The Tyrant's Trophy

Chad

“Sir, I wouldn’t consider it a mess. This woman needs help. She would’ve come to us even if she didn’t have any leverage.” I told my boss. He hated these turns of events and I know it strained him to put me on this case. He would have preferred me busying myself with his wife’s safety than other assignments.

From what I can see: Mrs. Iogair was the main force in this case. She doesn’t give people much choice but to comply with her demands. I do believe, even without the leverage she had over my boss, she would’ve still found a way to force his hand.

Clearly, my boss hated the woman even more for it. “That doesn’t mean I would’ve helped her. This whole case is a pain in my ass. How is it going on your end?”

“It is going well. Mrs. Sweetheart is very cooperative and she keeps to herself for the most part.” Correction: Mrs. Sweetheart keeps to herself constantly. I’ve visited them since moving next door to see if she would be willing to talk about her abuse but to no avail. Whenever I’m mentioned, the lady locked herself up in that room.

It took an attempted kidnapping for us to finally see each other face to face. Of course, this is something I won’t be sharing with my boss.

“Well, that’s usually the case with victims of domestic violence. Just make sure her husband can’t find her.” That, I could make sure of.

“Already done, sir. I’ll reach out to my connections in the Navy and have that article on you removed.”

“Sounds great. Goodnight.” Before I could respond, Adam hung up.

“Touche much?” Setting my phone down, I focused back on the file before me. From what I gathered, Mrs. Sweetheart is a drama queen. She’s been diagnosed with Munchausen syndrome: this has been backed up by the number of times she’s been hospitalized.

It might also explain the damage to her face.

Those bruises were intense.

The thing that made me freeze was her police record. She was acquitted of murder. Her victim: her unborn child - just two weeks before her due date, she downed a bottle of pills to abort the baby. Her husband prevented the courts from imprisoning her on the account of insanity.

It made me think back to my boss and his wife. They loved their child and losing that kid broke them both. Abortions were none of my business and I try not to judge another person’s choice but this was a fully formed baby. It was shy of coming out of its womb when its mother decided to terminate it. Knowing that I can’t help but question the woman’s sanity, myself.

It’s like the Yates case.

“What have they been through that drove them to commit murder? How could their husbands not blame them, either?

How would I react in that case?

It made me think back to Amber: I would have her locked up for life.

This woman sounds like another Amber. My stomach growled, reminding me of one more thing. I threw out the food I brought. I dropped it once I saw that man pulling Mrs. Sweetheart out of the condo. I didn’t go back after that - in case that man showed up again.

I ended up returning here and was waiting for Iogair and her fiance to return. I’ve gotten some work done before my boss called. Now, I sat at my table, bored, and starving. “So much for some grub.”

I could order some pizza but takeout isn’t really my thing. I would prefer actually cooked meals with beneficial nutrients. That’s also what made the store more appetizing than takeout: they had more healthy options. Now, I have a headache.

I closed my eyes in hopes of blocking the pain, but that didn’t work out either. Thanks to the condo being silent, I heard the soft knocks on the front door. Looking out the peephole, I saw only the top of someone’s head.

It was my client.

She put on makeup and I must say, it was masterful. No trace of her wounds could be seen and she managed to keep them from looking artificial. “Did you need something?” It was the only thing I could think of that would bring her to my door.

She didn’t seem to know how to communicate with people. She would avoid my eyes - glancing back and forth, afraid. “Um,” She started turning red and squirming. It made me picture an anime character: those girls that spoke in high pitch voices and knew only how to blush. Unfortunately, I know some of that thanks to my older sister; Quinn.

The woman held a food container up to my face. It smelled AMAZING and it was fresh: the steam tickled my chin. “I noticed you dropped your bag because of the i-incident this morning and a boop isn’t at all payback for me ruining your meal, so here! It’s not much and I hope you like it!” She spoke too fast for me to catch it all but I didn’t care. Whatever she cooked, made me want to devour it right then and there.

