Richard Doetsch - Half-Past Dawn

But the sight that struck him the hardest, the one person he felt ashamed for deceiving, stood there alone, off to the side, silently weeping, tears running down her face. She made no effort to wipe them away, allowing them to pour down as if they would somehow wash away her agony.

Joy had been his assistant for twelve years and had come upstairs with him to his current position as DA. She was everything that made him successful; she kept him timely, organized; she knew his faults and weaknesses and always countered them, never allowing the outside world to know of her boss’s shortcomings. She was like the sister who always kept him in line, kept his ego in check if it ever got out of control after winning some big case or being featured in the newspaper.

And as he looked at her, at her forever-young face, at the black purse he had given her for her birthday slung over her shoulder, his head began to pound, his heart suddenly racing as his emotions built up inside him. Last night’s rage and anger and fury filled him once again.

His mind began to open. He felt the memories coalesce. Joy’s pain, her suffering and tears, and, in an odd way, the purse on her shoulder sparked it all. It was as if his brain was suddenly on overload. Thoughts, feelings, images, and memories from two days earlier poured forth as if it had been minutes ago, as if it was always there, in the forefront of his mind.

Jack remembered.

It was Wednesday, 11:00 in the morning. Jack was staring at Joy, her eyes blue and clear, unmarred by tears and sorrow. Her wry smile flashed the usual I-told-you-so as she handed him a file.

“I told you to take the Richmond case file with you last night.”

“I went straight to the conference room this morning.”

“Mia leave you on empty again?” Joy laughed.

“You could have brought the file upstairs to the conference room.”

“You could leave ten minutes earlier in the morning.”

Jack handed her back the file. “A lot of good it’s going to do me now.”

Without missing a beat she took the file and handed him the newspaper and a new file. He raised his eyebrow in question.

“You need to read up on the polling numbers,” Joy said. “And the Times didn’t paint a very flattering picture of your first term in office.”

Jack opened the file and glanced at his morning campaign brief. Although it was only June, the political prognosticators and the soothsaying polls had already projected his defeat in November. His opponent had raised more than double what his coffers held, most from the power brokers who had funded him four years ago. While many thought elections were up to the voters, they were really won with dollars and a theme.

While Jack had achieved much in three and a half years, there was no compelling theme to hang his hat on. Everyone needed buzz, every politician needed a defining moment that could be boiled down to a catch phrase that thirty million dollars could disseminate into the hearts and minds of the thirty-two percent of the public that pulled the lever on election day.

With his thoughts on more significant matters, Jack snapped the file closed and headed into his office.

The high-ceilinged space was the largest on the floor, as was fitting for the man who oversaw the prosecution of the New York City’s crimes. The wood-grain walls matched the forty-year-old chipped and scarred desk that sat before the large picture window. New York Harbor’s panorama was brightly lit under the summer sun, the vast waterway dotted with freighters and barges heading in and out of the local ports. A handful of sailboats piloted by those lucky enough to have the day off cruised the waterway, their sails filled with summer breeze.

Jack removed his jacket and draped it over his chair, loosened his muted blue-striped tie, and stared out at the view, regrouping after his early-morning trial conference, knowing he had a long day ahead. He finally looked at the New York Times and skimmed the article about his successes and failures in his first term, along with the odds against reelection. And as he turned, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Sitting on the couch was the last person he ever expected. She had only been to his office once in all the years, and that was when she needed his signature on the legal papers to refinance their mortgage.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Mia said. She was sitting on the old, cracked leather couch, dressed in a long black pencil skirt and white shirt, far more fashionable than any FBI agent he had ever known. On the couch next to her was a long black metal box.

“Friggin’ Joy,” Jack said with a half-laugh. “She could have mentioned you were in here.”

Mia smiled. “I told her I wanted to scare you.”

“Well, you succeeded.” He laughed.

He walked over, leaned down, and kissed her gently; it was a rare day when they saw each other in the morning, their divergent schedules pulling them in different directions. He hoped their lives would once again fall into sync but knew that was years off with both of their careers in high gear. “By the way, thanks for leaving me on empty.”

“Sorry…” Mia smiled that get-out-of-jail-free smile, the one that always released her from Jack’s anger. She had him so wrapped up in her heart that she could remove his limbs and he’d still forgive her with a thank you and a returned smile.

“Not a very nice article,” Mia said as she pointed at the newspaper in Jack’s hand.

“Don’t believe everything you read in the papers,” he said as he tossed the paper into the garbage. But then his eyes filled with sudden concern at her unaccustomed presence. “Are you all right?”

Mia nodded as she stood from the couch. “Yeah.”

But Jack could see that she wasn’t, his eyes falling on the case on his couch.

Mia walked to the window, looking out at the harbor. “You know, we never did properly christen this office.”

Jack looked at her with raised eyebrows, glancing out through the open door at Joy, who was busily typing, hoping she didn’t hear Mia’s suggestive comment. He quickly closed the door.

“Hmm. You like that idea.” Mia turned around and sat on the windowsill, her long legs exposed even more, a glint of mirth in her eyes. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Mia,” Jack said with a smile, “as much as I would like to mark the occasion four years after the fact, as much as I would like to see the rest of those legs, I know you didn’t come here for that.”

“I need a big favor.”

“You don’t need to preface it.”

“I need you to put this evidence case in the Tombs.” Mia pointed to the box on the couch.

“The FBI evidence room isn’t good enough?”

Mia didn’t answer.

Jack looked at her, his concern growing. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Mia shook her head.

Jack walked to the couch and picked up the case. It was a standard one-foot-by-three-foot evidence case, akin to a bank lock box. It was hinged along the short side, a single cylinder lock on the near end. The top was stamped FBI 7138.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It’s best you don’t know.”

The moment hung in the air, a host of unasked questions floating around the room. They both had secrets, things in their jobs that they didn’t share: cases, investigations, rumors. It was the nature of their jobs. Jack and Mia had always been open and honest, even speaking those truths that are sometimes hard to hear. It was the foundation of their love. But in their careers, while often sharing war stories, tales of success and failure, advising each other as spouses so often do, there were aspects that they couldn’t talk about.