The Tyrant's Trophy
Don't Know

Abijah

The project was all Kelly’s idea.

Since my adventure, a lot has changed in my life.

The first thing to change was my privacy. I enjoyed my privacy - enjoyed being known only in the world of journalism. It was more peaceful in that corner of the universe.

I guess I didn’t think that I would be shoved into the spotlight after the book. Guess that’s what happens when your sister’s a psycho that attempted to sell you and frame her ex. To top it off, I fell hard for said ex, who also happened to be Basil Beau - a successful cosmetic and beauty entrepreneur.

After all that…people became pests and eager to stick their noses in my life. Even crazier people have even started a ‘fan fiction’ of my life?

What is that anyway?

That being said, it shouldn’t have stunned me when my boss (not my friend right now) proposed, (slammed) this upon my lap. This brought me to the doorsteps of many people involved in my case. Also, we had to take a lot of pictures.

Lots of pictures.

I disdained pictures.

I’m not ungrateful. I’m grateful to God that He always looks out for me and I’m grateful to the many experts who went out of their way to find me. I’m grateful to have met my fiance too. It’s just that no one is letting me get past what happened.

The story’s done and I want to move on, not linger in the memories. The only one who seems to understand that is Basil. I mean, sure, the man is crazy protective of me - he made me move in with him a month ago - but he doesn’t treat me like a victim.

He knows I hate being treated like a victim.

Sighing again, I braced myself for another night of pictures and talking to strangers about my case. Phil Sweetheart was the next person on my list to interview. He was a renowned surgeon and dabbled in other areas in the medical world.

“Forensics, trauma, psychiatrist,” I read off the list I made as lourie and I walked towards the Sweetheart’s door. The man had a vast number of credentials. “He even aids in domestic violence cases?” The man liked to keep busy.

The last one struck my interest more than the others. It also gave me the idea to prod at that once I spoke with the man. That seemed more interesting than hearing about my surgery and how my heart almost failed during it.

I knocked on the door and waited. It didn’t take long for someone to answer. I was surprised to see a woman answer the door. She was cute. Being a good head shorter than me, mixed ethnicity, and meek. Her whole posture screamed ‘princess’ and each gesture she made was extremely feminine. I had to stop myself from giving her a confusing stare.

There wasn’t anything in my research about Dr. Sweetheart being married. I also didn’t recall him wearing any wedding band.

The lady welcomed us in and led us to the dining room. Dr. Sweetheart sat at the head of the table, which was prepared for a meal. He wore a white suit. The kind one would see actors wear as they receive some award. He stood up and we shook hands but he made no effort to help the lady. She pulled out my seat for me and catered to both the cameraman and me before taking her own seat by the Dr.

“You must be Mrs. Sweetheart.” I realized as she gave me water.

The dinner was amazing. The lady had major talent in the kitchen and I found talking with her a pleasure. She brought up my book but didn’t bother bringing up what I’ve been through, something I found relief in. I did notice that she shut down a bit when her husband squeezed her hand.

As a journalist, I try my hardest to observe every detail in an interview. From a person’s expressions to the tiniest gestures they make. It’s what I’m paid for and people lie. I learned this like everyone else in this world: people lie and so it’s necessary to watch their actions rather than hear their words.

This is why the Dr. didn’t strike me as honest. He was handsome for his age: well-built with striking hazel eyes and sharp jawlines and cheekbones. At first glance, he could be mistaken as a thirty-year-old but the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes hinted he was in his late forties. Contrary to his wife who seemed closer to my age and it made me wonder how old was she when she met the doctor. Still, Phil Sweetheart had this arrogance about him and made a point to pose for pictures each time lourie pointed a camera at him.

It reminded me of how my parents would pretend everything was fine within the home. They would make everything perfect for the media.

It piqued my interest and a sick part of me wanted to dig up what they were obviously hiding. When the Dr. brought up the topic of the evening, I decided to redirect it. Amusingly, they were caught off guard by this but as quickly as the shock came, it went.

The Dr. spent the whole evening talking about various domestic abuse cases and how he helped the battered women win their cases against their abusers. At one point, the man labeled me as a victim, which made me twitch a little. I had to bite my tongue from correcting the man. He wasn’t phased by the horror he faced in those cases and even made some sort of corny sentiment about Mrs. Sweetheart being his coping method.

Though the woman smiled and ‘awwed’ at it, her eyes told a different story. I wonder if she knew that? That she wasn’t the best at hiding her emotions; liars don’t like making eye contact. She was susceptible. I needed to get her alone.

My opportunity came once the interview came to an end. Maybell got up and began taking the plates. Without giving her much choice, I stood with her and copied. I was immensely grateful for Lourie. The man knew me well enough to know that I WASN’T done with my interview. With a glance, he understood what I wanted.

While Dr. Sweetheart showed off his various awards to my photographer, I grabbed what seconds I had with the woman alone. She was a lost puppy without her husband near and it was clear she was afraid to speak with me without him.

She wasn’t going t give me anything - not without trust. A thought popped into my mind. Truthfully, I don’t know what made me think of this, but I decided to go for it. I ended up opening up about my rape. It happened while I still was in high school and it’s a detail I chose to exclude from the book.

“Why tell me this?”

I wanted to say ‘I didn’t really want to tell a complete stranger about that part of my life.’ but it just seemed right to share this with her. Maybe it was God giving me instructions or something because there is more to this girl than meets the eye. Also, she didn’t seem like the type to gossip. “You seem to be the type I can trust with that information”

It had an impact.

