Chapter 64

Chapter 64
Georgiana walked alone through the dark streets, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness. The city she had called home for twenty-three years suddenly felt as broken and diseased as the war zones of Syria. Every shadow seemed to harbor a threat, every silent building a potential betrayal.
She couldn't determine whether she was the one who had become ill, or if the world itself had grown sick. The lines between right and wrong, once so clear in her mind, now blurred at the edges.
When she reached a large oak tree on the corner, her steps faltered. Leaning against its rough bark, Georgiana found she no longer had the strength to continue. Tears fell freely down her face, dripping onto her coat.
Her phone suddenly vibrated, Michael's name illuminating the screen.
She stared at it for several seconds before answering, not knowing how to begin.
"Georgiana?" Michael's voice came through cautiously after the silence stretched too long.
She forced herself to respond, a soft "Mmm" that barely made it past the tightness in her throat.
"Where are you?" he asked.
She didn't answer his question. Instead, she countered: "Why are you calling? As a police officer, or as a friend?"
"A friend," he answered without hesitation.
Georgiana finally responded, "I'm at the corner of Maple Avenue and Birchwood Lane."
Twenty minutes later, Georgiana sat on a bench at the edge of the sidewalk. Across the street, a taxi pulled to a stop. Michael emerged, crossing the empty road with measured steps.
"Isn't it cold sitting out here?" he asked, his voice quiet in the night air.
"Not really," Georgiana shook her head, her expression vacant and distant.
Michael stood beside her, looking at her face. She looked hollow, defeated—like a small abandoned kitten at the roadside, too exhausted to seek shelter.
"Rough day?" he asked simply.
This ordinary question made her sad, her eyes immediately filling with tears.
"I'm guessing you've had a lot of pressure put on you," Michael continued gently.
"But more people support you than don't," he added.
"Only strangers online," Georgiana finally spoke, her voice breaking slightly. "The people around me, nobody..."
Only he had come to find her.
Georgiana suddenly turned to look at him. "Has your department given you trouble? Have they been hard on you because of me?"
"No," Michael replied, gazing at the empty street with the hint of a smile. "Though I thought you might have mentioned your article to me before publishing it."
"It was too late that night," Georgiana said, her voice growing quieter.
"The current investigation can't establish any direct or indirect connection between Mr. Thornton and Nicholas's death," Michael said carefully.
Georgiana immediately tensed. "So you've come to convince me to retract my story too?"
Michael looked at her silently, his expression unreadable.
"Georgiana," he finally said, "you may have been a bit reckless this time."
She tried to pull away from his grasp, but he held firm. "If I hadn't spoken up, the student who died would have been the one harmed. Where were all of you when people were insulting the victim yesterday? The school and the administration are lying, and that student had nowhere to turn. I had to help him."
"I'm not saying you were wrong," Michael responded, still gently holding her arm. "I don't think you did anything wrong. In fact, I thought your article was remarkably objective. But remember what I told you—good intentions don't guarantee just outcomes."
Something deep within Georgiana recoiled at his words. "How is the outcome not just? The victim was the vulnerable party. I helped give him a voice, creating an opportunity for balanced dialogue. What's wrong with that?"
"But the situation isn't balanced anymore," Michael explained. "It's evolved into online vigilantism. Thornton has been doxxed—rumors that 'his wife works for the education department,' that 'he's gay,' that 'his child is a school bully,' that 'the police chief was his student.' Is this the result you wanted to see?"
"I didn't cause that!" Georgiana felt her heart breaking. "I only documented the facts as I saw them. The fault lies with those who maliciously misinterpret and can't think rationally. They're wrong, not me!"
Michael sighed. "I've seen the autopsy report. Nicholas had no prior injuries that would suggest physical abuse. There's no evidence of corporal punishment. The video on his phone is too short to identify the aggressor. And regarding verbal abuse, that conversation alone doesn't provide sufficient evidence. That's why I told you there's no provable connection between Thornton and the victim."
Georgiana froze, staring at him in shock.
"I'm afraid the student might be deceiving you," Michael continued. "And you alone will bear the consequences of his deception."
"I verified what he said in my own way," Georgiana countered. "What about you? Are your colleagues deceiving you? In your mind, students lie but police don't? Look at who's acting guilty now—who's desperately trying to silence me, putting pressure on every aspect of my life and work, even dragging my father into this."
Michael took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "Georgiana, you might think I'm making excuses for them. But sometimes, suppressive tactics come from insecurity and fear of escalation. Their methods are clumsy and stupid, but that doesn't necessarily mean they're guilty. You can't validate your position based solely on their reactions."
Georgiana felt profound disappointment in Michael's attitude. "Did your superiors send you? Using our friendship as a pretext?"
Michael flinched visibly, stunned by her accusation. He stared at her for several seconds before his lips curved into a faint, almost self-mocking smile. "I've always known what kind of woman you are."
"What do you mean?"
"Appearing delicate on the outside, but iron-willed within," he said. "I just never expected you to be so... uncompromising. Do you really think good intentions always lead to good outcomes? This world is full of people who started with what they thought were noble aims, only to cause tremendous harm."
"You believe you saved someone, but perhaps you've hurt many more. Do the innocent people caught in the crossfire mean nothing to you? Is their suffering irrelevant?"
Georgiana felt her heart growing cold in the bitter wind. "And I never expected you to blindly defend your collective. So Officer Hall believes it's acceptable to sacrifice an individual to protect others? To silence them, to stifle their voice? I suppose that makes sense. You're a soldier—you follow orders from above unconditionally. Even if those orders were to kill someone, you'd pull the trigger, wouldn't you?"
In the dark, cold night, Michael's face turned ashen.
They weren't shouting, weren't even raising their voices, yet each word cut deeply like a knife.
They stared at each other in silence, finally recognizing how far apart they had drifted. Somehow, they had ended up on opposite sides.
At last, Michael stepped back and gently released her hand.