“Thank you.” As calmly as I could, I grabbed the container. I had noticed her wrists: multiple scars littered them along with slight burns. I also took note of her attire: she still wore that vintage style dress from this morning but on closer inspection - it was loose on her.

I wonder what size Mr. Beau got her because the dress looked one size too big for her. That or she’s malnourished? The thought made me frown a bit. “Have you eaten?”

The lady shook her head.

This could be due to her mental illness. “Join me for a meal?” The woman blanched at the offer but before she could weasel her way out, I guilt-tripped her. “That would make us even from this morning.”

She flinched and I felt bad. However, I was on a job and as patient, as I’ve been, something had to give. She made progress by coming here but now I need to get the ball rolling. I also want to see for myself what kind of woman Maybell Sweetheart is. If that means I have to play dirty, then I will.

Knowing I cornered her, I stepped aside and let her in. She didn’t refuse - her conscience would bother her greatly if she did.

I led her to my table and got out plates for us. The food looked as amazing as it smelled: Salmon teriyaki with white rice and a salad on the side. “Do you want any juice or water?” I offered.

“Water…please.”

We sat across one another. “Whoa!” I exclaimed. “You cooked this?” The salmon was perfectly cooked - not rubbery at all and the rice was so fluffy and light!

Sweetheart smiled a bit but it dropped not even a second later. She hadn’t taken a bite; she spooned the food around the plate. If she was faking meekness, she did a darn good job.

I had to find some way of earning her trust. Something to get her to open up to me.

Swallowing, I decided this was a great time to practice what I learned from psychology. “What’s your favorite color?”

Finally, she made eye contact with me. “P-pardon?”

“What’s your favorite color?” I repeated, ignoring the expression she gave me.

“Turquoise.”

I nodded. “Why Turquoise?”

“Why?” The lady tilted her head in confusion. She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Because it’s a brighter version of blue, I suppose.” Her brows furrowed. “Blue is a sad color but turquoise is a happier version of it.”

“Mine would be gray and green.” I took another bite of salmon. “In psychology, colors are said to affect our emotions and actions.” Also, it peeks just a bit into the gears of a person’s head.

“Oh.” She sipped some of her water.

“Do you surround yourself with turquoise?”

“No. Phil hates the color.” she covered her mouth as if a secret slipped. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

For now. “Sure, what would you like to talk about?”

Mrs. Sweetheart tapped the table with her finger - the pensive expression made her appear more childish than an adult. After thinking it over, she pointed at me. “You.”

It wasn’t unusual for people to turn the topic on someone else. It happens in therapy often; also why many therapists use it as a chance to form a bridge with their clients. This is what I expected: if I can form a line of trust between us, I can separate what is true and false about Maybell Sweetheart.

“Ok. Ask me anything.” This is going as planned.

“What made you want to be a bodyguard?” How do I explain my current situation? I didn’t prefer being called a ‘bodyguard’ because my list of assignments went above simply guarding people.

“It’s a career I ended up with.” That basically summed it up.

“How so?” Now I had to do some introspecting.

“I guess my family played a role in this.” I came from a well-to-do family. “My grandfather and father were both Navy SEALs so, naturally, I followed suit, and when my time was over, I just found a job where I still use my skills.”

“You’re a Navy.”

I nodded.

“My dad was in the military.” Sweetheart sat up at that.

“Which division?”

She looked back at her food. “He was a field soldier. My dad didn’t like talking about his time in the military. When he came back, he became a cop.” She peeked back up at me. “You’re pretty calm for someone who was in the military.”

I raised a brow at her. “Thank you?”

“I’m sorry about earlier.” The apology made me blink. “And for the week.” Now, Mrs. Sweetheart made the effort to look me in the eye. That blush returned with a vengeance and her voice became closer to a whisper but it was sincere.

I could find no deception in her stare. I still had some doubts, but hopefully, the truth will reveal itself.

“It’s ok.”