SOPHIA
Jameson was sleeping soundly against me on the leather sofa in the center of the room. Lifting my heavy eyelids, I noticed I was the only one appearing to be conscious. His steady breathing reminded me of the frightening reality of the last few hours, scalding my mind as I was quickly brought back to the present.
The entire weight of his long frame was pushing against me, forcing my body into the side of the couch. Rain was pelting the roof and walls, preparing to slice through in massive sheets that threatened to separate us. At least that’s what it sounded like.
It seemed like anything and anyone would be happy to separate me from the good in my life.
Jules. Was she okay? Where was she?
“Jameson,” I whispered, barely able to nudge my shoulder beneath him. I had no clue how dense he was. The lean figure hid his weight well. He wouldn’t budge.
“Jame—”
“Let him sleep, Sophia,” Elizabeth’s soft voice whispered from across the room. “Are you okay?”
I looked to my right, noticing her setting Judge Kerry’s feet back on the sofa as she lifted from beneath him to tiptoe toward Jameson and me. She knelt before me, placing a tentative hand along my cheek as she brushed some hair behind my ear.
What is she doing? Jameson, please wake up. Please?
“I know that you have panic attacks,” she whispered. “Jules told me.”
Traitor. I swallowed, my eyes probably looking as large as headlights, unable to communicate with this woman.
“Are you having one right now? Is it because you’re here? Are you thinking of Jules?”
I am now. Thanks. Yes, I was thinking of her. Extra thanks for reminding me so my panic doubled. Elizabeth’s hand rested against my shoulder, almost touching Jameson’s sleeping face.
“Come here,” she whispered. “I want to show you something.”
My eyes glanced to the left, willing Jameson’s head to lift so he would wake and keep me from following Elizabeth.
Nope. Here I go, following the shrew who hates my existence.
I slowly slid from beneath Jameson, placing his head on a pillow in my absence.
Elizabeth’s figure floated through the room, a stark contrast from the howling wind and pelting rain outside. I wish there were windows in here. She bent under a tiny doorway at one end of the room, kneeling inside a small crawlspace. I watched as she entered a multi-step combination into the intricate lock of a safe that consumed half of the small space. I knelt in the doorway, too anxious to leave Jameson’s sleeping form and too afraid to be alone with Elizabeth.
“Obviously, you know we aren’t related to Jameson,” Elizabeth whispered, reaching into a small black box.
I nodded, swallowing the anxious lump that was still pounding in my throat.
“This…” She pulled a folded brown envelope from the black box and pressed it into my hands. “…is all we have of Jameson’s life.”
“B-Before he was J-Jameson,” I clarified, my hands trembling with the weight of his identity. Elizabeth nodded, a gentle smile spreading along her face.
“These are photographs that one of the police officers took from his home,” she continued, whispering to me in the crawlspace. “We’re not supposed to have them. They should’ve been burned along with his identity, which is why we keep them locked away. Thomas would probably kill me if he knew I was showing these to you.”
“Does Jameson know you have these?”
“No.” Her head hung. “I…I didn’t know when there would be a good time…”
I flipped through the photos, savoring every sweet memory this boy had, and pretended to imagine the handsome young man I know living this different life.
There were two photos in particular that stung. In one, Jameson and his mom were sitting on a park bench with the sun blazing above them. Her arms were wrapped around him, tickling his stomach, and his head was thrown back in laughter. Whoever took this photograph caught one of the happiest moments as it happened, capturing Jameson’s history. Gabriel’s history. His smile was much different now, never reaching his eyes as it so innocently did from his mother’s touch.
The second picture was of Jameson and, I assumed, his sister. She was stunning even as a toddler. Her wavy brown hair mirrored his, as did her sparkling hazel eyes. He was standing behind her, helping her hold a baseball bat.
My heart ached for him. I glanced back into the room, seeing that he had turned toward the back of the couch.
“I can’t look at these, Mrs. Kerry.” I handed the photos back to her, shaking my head. “I’m betraying him by doing that. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I stumbled backward, falling on my bottom as I tried to wiggle out from the crawlspace, taking a floor lamp with me as I fell flat onto the hardwood floor. Even their safe room, framed with nearly indestructible concrete, was anchored by a hardwood floor and decorative floor lamps as any obnoxiously ostentatious home would be.
“What’s going on?” Judge Kerry’s tired voice cracked from the room.
I know my face was glowing crimson, I could feel the burning creep along my skin. I struggled to put the lamp back in order, hoping to have the redness gone from my face before turning around.
“What?” Jameson moaned. Oh no.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, saying it more to myself than anyone else. I had woken my knight and the fire-breathing dragon.
“It’s quite all right.” Elizabeth held my wrist, smiling at me.
Her demeanor had shifted, entirely changing to express far more compassion than the uncomfortably snooty persona she projected before we had been held hostage together during the hurricane.
“It’s still coming down,” Judge Kerry commented as he stood and stretched his long arms above his head. “I can’t wait for this to be over.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if he meant the storm or my presence in his sacred space. Jameson sat on the couch, motioning for me to return to him. I gladly complied, scampering across the floor and securing myself at his side.
Once his right arm was wrapped around me, pulling our bodies together, I felt his lips against my hair. That feeling. The security, the promise, the insane butterflies that tossed around in their own hurricane…
“Are you okay?” he whispered. “I know that’s a stupid question.”
I shrugged, refusing to lie to Jameson.
“What were you doing over there?”
“Is there water in here? I’m really thirsty.” I looked up at him.
His hazel eyes were dangerously close to mine. Their glow was haunting, deep, and visceral while they burned into my own. My fingers trembled. He was suspicious and I had no clue how to explain the secret which Elizabeth had shared.
At that moment, I may have known more about Jameson than he did.