All Chapters of The Witness He Owns: Chapter 1 - Chapter 9

It is almost 11:00pm, when the diner closes for the day.Like clockwork.For the past two years, every single Friday night has ended exactly the same way; me closing the diner at that time, so today is no different. At this point, my brain recognizes all the signs that signifies closing: how the lock sounds, like a knuckle cracking, and even the flickering of the neon lights twice before going off. And of course, my body remembers the feeling of the cold hitting me sharply, once I step outside, like a reluctant welcome back into the night.Except tonight, it is colder than usual. I pull my coat tighter and start walking. My car is in the shop again for the third time this month so my options are the bus or my feet, and since I already missed the lady bus at 10:55pm, no thanks to the till being kept in cash, meaning I had to count it by hand because Uncle Pete did not trust the counting machine. So, my feet, it is.I am so tired that the long route home seems like punishment, so I d

The bed feels very different. Soft too.I notice it first. And I know why. Think the worst of me if you want, but a soft mattress, the kind that costs more than three months of my rent, the kind that wraps your body so gently you almost do not notice it at all, this is exactly the kind of mattress I never thought I would sleep on in my whole life. No. Not someone like me. The sheets smell like something expensive and clean. The light coming through the curtains is grey and quiet and nothing like the yellow streetlamp that leaks through my bedroom window at home every single morning. Even the ambience is a clear contrast to the life I am used to.For about four seconds I forget where I am.Then it all comes back. The alley. The gun in his face. Raymond Holt sliding down that wall. The SUV outside my window. Marcus Vane from Vane Legal Group at my door. The black glass building. The door closing behind me.I sit up.The room around me is unlike anywhere I have ever lived. Large and bare

By accident.I’m at Marcus Vane’s house for the fourth morning when I get the fresh towels in my bathroom.It is Anna who tells me, not Marcus. She does not mean to.She smiles at me, greets me as she’s dropping off the towels when she asks how my mother is doing an if she is settling well at the new facility. She asks so casually, clearly speaking under the assumption that I already know about the move.I freeze."What new facility?" I ask.Anna’s face changes. Slowly. I see the shift in her expression. The moment she figures it out that she has spilled information that was not hers to share. She recovers fast, She sets the towels down on the end of the bed and runs her hands over them uncomfortably, especially as they do not need it.I look at her square in the eyes, then ask again. “What facility?”The confusion is obvious in her eyes, even her voice when she says "I'm sure Mr. Vane can explain …""Tell me, Anna." It does not come out as a question."A private care facility, Miss B

We do not talk about the safehouse.We drive back to the penthouse the next morning and Marcus is exactly as he always is; measured, precise, already three steps ahead of whatever he is thinking about.He calls me into the small boardroom to debrief me about the drive.“Thank you.” He says, looking right at me with appreciation in his eyes. “Thank you for being there and being so composed Callie. You being there meant a lot and I want you to know that.”My mouth is dry at the weight I hear in his voice. This man is not used to needing other people.“You’re welcome”. I reply. And I am being absolutely honest. I know what it means for me that he is doing everything in his power to figure this puzzle that has both our lives intertwined right now out and I am also grateful.He goes on to tell me the data is being processed and that we should know more within forty-eight hours.He does not mention watching me sleep.I do not mention it either.But I think about it. More than I should. More

This time, the dress is deep red.Anna lays it out for me without saying anything. I ruminate over that for a second, and I realize there is nothing to say. The dress speaks volumes. I put it on. I walk to the mirror and as I walk, the feel of the fabric on my skin comes with the knowledge that there is a heavy task assigned to it. I get to the mirror and take a long look at myself in this expensive red dress. I cannot even fathom how much this must cost and I, Callie Brooks, is putting it on. It feels even more expensive than the first dress I had called “fancy” for the first event I had attended with Marcus. In the mirror, I see someone dressed up for a show. But not a show where they are the star. One where they are to be conquered. I think, this is armour. That is all it is. At least, that is what it feels like it is for all intents and purposes. A red dress. The red colour chosen to be obvious, to attract attention, to be seen. A silhouette designed to be noticed. I am a walking