Edge of Reason Ch. 01

"It's all your fault," she said, forcing the raw emotion back down her throat. "You left me all alone. You weren't there to guide me and look what I do for a living now."

The sentence sounded as hollow as herself.

"Sometimes, I'm glad at the thought of losing a case. Maybe someone will get their just desserts if I do. But I can't. It's unbecoming for a lawyer like me."

"But I've found someone worth fighting for. She's different from the others. She doesn't deserve to be in jail," Heather went on in a dispassionate voice. "She deserves so much better. I can give it to her, right?"

The stones sullenly refused to answer. Heather smiled and wiped a phantom tear off her cheek. Unbeknownst to Heather, the clear sky had slowly given way to a slate grey visage during her monologue.

"I'm going to fight for her. I'm going to fight and I'm going to win."

The lawyer inside her knew how improbable it sounded, but it was all she had to cling to. She turned her attention back to her mother's stone. The clouds overhead bulged and rumbled intermittently.

"Remember how we used to go to Church on Sundays, Mom? You made me sit in front and sing all the hymns you did. I'm sorry but I haven't gone in years. I used to think I'm too far gone for even God to help."

She put her bouquet down between the headstones. Her voice was no more than a choked whisper when she said.

"Am I too far gone?"

Before she finished the sentence, she felt a fat drop of water hitting the top of her head. It was followed by several more in quick succession, tears from above to answer her question. She looked up at the torrents of water cascading down from the sky. Touching both stones one last time, she rushed back to the interior of her Bugatti, cursing at the untimely weather disruption.

"Get it together, Heather," she said, lighting a Marlboro. "Get it out of your system."

She took a long drag and let her mind calm down before exhaling the smoke. The feeling of tender vulnerability abated, leaving an uneasy disquiet.

* *

Once in a while, Heather had had occasion to drive past the Belvederes' mansion. She usually had her phone plastered to her ear, but did throw a quick glance at it. It looked grandiose from her vantage point.

That day, she stood at the heavy iron gates, studying the façade of the ancient structure. Ivy grew between the white-bordered windows going all the way to the ground. The tiled roof had a few gaps, as did the aged paint on the walls. She parked her car and quietly walked to the front door. Her finger pressed the doorbell once.

The door swung open, revealing a burly old man standing with dignified poise and a coat to match.

"The men from the bank came less than an hour ago," he said, visibly irritated. "Why have they sent someone else so soon?"

"She's not from the bank."

The man turned around. Natasha stood behind him, dressed in a simple skirt and top.

"She's my lawyer, Gerard."

The man turned around with a softer gaze and bowed his head.

"I'm deeply sorry," he said, holding his arm out. "Please, let me take your coat."

"Could you prepare two cups of tea?" Natasha asked. The man silently disappeared to the right. She turned to face her flummoxed lawyer.

"You'll have to excuse Gerard. He doesn't like it when men from the bank pay unsolicited visits. He's been my family's butler for over twenty years. I haven't been able to pay his salary in months, but he insists on serving me. He says he wants to stay with me, even after the bank eventually forecloses the place."

"That kind of loyalty is rare these days," said Heather, walking alongside her hostess. Her eyes wandered through the cavernous hallways, somehow lacking their accustomed opulence. The high oak ceilings were not polished. Her eyes noticed a conspicuous lack of furniture. There were patches of light-coloured plaster visible on the walls, where paintings had probably once hung.

"There used to be a lot more furniture," Natasha reminisced. "Many of them were really expensive and one of a kind. I had an original Chippendale armoire in my bedroom. I've had to sell most to get by."

"What happened?"

"The crash happened," she said. "We were among the worst hit. Within a few months, all the real estate owned by my family plummeted. Our investments fell through and before we knew it, we had to look up Chapter 14."

"I'm so sorry."

"My Dad doted on me growing up," she went on, leading the way to the sitting area. "I never had to raise a finger to get anything. Maids, housekeepers, butlers, chefs -- you name it and I had them at my beck and call. I wanted to see kangaroos and we immediately got on his private jet to Melbourne for a couple of weeks. I was more spoilt than you can imagine."

She escorted Heather to a cheap, dusty sofa set and a small adjoining table. They sat down before she resumed.

