Mark Thomas Campbell, esq. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aussielawyer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamlikenewyork2018-06-11 01:37 am
aussielawyer) wrote in dreamlikenewyork2018-06-11 01:37 am
"All I need is one phone call."
Who: Mark Campbell with Arian Alcott and Clint Chevalier
What: The hardest job in the world
Where: Home, Upper East Side, NYC
When: After this
Mark was trying to stay busy, but it wasn't an easy task. He had a pile of legal briefs sitting on the outdoor table beside him but his attempts to study them hadn't been successful. He had his laptop open in front of him where he had answered some urgent emails, and beside that, an unopened bottle of scotch. He made a little leeway with his work because his mind kept wandering. That was inevitable, considering his son was going through one of the worst episodes of his illness to-date, hospitalised in the youth psych unit in Westchester. Even sitting in the rooftop garden by the pool out in the sunshine hadn't helped. Mark owned the entire top floor of the apartment building now, and when he had bought the second apartment connected to his, he got the full deeds to the rooftop garden, though it was secured with walls that couldn't be scaled so Justin was safe up here too. No one else was here, so it was peaceful. He could think, and right now, he needed to think. Think and wait. The waiting was the hardest part.
And apparently ensure he didn't end up with a pack-a-day smoking habit. He had just lit up his third straight cigarette when Arian came out into the garden holding a large envelope. "From Sash?" he asked, catching the cigarette between his fingers and ashing it as he blew the smoke over his shoulder. "I just got a text confirming your appointment with Hunter this afternoon. I think we're going to need to think about a little bit of rehab for Jus somewhere. School will be out for the summer by the time he's discharged, so Sash can be with him to help out. Maybe somewhere all the kids can go for a timeout. Maybe you could research some places in line with his therapy regime once it's set."
Ari nodded and handed Mark the envelope. "I just took Dory to him. He's taking her to visit Zeke at the farm. Justin doesn't want visitors, so I'm just going to meet with Hunter, to see where Justin's situation is at from a social work standpoint. I think more intensive counselling is a good place to start. But getting him away from the city for a breather is a good call. We'll put support mechanisms up around him before he comes out. How are you holding up?"
"Ask me again after I read what's in here." Mark ashed the cigarette in the ashtray and took the envelope. He had already listened to the recording of the conversation with Justin Sasha had emailed him. It had been a good call to make because Justin inevitable revealed some significant developments of his past traumas. Mark was doing his best to process it, but he was battle-weary. "Let me know how you get on with Hunter."
Ari nodded. "Will do." He gave Mark's shoulder a soft pat before he left him to it again.
Mark closed his eyes, exhaling heavily to brace himself to read these letters Justin's mother sent to him under the name of one of her inmates. He really thought Justin may have destroyed them in a panic. They were evidence, but Mark hoped he didn't have to use them. He was just waiting for that phone call. It took him over an hour, and three more cigarettes, to read through the letters and it took all his self-control not to ignite the envelopes filled with toxic, vile ravings of a woman who deserved to burn in hell. It was no wonder Justin's mental health hit breaking point after reading these. It was no wonder he hadn't completed this time and took his life. Thank fuck he was connected enough with Sasha to have cried out for help when he needed it.
He was sweaty and shaky by the final letter, emotionally and mentally distressed by the horrible things the evil bitch had threatened Justin with, all because she had some maniacal obsession with destroying Mark. Whether that stemmed right back to when he got her pregnant, or whether it was the more recent stripping her of her parental rights to Justin, gaining sole custody over him, and having her sent down for child abuse and neglect, it was impossible to know. Nor was it important. Her motivations were devoid of consideration. She had not only threatened his life, but Justin's, and had put in writing actions in the past that he could take her down as attempted murder with.
But Euan had been right. Dragging Justin through the stress and trauma of another court case where he would have to testify just wasn't going to happen. There was no way in hell Mark was going to let her steal anymore of his son's life, let alone his mental wellbeing, which was only hanging on by a thread right now.
Beside him, his phone started to ring. He looked at the screen to see if it was what he was waiting for. He stubbed out the cigarette and answered the call. "Clint?"
"It's done."
Clint's thick Southern drawl triggered a rush of relief that felt like it had a physical force slamming Mark in the chest. He clutched the phone to his ear and bit down hard on his lip, swallowing back a lump of emotion in his throat. "How?"
"Tracked down the cunt dealing her product on the inside and had her next delivery intercepted. She got set with laced crank that had her bleeding to death from every fucking orifice imaginable. Mimicked end-stage liver disease. Natural causes. Slow, painful, and the only thing more I wish I coulda fucking done was stand over the cunt and laugh while she took her last fucking breath. But it's done, bud. She was on ice in the morgue by six this morning. Eu just gave me the greenlight. He checked it out himself. Let yourself fucking breathe, alright? He's safe. Give us a call if you need anything."
Mark ended the call and went to grab the steel trash can that was emptied by the janitor that morning. He brought it back to the table and dumped the pile of letters inside it. Twisting the cap off the bottle of scotch, he splashed a healthy amount of it over the envelopes and set them alight with his lighter. They ignited quickly and he sat back in the chair, watching the flames lick the sides of the can.
He held up the bottle in a silent toast and took a long swig from it. "Ding-dong, the witch is dead," he mumbled, letting himself feel the anger so he could exorcise himself of it and open the channel for the relief to flood through. He didn't know what would happen next with Justin, or how he would go recovering from this, but whatever happened, finally... finally, his son was free of the evil and destructive torment of a woman willing to destroy him for her own fucked up pleasures. "Burn in hell, you evil bitch."
