, squeezing her eyes as tight as possible, taking shaky breaths.

The guard sits down next to her. Breathe—take some breaths for me. You’re safe here.

Amber, keeping her eyes glued shut, slowly takes in a few deep breaths as the guard instructs her, In and out.

Once she’s certain Amber will not pass out from lack of oxygen, she asks, Who is this from?

Amber shakes her head.

Is it okay if I read the rest of it?

Amber nods.

The guard attempts to give her the phone, but Amber pulls her knees in tighter, tucking her head down further as if the phone were poisonous.

Then give me your code.

1213, she says in a tiny voice, never lifting her head.

The guard punches in the code and reads the rest of the text.

Amber peeks up after a few seconds of silence, recognizing the look of shock on the guard’s face as her eyes rapidly go back and forth across the screen, rereading the words.

They both jump when the phone in the holding cell area rings.

The guard, after taking a deep breath, answers it. Yes, it’s okay. Send him back.

Your attorney is here to see you. We don’t normally let them in until you’ve been through processing, but I think he’ll want to see this, she says, pointing to the cell phone.

Amber shrinks again when eyes move to her stalker’s terror tool.

Amber can hear the guard introduce herself to Patrick on the other side of the door. Before we go in, I think you need to read this.

As Amber continues to rock back and forth in the corner, behind the door, she hears his reaction and their conversation.

Shit! Sorry.

No need to apologize.

Has she seen this?

Just the first few lines. She didn’t kill him, did she?

No, her sister did. We knew she was the only one that could pull it off. She made sure we couldn’t find her to be summoned.

So, what’s her next step?

Why the interest? Don’t get me wrong, it’s refreshing, but I’m not used to strangers going out of their way for us.

She’s not like the others I see come through here. Even the ones that claim to be innocent. I can tell—she is.

She claims ignorance as Patrick fills her in on the details from the courtroom—his side of the story.

When they open the door, Amber panics and runs to the farthest corner. She allows her mind again to go numb as Patrick rehashes the afternoon’s details, not wanting to relive them.

Amber—Amber, it’s me, Patrick.

She stops and turns around and runs instead into his open arms, collapsing into them. Her gut-wrenching sobs reverberate off the walls.

After crying her eyes out for several minutes, just being in his arms, she feels some newfound, temporary strength. She pulls back from him. You have to get me out of here. He’s coming for me. He’s gonna get me. I can’t stay here.

He pulls her tightly back into his arms as he guides her back to the bench. I’m working on it. I’ve been speaking to the judge.

Amber looks up, her pleading eyes swollen and red as tears continuously flow down both cheeks.

He shakes his head. I’m sorry I don’t have an answer yet. I don’t want her to start the sentencing phase until they finish with Brandy’s investigation. She can dismiss your charges once they convict Brandy. Patrick pulls her back into arms. I’m so sorry. I promised you wouldn’t be here. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The guard exits the room, giving them privacy.

Amber says, through tears, It’s not your fault. You tried everything. It’s her fault. That BITCH—she got me.

I know you don’t like the idea of me representing her. I need to make sure this goes perfectly, and quickly, so you two can change places.

Amber wipes her eyes and nose while nodding and says, You’re right, she came forward—she didn’t have to. It doesn’t excuse her though—there’s no forgiving this. Even God himself would understand. I swear, if I ever thought there was a chance we could have a relationship, it’s gone. I never thought she would stoop this low. Look at what she did to me. I’m in prison because of her. How does family do this—to family? Amber’s eyes spit out fresh tears as she buries her face into his damp shoulder.

Patrick strokes her hair as his eyes look skyward. I get it, and I promise you, I’ll never bring it up again. I certainly don’t have a great track record with family either. I was just hoping maybe you two could have something I never did. I get she was so mad he raped you, she stabbed him. Hell, I would have if she hadn’t. She went there to ruin your reputation in the first place, there’s no excuse for that.

Amber shakes her head as fresh tears fall.

After a few moments, the guard taps on the door and enters. I just spoke with the detective assigned to Brandy’s case. He’s a good friend of mine. I, uh, turned in a favor, so he’s coming down now to speak with Brandy and get her full statement and confession. I hope that helps.

Amber looks up, shocked, and grateful. She jumps up from the bench and throws her arms around the guard. Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know why you’re being so kind to me, but thank you.

You don’t belong here. This is not a nice place. You’ve got a world of hurt going on between your sister and that text. You deserve a break. I’m glad I can help. It feels good.

Patrick gets up and shakes the guard’s hand. Then at the last second, he surprises her with a hug. Thank you. We’ll never forget this.

He turns back to Amber. I need to be there when the detective talks to her. We need this to go smoothly—and quickly.

Amber nods with her head hanging down, searching for answers on her fingernails. She doesn’t want him to leave; she’s so afraid here. However, she knows to leave this hellhole, he must.

Are you okay to sit in here by yourself? the guard asks. I need to get back to my wild ones.

Amber looks up and nods while inside her mind she’s screaming, NO!

Amber crawls back to the corner and pulls her knees up and becomes lost in her thoughts. How could her sister—her own flesh and blood, do this to her? Brandy was always so jealous of Amber’s accomplishments. No matter how hard Amber tried to include Brandy, she pulled back and caused even more trouble. While Amber did well in school and excelled in extracurricular activities, Brandy was failing, doing drugs, and sleeping with just about any male that could get a hard-on. She’s done some really nasty things to Amber, but this takes the cake. And then she confesses? That makes little sense. Why the sudden conscience?

Amber’s thoughts are distracted as a drop of blood drips from her finger. Her heartache is far greater than the throbbing in her fingers from biting her nails down below the quick. A habit she dropped after high school, right after Brandy left home.