"Dad was so happy the day he walked me down the aisle. Morgan was the best man anyone could hope to marry. He took my surname. Within a year of our marriage, Cody was born. Dad passed peacefully, confident that nothing would ever disturb the life he had set up for us."

"What happened to Morgan?"

Natasha stiffened at the mention of his name. Her discomfiture lasted while Gerard reappeared with a porcelain teapot and two cups. He lay the tray down and went his own way.

"You don't have to answer that question-" Heather began, only to be cut off by a resolute hand.

"It's okay," Natasha whimpered. "I want to tell you."

Heather took a sip and leaned in closer.

"I knew the business was doing badly, but I always thought things would eventually work out. Morgan was so smart. He was at the top of his class at Wharton. There was no way he would let the company sink. I was so sure of it."

She paused and clutched her raven black tresses in despair.

"I should have known how bad things really were. Morgan looked so tense all the time and would spend most nights pouring over ledgers of how much we owed. He barely ate or slept. I tried to comfort him, but he pushed me away. Instead, I focussed on Cody, who was just a baby at the time. I took him to the park, the playground and never left him alone with his nannies."

"What happened then?"

"One day, I returned home with Cody and found Morgan in the study," Natasha said listlessly. "His lips were wrapped around the barrel of his gun. His brains were splattered all over the walls and furniture. Cody and I had to walk in on that."

"I'm deeply sorry," Heather said, knowing her words could never be enough.

"Suddenly, I was jolted into the harsh reality that I had been shielded from all this time. I went through the papers in the study and realized that all our stock options were worthless. It was only a matter of time."

Natasha poured herself some more tea. Heather scanned her face for anguish, failing to find any. She had hardened herself to the point where she shut out all the pain.

"An all too familiar feeling," thought Heather.

"Cody became my life. He was all I had left to cling to. I made every moment of my day about him so I wouldn't have to think about my finances," she said. "Everything fell apart around us, but we had each other. It was like a bubble, where the real world couldn't reach in."

"What about family? Didn't you have any relatives?"

"No one. Cody and I were all that was left of the famous Belvedere family. I got three jobs to keep us afloat and made sure Cody could still go to school. I cut down to one meal a day to ensure he had three and had a new uniform whenever he needed it. He wanted to give a gift for a friend's birthday, and I pulled extra shifts to make sure he was not disappointed. I never let him feel what was not there."

"The same way your family sheltered you," Heather completed with a nod of understanding.

"I even begged the bank to hold off on the foreclosure for some time. All the imported jewellery my Dad ever bought me went towards earning extensions. In a month or so, we were supposed to move to a small apartment. I had set everything up with the help of a waitress at the diner where I take the late shift."

Heather put her cup down and looked at the pitifully weak woman seated across from her. She looked so frail and delicate, with a gaping void where her soul once resided.

"I didn't believe it at first, you know?" Natasha went on in a disembodied voice. "When the police called me to the city morgue to identify my son's body. It was a mistake, it had to be. No one could possibly hurt Cody. Everybody loved him so much. All he had to do was smile and he had a new friend."

"I've seen his picture," Heather said. "He looked adorable." A sentiment entirely lost on me.

"It all seemed like such a surreal dream to me when the coroner pulled back the white sheet," she went on. Heather was not entirely sure that her client knew what she was saying.

"I saw my baby's beautiful face with so many bruises and scars. I held his hand to comfort him, but it was so cold. I held it tightly, trying to remember when it used to be warm. My baby, so warm and full of life was now no more. My brain simply went numb. It was as if every sense switched off at once. From then on, I've been living this nightmare, hoping that I can wake up and hold my baby again."

"Tell me about the day of the verdict," Heather asked. "It was last week, I understand."

"I can't describe it," she said. "I keep hearing the judge saying that the evidence is inadmissible and without it he has no choice but to let him go. Those words kept playing in my head in a loop. After that, it's all a blur. The next thing I remember is when the police arrested me in the park."

"Here's the problem, Natasha," Heather said. "That day, you took your gun out of your locked cabinet, filled it with bullets. Then you went to the entrance of the alley leading to Lance's favourite pub and waited for him. That will sound like the actions of a sane person to the jury and the prosecutor will make special mention of it."

