Monday afternoon:
Brown was heading to Miranda's house in his truck, accompanied by his most faithful man, Jhon Bell. The black van shone in the sunlight, as if reflecting the determination of its driver.
Upon arriving, Brown stopped and got out, standing for a moment, looking at Miranda's house. The sun reflected his dark glasses, hiding his intentions behind a layer of mystery.
"Wait for me here," Brown said in a firm voice, addressing Jhon, who nodded without protest.
Brown took off his sunglasses and walked toward the door without hesitation. He didn't touch; Instead, he produced a replica key he had made for these occasions. With a precise turn, he unlocked the door and entered quietly.
The inside smelled of freshly brewed coffee and something more subtle that he couldn't identify. With every step he took, the shadows seemed to lengthen around him, as if the house itself were aware of his presence.
Brown walked into the kitchen and saw Miranda sitting, engrossed in her cup of coffee. Instantly, she became aware of his presence, a chill ran down her spine. A deep fear and discomfort surged inside him, like an echo in an empty room.
He placed his coffee on the table with a barely perceptible tremor and stood up from his chair, trying to remain calm.
—What are you doing here? —he asked, trying to hide his concern behind a defiant tone.
-That? Can't I come see my princess? Brown replied with a crooked smile. Or were you waiting for someone else?
He approached her with sure steps, the air between them thick with tension. With an unexpected movement, he began to touch her inappropriately, his hands exploring the personal space she was trying to protect. Then, he leaned down and gently kissed her neck, sending a shiver through Miranda's body.
—Why don't you come with me? Brown whispered in a persuasive tone. If you do, you will no longer have to work; you will only rest.
Miranda felt her heart pounding as she struggled to find the right words to reject him. The pressure of his closeness was overwhelming.
—Please, stop it! Miranda exclaimed, turning her face away from Brown, feeling her discomfort transform into indignation.
—Why are you behaving like this? Do you prefer Oscar Cooper? Brown replied, his voice thick with annoyance. You probably already messed with him.
Brown's words made anger well up in Miranda.
—How dare you? he said, eyes shining with disdain. Me and Oscar are just friends. We get along very well; He understands me and doesn't try to take me by force.
Brown frowned in disbelief.
—But what are you saying? Are you even listening to yourself? —his tone was sharp—. Oscar is wilder than you can imagine. He is a murderer. Do you prefer an assassin as your hero? Hey?
Miranda felt her heart pounding; Brown's words echoed in his mind like a haunting echo. Fury and fear intertwined within her, as she tried to find a way to defend what she felt for Oscar without letting Brown intimidate her.
-Enough! "He's not a murderer," Miranda said, fervently defending Oscar, feeling that every word was a barrier against Brown's accusations.
—And you defend him? Brown replied, his voice full of contempt. He is a murderer. Surely he didn't tell you his whole story: he killed his former representative.
Brown's words rained down on her like a torrent, each phrase designed to unsettle her.
—Blow after blow to his former representative's face... Blood dripping down his hands... Tell me, isn't that the wildest thing ever?
Miranda looked away, squeezing her eyes shut as a vivid image formed in her mind: the bloody face, the muffled scream. A shiver ran down his spine.
"Please... stop it," she murmured, feeling her defenses weaken at the emotional impact of Brown's words.
The internal struggle intensified; He wanted to believe in the good things about Oscar, but the images he had conjured were beginning to dent his faith.
—You better forget about Oscar. He visited us this morning... Now that he knows that we know he's a fugitive, he probably won't show up here anymore," Brown said, his gaze fixed on Miranda, as if trying to nail every word. He has to choose between saving himself or you. The bastard probably won't come back for you anymore.
Miranda felt a wave of surprise wash over her as she heard Brown's words.
"Oscar is not a bad person... He doesn't seem like it," he responded, his voice shaking slightly, but with a spark of hope shining in his eyes. It was like every word was a desperate attempt to hold on to what he believed.
Brown approached her, invading her personal space with a disturbing intensity.
"Listen, even if you don't want to, you're going to be mine," he told her, his warm and threatening breath almost touching her face.
Miranda, feeling a wave of discomfort, gave him a little push.
—Get away from me! —he exclaimed, his voice trembling between indignation and fear.
Brown's face turned dark with anger as he felt her resist. With a sudden movement, he pushed her harder, causing her to fall to the ground. The blow resonated in his chest like an echo of his helplessness.
—Listen to me! —he said, annoyed and upset—. Soon or long, you will go with me. Neither Oscar nor anyone else can change that.
With those words echoing in his mind, Brown left the place, leaving Miranda on the ground. She stood there, her heart pounding and a deep sadness enveloping her being. Doubt began to creep into his mind: was what he had said true? Wouldn't Oscar try to help her again?
Miranda looked toward the horizon, feeling tears threatening to well up. Hopelessness began to sink deep into his heart as he reflected on his situation.
Monday night:
Oscar was sitting on his bed, the silence of the apartment surrounding him like a heavy blanket. He had spent most of the day deep in thought, tormented by the echoes of what he had done. Murdering a person is a burden that could crush even the strongest, and although he believed himself resilient, fear was an even greater weight.
With his hands clasped on his knees, his thumbs twirled nervously around each other, searching for answers in a labyrinth of doubts.
"I made a promise to Miranda..." he muttered to himself. But I can't help but feel bad about myself. I took someone's life... No matter how miserable that person was. Who am I to decide that? The only one who feels entitled is my father," he said, gritting his teeth as if he could drown out his own guilt.
A wave of restlessness ran through his body as he fought against the thoughts that plagued him.
"But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that I should never break a promise... whatever form it comes in: emotionally, physically, mentally... I should keep it," he reflected out loud, as if speaking to himself. could provide some clarity. Sometimes, we are our own best advisors. She's not to blame for this... And she's caught in the clutches of the worst kind.
His words echoed in the empty room, but offered no comfort. The internal struggle continued; Every decision seemed like a step into a dark abyss from which he could not escape.
He closed his eyes for a moment, desperately searching for a moment of peace and tranquility... Speaking in his mind.
—Please, father, what should I do right now? —he whispered inside.
The apartment became a haven of calm as I tried not to overthink things. The solitude of the place enveloped him, but it also offered him a space to reflect.
—Brown already knows that I am a fugitive; Any wrong move could cost me dearly. But I'm not interested in going to jail... If I can do good one more time, that would make me happy.
Opening his eyes, he felt like he had finally made a decision. Determination shone in his gaze as his eyes fell on the cross hanging on the wall. Upon seeing it, everything else seemed to blur, as if only that symbol of hope and redemption existed.
—If I help Miranda, it could be a way to redeem myself. I have to move on. What was promised is a debt and I will not bear that guilt either," he declared firmly.
"There are risks..." he reflected. But I'm willing to take them on. I had never felt anything like this for a woman before... I don't care what happens to me; my life fell apart. I just want to redeem myself by helping with what I can.
He got out of bed as if he had recharged energy from a place deep within him. He closed his eyes again, feeling renewed determination.
—Thank you, thank you for this new opportunity, father. I feel better; Thank you for guiding me on the right path.
Oscar had made a crucial decision... Could it have been the right one? He was willing to face risks with courage.