NARRATIVE, COMPLETE
What: The hardest job in the world
Where: Home, Upper East Side, NYC
When: After this
Mark was trying to stay busy, but it wasn't an easy task. He had a pile of legal briefs sitting on the outdoor table beside him but his attempts to study them hadn't been successful. He had his laptop open in front of him where he had answered some urgent emails, and beside that, an unopened bottle of scotch. He made a little leeway with his work because his mind kept wandering. That was inevitable, considering his son was going through one of the worst episodes of his illness to-date, hospitalised in the youth psych unit in Westchester. Even sitting in the rooftop garden by the pool out in the sunshine hadn't helped. Mark owned the entire top floor of the apartment building now, and when he had bought the second apartment connected to his, he got the full deeds to the rooftop garden, though it was secured with walls that couldn't be scaled so Justin was safe up here too. No one else was here, so it was peaceful. He could think, and right now, he needed to think. Think and wait. The waiting was the hardest part.
And apparently ensure he didn't end up with a pack-a-day smoking habit. He had just lit up his third straight cigarette when Arian came out into the garden holding a large envelope. "From Sash?" he asked, catching the cigarette between his fingers and ashing it as he blew the smoke over his shoulder. "I just got a text confirming your appointment with Hunter this afternoon. I think we're going to need to think about a little bit of rehab for Jus somewhere. School will be out for the summer by the time he's discharged, so Sash can be with him to help out. Maybe somewhere all the kids can go for a timeout. Maybe you could research some places in line with his therapy regime once it's set."
Ari nodded and handed Mark the envelope. "I just took Dory to him. He's taking her to visit Zeke at the farm. Justin doesn't want visitors, so I'm just going to meet with Hunter, to see where Justin's situation is at from a social work standpoint. I think more intensive counselling is a good place to start. But getting him away from the city for a breather is a good call. We'll put support mechanisms up around him before he comes out. How are you holding up?"
"Ask me again after I read what's in here." Mark ashed the cigarette in the ashtray and took the envelope. He had already listened to the recording of the conversation with Justin Sasha had emailed him. It had been a good call to make because Justin inevitable revealed some significant developments of his past traumas. Mark was doing his best to process it, but he was battle-weary. "Let me know how you get on with Hunter."
Ari nodded. "Will do." He gave Mark's shoulder a soft pat before he left him to it again.
Mark closed his eyes, exhaling heavily to brace himself to read these letters Justin's mother sent to him under the name of one of her inmates. He really thought Justin may have destroyed them in a panic. They were evidence, but Mark hoped he didn't have to use them. He was just waiting for that phone call. It took him over an hour, and three more cigarettes, to read through the letters and it took all his self-control not to ignite the envelopes filled with toxic, vile ravings of a woman who deserved to burn in hell. It was no wonder Justin's mental health hit breaking point after reading these. It was no wonder he hadn't completed this time and took his life. Thank fuck he was connected enough with Sasha to have cried out for help when he needed it.
He was sweaty and shaky by the final letter, emotionally and mentally distressed by the horrible things the evil bitch had threatened Justin with, all because she had some maniacal obsession with destroying Mark. Whether that stemmed right back to when he got her pregnant, or whether it was the more recent stripping her of her parental rights to Justin, gaining sole custody over him, and having her sent down for child abuse and neglect, it was impossible to know. Nor was it important. Her motivations were devoid of consideration. She had not only threatened his life, but Justin's, and had put in writing actions in the past that he could take her down as attempted murder with.
But Euan had been right. Dragging Justin through the stress and trauma of another court case where he would have to testify just wasn't going to happen. There was no way in hell Mark was going to let her steal anymore of his son's life, let alone his mental wellbeing, which was only hanging on by a thread right now.
Beside him, his phone started to ring. He looked at the screen to see if it was what he was waiting for. He stubbed out the cigarette and answered the call. "Clint?"
"It's done."
Clint's thick Southern drawl triggered a rush of relief that felt like it had a physical force slamming Mark in the chest. He clutched the phone to his ear and bit down hard on his lip, swallowing back a lump of emotion in his throat. "How?"
"Tracked down the cunt dealing her product on the inside and had her next delivery intercepted. She got set with laced crank that had her bleeding to death from every fucking orifice imaginable. Mimicked end-stage liver disease. Natural causes. Slow, painful, and the only thing more I wish I coulda fucking done was stand over the cunt and laugh while she took her last fucking breath. But it's done, bud. She was on ice in the morgue by six this morning. Eu just gave me the greenlight. He checked it out himself. Let yourself fucking breathe, alright? He's safe. Give us a call if you need anything."
Mark ended the call and went to grab the steel trash can that was emptied by the janitor that morning. He brought it back to the table and dumped the pile of letters inside it. Twisting the cap off the bottle of scotch, he splashed a healthy amount of it over the envelopes and set them alight with his lighter. They ignited quickly and he sat back in the chair, watching the flames lick the sides of the can.
He held up the bottle in a silent toast and took a long swig from it. "Ding-dong, the witch is dead," he mumbled, letting himself feel the anger so he could exorcise himself of it and open the channel for the relief to flood through. He didn't know what would happen next with Justin, or how he would go recovering from this, but whatever happened, finally... finally, his son was free of the evil and destructive torment of a woman willing to destroy him for her own fucked up pleasures. "Burn in hell, you evil bitch."
NARRATIVE, COMPLETE