The guard passes one of her peers and asks if it’s okay to take a quick break, dancing, rubbing her legs together.

As she enters the bathroom, she pulls out her phone. It’s all set. Patrick is on his way over to the Fort Lauderdale Police Station to meet with Brandy.

Chapter Three

"P

atrick, can you give us an update? Is Amber going to prison?" Zya asks. She, along with Amber’s best friends, are all together on the phone.

I’m on my way to the station now to meet with Brandy and a detective. A guard is helping us. Patrick fills them in on the plan to get the confession and statement, and Amber, out of prison tonight. And about the text, she received in the courthouse.

Debra’s voice comes through the phone. How’s Amber? Is she okay?

Amber is always so strong. Watching her crumble these last few hours has been very hard for him. The tightness in his chest has only gotten worse since he heard the verdict. He can’t tell her friends just how bad she is. Hopefully, one day they’ll forgive him.

She’s as good as can be expected. She’s in shock. We were so sure she would get a not-guilty verdict; we didn’t prepare for anything else. And then Brandy…

Dominque’s voice comes through next. Tell her we love her, please. We’re here for her. If there’s anything we can do, anything at all, consider it done.

I know she’ll appreciate that. You all have one amazing friendship; I know it will brighten her up.

Sisterhood, Patrick, Zya says. We’re more than friends—we’re sisters.

After Patrick hangs up the phone, he thinks about the promise he made his father so many years ago. He would never love a woman to the point she’d be able to hurt him. No woman would ever get close enough to destroy him. He realizes it’s a promise he couldn’t keep as his heart rips to shreds over Amber. And it’s not her fault—it’s his, he failed.

☯︎

Debra sits on the couch as tears silently stream down her cheeks, thinking about Amber being at that awful place. Zya sits beside her, wrapping her arms around Debra’s shoulders. They are all waiting at Patrick’s house. That was the plan; they would meet there and celebrate after the trial. Several unopened bottles of champagne are still sitting on the counter, the condensation pooling around the ice buckets next to them. Unsure what would happen after Brandy’s courtroom confession, they moved forward with the location—the celebration part eliminated. I know, it seems like this is all a bad dream.

Dominque and Tad are sitting on the other side of Debra. Dominque says, Amber is always the one who fixes us. I don’t know how to make this better for her.

There has to be something we can do. I know Patrick is beating himself up but he’ll keep fighting for her. He will not rest until she’s back home. Think girls, what would Amber want us to do?

Debra wipes her eyes and says, She’d want us to keep investigating her stalker. We have to find him.

You’re right! Zya says. Okay, let me grab some paper.

The girls gather around the island in the kitchen. Zya puts a pad of paper and a pen down in the middle and says, Let’s start by listing those we’ve eliminated while I open up a bottle. Deb, you good to have wine?

Yeah, I pumped enough until tomorrow morning, I’m good.

Okay, Roberto and Brandy were the first two names on our list. Can we safely cross them off? Dominque asks as she picks up the pen, ready to write them down.

Zya comes back with the bottle and three glasses. Yes, I think we can remove them. Roberto is back in Italy. He’s still on the run; I don’t see how he can get back here.

But couldn’t he still send the texts? Even if he’s in Italy? Debra asks as she has the most to lose if he ever comes back.

I guess he could, but it doesn’t make any sense. It would be costly and traceable since he’s using burner phones.

And didn’t Patrick say the phones were purchased here in Florida and Georgia? Dominque adds.

That was before they deported him. Who knows where the phones are coming from now.

Okay, let’s leave him, but he’s not our number one anymore. Brandy’s in prison, and that text Patrick just told us about came while both of them were in the courthouse.

Could she have an accomplice? Debra asks.

Doesn’t seem like her style, Zya adds.

You’re probably right, Debra responds.

Okay, then it has to be someone she profiled in one of her articles. Dom, you know them better than anyone, and you were looking into them; did anyone jump out at you?

Amber was fearless. She always thought South Florida was home to too many people looking to make a quick buck. If she found a sliver of a story where someone needed justice, she followed it to the end, no matter where it took her. She wound up in Liberty City and Overtown way too many times. She didn’t care; she went wherever she had to.

Gangs? Do any of them involve gangs?

She did with one in Little Havana. The cops have an ongoing investigation into the leader. She’s been giving them information—helping them.

Okay, that’s helpful. His name goes to the top. What other ones?

The four continue discussing names and possibilities of who would want to cause bodily harm to their friend over the next two hours and two bottles of wine.

That nagging feeling of helplessness urges them on to at least help solve this mystery. Individually, when their minds began envisioning what she is through, they’d quickly redirect that energy into the list.

Chapter Four

P

atrick finds his way over to detective Ackerman’s desk in the police station. As he sits waiting, he absentmindedly sifts through his emails and texts.

Patrick Simpson?

Yes, and you must be detective Ackerman, Patrick says, standing and extending his hand. Thank you for helping us get through this process so quickly.

No problem. I understand your client—your girlfriend was convicted today, and her sister has since confessed. You’re trying to get her out on bail.

Yeah, pretty much. I need the report and written confession so I can see the judge. I’d prefer it if she didn’t have to spend the night there.

I hear you. Let me see what I can do, the detective says as he motions for Patrick to follow him.

Once Patrick catches up, he says, Your friend at the prison, it’s pretty nice of her to set this all up; she doesn’t even know us. You two must be good friends.

Nope, I barely know her. She was a guard in Belle Glade, where my sister has been residing. When she found a joint in her cell, she called me to say she discreetly disposed of it. My sister swears it wasn’t hers; someone set her up. I guess I owe her for taking care of it regardless of who it belonged to.

They enter a small windowless gray room with a matching color metal desk