Natasha looked disenchanted while Heather opened her pad and started writing.

"Did you hear voices? Maybe Cody's voice. Did they maybe tell you to kill Mr Whittaker?" Heather asked hopefully. "Did you see Cody in your dreams where he asked you to take revenge? That I can give the jury."

"I see Cody every time I close my eyes. We are in the park, him on my lap. He tries to count the pigeons eating nearby, but some of them always fly away."

"Please, Natasha. Did you feel anything that told you to kill Lance Whittaker?" Heather beseeched.

"Truthfully, I stopped feeling altogether. I didn't even feel the satisfaction that came with putting a bullet in him. It was all so... natural."

She looked at Heather's face, ashen with concern before giving a wry smile.

"Not a helpful case of temporary insanity, am I?"

"Don't say that," her lawyer said fervently. "I can get all the doctors you need to testify how you were out of your mind."

Immediately, she knew it was a bad idea. None of her picks had evaluated Natasha in the aftermath of her shooting, and she knew from experience that juries did not respond kindly to an array of experts designed to confuse them.

"By your expression, I see you don't think that will help," her client said.

Heather looked up at her. There was an unnerving nonchalance writ large on her face. She threw her head back and smiled.

"Oh well. It's not like there was much hope for me anyway. Let's go upstairs now."

"What do you have upstairs?" Heather asked.

* *

"Wow."

"I get that a lot," said Natasha, standing next to her piano. It was a Fazioli grand, made from specially prepared red spruce found in the Italian Alps. It sat in the middle of the upstairs hallway, a stark contrast to the destitution around it. Heather's eyes beheld the massive musical instrument.

"It's the one thing I haven't been able to let go of yet," Natasha said, running her fingers over the ivory keys. "My father bought it from Milan when I was five and I fell in love with it. I even had a teacher for ten years."

As she spoke, her fingers wandered over some of the keys. Melodic strains floated through the air. Heather walked closer and Natasha sat down.

"When I play, it's like I'm in a different place. Cody liked it too. He often sat beside me and tried playing," she ruminated. "One of my jobs is at a piano bar down town. It helps me relax after the gruelling work at the others."

Heather leaned against the far end and let her fingers create a few notes idly. Natasha stopped playing, listening to her lawyer's attempt at the Fifth Symphony.

"You have some hidden talents, Heather."

"I'm not too good at it," she laughed back, missing a few notes.

"Come here," Natasha said, patting the part of the stool beside her. Heather sat and watched as her client's dainty fingers danced over the keys. There was a languid elegance in the way she glided from one note to the other, stitching together a harmonic rhythm.

Natasha didn't speak like someone who was facing life imprisonment. She seemed at peace with whatever was going to happen to her.

"Heather, can I ask you a question and expect an honest answer?"

The lawyer nodded tentatively.

"What are my chances like?" she asked. "Please. Tell me the blunt truth."

A few agonizing seconds of deafening silence answered her. Heather averted her gaze. She smiled and lifted her face till they made eye contact.

"Thank you for not lying to me," Natasha said softly. "I want you to know that I couldn't have asked for any more from you." She turned back to the black and white keys in front of her.

"This piece is my favourite," she said, letting her fingers rest for a moment. "I find it calming. Cody loved it too."

The first few notes rose from within the piano. Heather listened, smiling weakly. Her fingers played the next notes on a higher scale. Natasha looked at her, surprised.

"Clair de Lune is one of my favourites too," she said, continuing with her amateur tapping. "I heard it at Carnegie Hall last month and haven't been able to get it out of my head ever since."

"Can we try it together?"

They sat close to each other. Natasha played on a lower scale and Heather matched her notes on a higher scale. There was the occasional mistimed note, but they went on. Heather smiled, trying to lose herself in the tranquil tune. For a fleeting sliver of time, she forgot about the grim reality of her existence. She turned her head to see Natasha's eyes closed and her fingers ghosting from key to key. Maybe she could see Cody sitting beside her, taking in the soulful rendition.

"We're going to win, Natasha," she said. "I don't know how but we're going to win."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," came the lilted reply. Her fingers kept playing Debussy's masterpiece. "Let go, Heather. You did all you could."