She wanted to say something but we ran out of time. The men came back and we had to leave. The Dr. glued himself to his wife’s side and she, as before, clamped up. She didn’t dare make eye contact with either her man or me and it made me scared to leave her.

Without probable causes though, I couldn’t do anything but leave the property and return home. Still, I felt sick once I stepped outside, and even now.

I tried not thinking back to it. Basil and I were out and window shopping for our wedding coming up. I would have been happy with a simple court wedding and just dinner afterward but my fiancee was such a girl. God knows he watches too many princess movies. The man wanted a huge wedding with all the flowers and whatnot. I had to talk him down from getting doves at one point. Still, I love the man.

So I will stick it out if it means he’ll be happy.

Plus, it’s not every day I take off work and I plan to enjoy today with my love. “So what kind of dress are you picturing for the big day?” He asked. We were entering a dress shop and as always, he held the door open for me, plus the other ladies behind us. “I know you don’t like flashy or revealing stuff but what about lace?

My phone went off before I could reply. “Hello?” I wish I didn’t answer.

“WHERE’S THE REPORT!?” I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “Did you finish writing it yet?! Your department has nothing to show and they are freaking out - ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME ABIJAH?!”

“Whoa, Kelly, calm down. Take a deep breath.” I took a breather myself. I prepared for this phone call. “Kelly, you good.”

I heard a huff. “I’m good.”

Good. Let’s see how long that lasts. “I’m not turning in the report.”

“WHAT?!”

I ignored the stares around me. Basil apologized to the other customers in the store for both of us anyways. “Kelly, have I ever steered you wrong before?” She went quiet. “Now listen, there’s something wrong with that man. I can’t place my finger on it but my instincts are screaming that he’s bad. So I can’t send that report - not until I find out what he’s hiding.”

My boss was fuming but she knew me best. She knows when I get a bad feeling about something, I’m usually correct. “What do we do then? We need something for this week.”

“That’s true.” I need to think. What do we write about this week? Outside, a woman and her toddler strolled past. “Got it.” It reminded me of another project I was working out aside from the interviews. “Talk about the missing children - the ones who police are finding their bodies without their vital organs.” I lowered my voice on the last bit. “The statistics are higher now than a month ago. Have my team talk with the families and police - get tips on what we can do to protect the kids.”

I didn’t wait for her to reply when I hung up. Hopefully, Kelly will listen, and my team will come up with something useful because this was a serious topic. Human trafficking had existed for years but lately, it’s gotten worse. Sickenly, now the perpetrators are abducting kids and harvesting their organs. One would think it would be easy to track these creeps with all the technology we have now, but that’s not the case.

Whatever organization is behind these crimes - they’re clever. I at least, want to do what I can to help stop them.

“Abby?” Basil took my hand, bringing me back to the purpose of this day. “You ok?”

I shook my head at that nickname he gave me. “Kelly’s being Kelly. The lady really needs a backbone sometimes and not always come to me.”

My boyfriend just laughed at me. “You two been friends for years though. I think it’s only natural she’s psycho towards you.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Sure, natural.” I sighed, forcing myself to relax. “I’m sorry, babe. I lost focus on our time. What were you saying about dresses?”

We went through aisles of wedding gowns and talked with a specialist about what we had in mind. I’m thankful that Basil didn’t try to force any of his ideas on me like tiaras or really high slits on the side. I went for a more simple dress with a little dip in the neck and lace sleeves. I didn’t want it too long either - I would like to dance in it without the fear of tripping.

Also so I can wear it to other events - you know - get my money’s worth out of the dress.

Then came seeking a bakery to order our cake and then a venue and let’s just say my mind wanted to blackout by the time we were done. We accumulate a billion business cards - everyone eager to serve my famous boyfriend’s wedding.

I wouldn’t mind that, usually, if every girl in those dang places weren’t hitting on my man or batting their false lashes at him!

“It wasn’t so bad,” Basil commented as we made our way to the street to cross. Our car was parked on the other side. He carried a dozen roses in his hands - a gift for me.

“Easy for you to say.” I couldn’t hide my jealousy. “Those girls practically undressed you with their eyes.” Why did the man have to be such a catch?! Sometimes, I just wanted to get yellow police tape and wrap my future husband in it so others would keep off!

“But they’re not you.” Basil smiled. “Those girls don’t have a chance because I’m just a cash cow to them. With you, I’m me, and that’s why I love you.” My cheeks became warm and I was glad that it was dark now. God, Basil was so corny.

I love him.

We made it closer to the street and I noticed Mrs. Sweetheart was there. She carried grocery bags in each hand and didn’t move - even when some kids bumped into her. “Hey,” I called but she didn’t respond. Her attention remained on the street.

Again, I had a sick feeling in my gut.

The walking signal hadn’t turned on but she made a move. “Oh, God.” She was going to walk into traffic! I sprinted towards her. “Maybell!” The car speeding by beeped its horn. Thankfully, I caught the woman in time by her arm and pulled her away.

“Abby!” Basil caught up with me.

Maybell’s eyes were muddled and she was sweating.

She was shivering.

“What were you thinking?!” Didn’t she see the ‘no walk’ signal? She could have been hit?

The lady had trouble focusing. “Hn?” I touched her forehead.

‘She’s burning up.’ “Are you ok?”

She stared at me. “I don’t know anymore.” Without warning, she collapsed.

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