Chapter 1 Part 3

  After borrowing some body armor from Michaela...hey, don't look at me that way!  This is Brea we are talking about, after all.
  Brea, Brea, Brea.  Out of every single prosecutor I've faced, Brea is not only the hardest, but the one I fear the most.  She's not only the most vigorous prosecutor I've met, she's also the most violent.  Feared by even her own co-workers, she was not one to be messed with.  To sum it up, it is rumored that in third grade, Brea was surrounded by a group of bullies, each one of them the biggest and meanest kids of the class.  The next day, one of them had a broken arm, another had two broken legs, three of them had broken noses, and the leader didn't have a single one of his teeth left.  Yeah.  I still remember the first time I faced her.  She brought a mace with her.  A mace!  After the trial, I made it a point to avoid her as much as possible.
  So why am I worried about her, you may ask?  Well, you see, one thing I've learned about her is that she's got a tough outside, but a weak inside.  In other words, while she seems really menacing and cruel, if you emotionally demoralize her, she'll go down in tears.  Whether or not she uses her cruelness as a mask, or if she's just weak emotionally, I don't know.  Whatever the case, the whole incident shattered her.  The last time I saw her, she was screaming at everyone and everything, and ran away faster than I'd ever seen her run before.  Why?  Ironically enough, another prosecutor.
  I eventually found the address I was looking for.  Brea's Law Office.  I knocked on the door.  I expect lots of yelling and a spear thrown through the door, but I hear nothing.  A little curious, I felt the door handle.  It was unlocked.  Now a little more worried than before, I walked in.  Man, was I surprised.  Last time I was at her law office (an incident I regretted), it was quite neat, and seemed to be emitting power.  Now, it looked terrible.  The lights were on, but there were webs all over, piles of dust, and I swear I saw some rats scuttling around.  Not like Brea at all.
  I walked through the hallway, just as disgusting as the rest of the place.  I opened the door to her office part of the area.  It looked just about abandoned.  Papers, all over the floor, weapons rusted and scattered; it almost reminded me of a murder scene.  How long has it been since this office has been used?
  "Hello sir, may I help you?"
  I just about jumped.  Granted, the lights were on, but it was deathly quiet, and the depressing feeling all around didn't help either.  I turned around to see a very small man, not too much younger than I.  After taking a few second to regain my senses, I recognized who it was.
  "...Sam?  Is that you?"
  The man looked surprised.  "Why...Brennan Malley?   The defense attorney?  What are you doing here?"
  I was about to say I wasn't sure and laugh, but I realized that this was a serious matter.  Something was wrong, it was obvious, and this man probably had some answers.  I bent down to his level, and looked him in the eye.
  "Sam, I need everything.  What has happened in the last year to Brea, you, this place, everything."

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  We went to a nearby cafe: a nice little joint with great food.  I suggested the place because such a depressing face didn't seem fit for such a conversation, and poor Sam looked like he could use a facelift.  I bought him some coffee, and we sat down.  For a few minutes, neither of us said anything.  Then, Sam cleared his throat.
  "After the case...after 'he' disappeared...she completely fell apart.  At first, it just seemed like every time she lost a case.  She went to her office, throwing things around, breaking things, and making lots and lots of noise."
  I couldn't help but smile for a second.  I could completely imagine that.  It seemed funny to me at least.  But after noticing his depressed look, I figured now was not the time.  I sobered up, and gestured for him to continue.
  "But it didn't end. It went from lots of noise to almost none at all.  She stopped coming out of her room completely,  besides the bathroom."
  He suddenly looked really sad.  I had a feeling what was coming next.
  "I should have noticed.  I should have done something.  But for the first time ever, things were okay.  There was even one moment when I brought her food and she apologized to me for everything she'd ever done to me.  After all the lashings, yelling, and simply not giving me any credit, I was starting to enjoy how things were going."
  He covered his face with his hands.
  "Suddenly she stopped eating.  At first, it was just breakfast, and I didn't pay attention, but after a week, she wouldn't accept any food.  I began to worry.  I asked what was wrong, and she didn't say anything.  She wouldn't talk to me, not to anyone.  Eventually, I brought her to a hospital.  She was suffering from severe depression, and apparently hadn't eaten much for a month since the incident."
  He began to cry.  I felt enraged.  Not at him, not at Brea, but at the whole thing.  Why did this have to happen?  Why did that ***** of a lady have to ruin so many lives?  I put my hand on his shoulder, calming down a bit.
  "It's not your fault.  Knowing you, knowing your position, it's totally understandable why you acted the way you did."
   He lowered his hands, but still looked depressed.  I felt determination building up.  If it's one thing I hate most of all, it's standing around when someone is in trouble.  And while what he said made sense, it still didn't sound right.  What he had done may not have been the most noble thing, but he was more depressed than I ever was having lost my job and everything.  He was hiding something.
  I tightened my grip on his shoulder, and looked him straight in the eye.  Out of all my years being a lawyer, one thing I learned to do was to look your clients in the eyes.  For when you look into someone's eyes, you look straight into their heart, which makes your clients completely understand your feelings behind your words, and allows you to understand them.
  "Sam.  Where is she?  Where is Brea?"
  He suddenly looked worried.  I was right.  Something was wrong.
  "Sam, don't hold it back.  The only way I can help you guys is if I know how to help.  I'm not sure what I can do, but I'll do whatever I can."
  His features actually softened, and he looked back at me, a serious look in his eyes.
  "Brennan, you are the only person who can help her now."
  "What do you mean?"
  Sam stood up, and walked away.  Before walking out the door, he turned his face towards me.
  "Brea is in the Detention Center.  If you want to help, you have until tomorrow to talk to her."