The next instant, Natasha felt a pair of luscious lips press against hers. She ignored the heavy stench of nicotine and tongued hungrily. A pair of hands grasped her waist and hoisted her atop the smooth surface of her piano. She opened her eyes to see Heather in front of her, looking like she was desperate to show some emotion.

They kissed again and Heather ripped open the buttons of her lover's top. She hungrily pressed her lips between Natasha's breasts. She groaned and threw her head back. Heather stood up and took her client's dress completely off, feasting on her aroused nipples.

Her fingers reached down and rubbed along the length of her wet orifice. She frantically rubbed her clit, all the while her mouth wreaked havoc on her torso. Her teeth grazed each nipple before she moved up, leaving a wet trail on her neck.

Natasha moaned and pressed a few random keys. The cadenza of lust played intermittently while Heather became more frantic with her manoeuvrings. Her fingers now concentrated on her clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. Her lips kissed all over her face before culminating in her mouth.

Suddenly, she impaled Natasha with her fingers. She gasped loudly into Heather's mouth in response and let a few notes ring loudly through the room. They reverberated off the walls and lost themselves in the furious panting. Heather pushed Natasha down until she was lying flat on her back and continued ravaging her G spot.

They shared a torrid kiss, letting a multitude of passions drown them. Three fingers were now sawing in and out of Natasha at a breathless pace. She closed her eyes and saw the darkness segue into a dazzling ensemble of colours. A riptide of orgasm crashed through her body, leaving her weak in the aftermath.

Natasha could barely open her eyes into slivers, seeing the spent and sweaty face of her lawyer. Heather gave her a lop-sided smile.

"I won't let go, Natasha Belvedere," she said with cold conviction. "I will hold on till the bitter end. If you burn, I promise you that I will be burning right beside you."

* *

Heather Franklin had an hourly rate of a thousand dollars. Tom Markham's figure was closer to a hundred thousand. Based on the numbers, a layman could conclude he was a hundred times better, but Heather knew all too well that was only half the story.

In reality, Tom Markham wasn't better. He was the best. Period.

She forced herself to stand straight outside his heavy door. Behind it was the Markham of Griffin, Markham and Wiley, a lawyer who every law student in every college aspired to be. Some of the most famous cases of the past two decades had been won by this man. As much as she hated her firm and everything it stood for, she had nothing but reverential awe for that man.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door twice.

"Come in, Heather," came the reply. "Have a seat."

Heather sat down on the other side of his ornate desk. He had his head down, going through some paperwork. Most of his hair was black and combed neatly. Despite pushing forty-five, he looked lithe and athletic. After a few moments, he raised his head.

"Heather, I think you know why you're here," he said. "The senior partners wanted to talk to you themselves, but I told them that I would. I think it's most appropriate that way."

She nodded. Tom spread his arms out and leaned forwards.

"Your superiors tell me that you have taken a pro bono assignment from Judge Giles and are intent on going through with the trial, rather than dump it quickly," he said smoothly. "This in the same year where we might consider you for a promotion to junior partner. Are you sure you're doing the right thing here?"

"I think so, sir," she said, feeling a rising dread within her.

He looked at her dourly, studying her expression for a few seconds.

"You know that I can force you to drop the case or else fire you if you remain adamant, right?"

"I do, sir."

"Drop the sir, Heather," he said genially. "Let's leave that to the other petty sycophants who work under me."

She was unsure if she should laugh. Tom's grin broadened.

"I want to ask you, Heather, what is it about this case that you can't dump it?"

"It's the client," she said. "She doesn't deserve to be in jail."

There was silence while he collected his thoughts.

"You know you can't save the world," he said sombrely.

"I don't want to save the world. I just want to save her."

"Can you save her?" Tom asked. "I've seen the facts of your case, you know."

"Please, let me try at least. If that means you have to fire me, so be it. If those are my choices, then being fired is the one I can live with."

Tom chuckled and leaned back in his padded recliner.

"You must think of me as some kind of monster," he said. "In all fairness, corporate lawyers have earned that stereotype. Let me tell you something, Heather and I want you to listen closely."