Of Freedom's Fall (Death Prediction Project #3)
Eileen Ricker

February 19th, 2021

I woke up early to get Blaire up and ready for school. It wasn’t easy, raising a child on your own but I couldn’t live with John anymore. I loved him sure, but things were hard after his injury overseas and it was hard to pay mortgage on the house so we broke it off, got a divorce, and moved into our own places. He into an apartment in Easton and I moved into a smaller house in Allentown with only two bedrooms not far from our old one. He kept his child support payments up but I wished he’d come to see Blaire more.

When he said he was moving to New York for a new job in the military in February, I was concerned. I’d hear from him and see him even less. I was more so concerned for Blaire’s sake than my own. He’d missed two of her birthdays already. She was beginning to expect his absence.

But he said he’d like to continue working for the military, and since he couldn’t do tours or train new soldiers this was something. I wished I’d tried harder to make him stay, if not for me, for Blaire. But we got into a comfortable routine over the past two years, we’d accepted our lives were separate now. We did our own things despite having been married for the last fourteen years before our divorce and having a child together.

So, he moved to New York, he’d been gone a little over a week and a half. I was adjusting to not having him the next town over whenever I needed him to watch Blaire or take her somewhere, I was on my own.

I got up and went into Blaire’s blue and purple room. There was a tub overflowing with Barbie and Bratz dolls, a dollhouse, some my little ponies, puzzles, and other toys lined against one wall. Her bed was under a window by the back wall. Her closet was opposite her toys, filled with clothes, coats, shoes for other seasons other than winter and a dresser.

I went over to her bed, a double, the frame painted a pale blue, she’d gotten it after moving here after having outgrown her last one. I gently shook her telling her it was time to get up for school. She grumped and rolled away.

“Come on,” I reason shaking her again.

The clothes she was going to wear were laid out on her dresser, I made her pick out her own clothes the night before so she wouldn’t take forever in the morning. She got out the other side of the bed and went around to where the dresser was and started to change out of her pajamas.

“I’m going to make you breakfast,” I told her.

I went downstairs and put the kettle on for my coffee and pulled out the bread and jam. I popped the bread in the toaster and got a plate. I pulled out a cup and orange juice and poured Blaire a glass.

John hadn’t even called, I thought he would call at least when he arrived in New York, he hadn’t even done that. Blaire asked about her father all the time. I was running out of excuses as to why he didn’t call or come over. I had a valid reason now, he wasn’t even in the state but I still wish he called and tell us how the job was going or at least talk to Blaire.

Blaire came down the stairs, her red hair flying behind her, it was the same color as John’s but she had my hazel eyes. She sat down at the table next to her orange juice waiting for her toast. It popped, I buttered it with raspberry jam and set it in front of her and poured myself a thermos of coffee for the long drive to work, I’d get breakfast on the way.

“Blaire, where are your socks?” I asked, noticing her little bare feet hanging down from the chair.

“I forgot them,” she said.

“Eat, I’ll go get them,” I replied running back upstairs.

I went back into her room one of the family photos she had drawn of us was set on the dresser where her clothes used to be. I picked it up. She had labeled each of us. Mommy, Daddy and Blaire. I smiled sadly and set the photo aside and opened the first drawn, I picked up some fluffy pale blue socks and shut the drawer again.

I went back downstairs where Blaire was putting her dishes in the sink. She got her bag off the hook by the front door and set it on the floor next to her winter boots. I handed her the socks and she slipped them on.

I worked as a paralegal downtown at one of the law firms. I grabbed my briefcase and made sure I looked alright in a mirror we had hanging in the front hall. Blaire pulled on her ski pants, winter coat, beanie, mitts, and boats, lastly. She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“Do you have your lunch?” I asked.

“Yes, Mom,” she said.

I threw on my winter coat and hat and grabbed my mitts and car keys. I made sure I had everything, including my briefcase and coffee, and opened the front door. The cold air rushed in from outside hitting us in the face but we braved it and went outside. I shut the front door and locked it behind us. We each got into the car and I started it up turning the heat up so we didn’t freeze.

“Mom, did dad call?” Blaire asked.

“No, honey. I’m sure he will soon. He’s very busy you know,” I stated as I turned out of our neighborhood.

“Yeah,” she sighed looking out the window.

The drive to the school took fifteen minutes. I dropped her off and made sure she was let in the front door so she didn’t freeze and took the freeway downtown to the law office. I arrived and did some paperwork, talked, and worked with my colleagues and took my lunch break at twelve.

I walked to the nearby Starbucks to get coffee and food. On the way, back I was checking Facebook, I had a bunch of notifications for posts my friends and colleagues had made and 1 message. I was expecting it to be John with reasons as to why he hadn’t called but it wasn’t.

I didn’t even know the guy or teen I guess. I read his name and it sounded familiar. I read further through the message to see why he was messaging me. He mentioned a Maya Flores and the news and I remembered he’d been on the news when he and two other teens had gone missing. One had been recovered and two separate videos had been released by him and Maya explaining what was going on.

The line that struck me was: People report John being led, handcuffed onto a boat, and not returning with the boat when they came back.

What did he mean by that? What had happened? Why did he leave his coat behind?

I read the next line and I dropped my coffee, it bounced spilling over the sidewalk leaving a pale brown puddle, a cracked plastic cup, and separated lid and green straw.

They say they threw him over the side of the boat into the freezing waters of the ocean.

Into the ocean? John was dead? Before seeing this, I didn’t care much about the DPP or these teens, but if this was true and John was dead, it wasn’t only them who were affected any longer. Blaire was fatherless now. I didn’t even know what to do or if I should believe him. There was a picture of his mother’s death certificate as if he was sharing a part of himself to show he was being honest and not doing it to elicit sympathy from me. He wanted me to know the truth because the military was hiding it.

John had been dead for two days. Floating among the fish, in the cold, harsh ocean. I’d wished for a lot of things but I had never wished him dead. These people, if this was true had taken away some little girl’s father.

I tried calling him.

“Come on, John, for once in your life pick up your goddamn phone,” I muttered under my breath.

No answer, and to voicemail.

I had to tell someone, but who? Porter and the others had made videos getting the word out about what these people had done. They could have killed others, others out there could be questioning why they hadn’t heard from their family member and have no answers. I had to tell people they were doing this.

What am I supposed to do? I messaged him.

Did I make a statement? A video like they had, exposing the DPP? Demanding justice for John? Was I really on their side?

Four of them were kids and if what they had said in the first video was true I would have tried to fight them, too. I could only imagine the number of people this effected. All the families of their test subjects, my own, whoever else they had killed.

I was not staying for the rest of my shift. I went back upstairs, got my things, and got in my car drove home to compose something to put out that showed my anger, sympathy, and emotion for what they had done not only to me but those kids and families as well. They were not going to get off scot-free or operate on the fringes of society any longer.