The Arbiter

drowning

That day—October fifth, 2018—was carved into my soul. The day my life ended. The day theirs began. It has become my mark, my signature after every kill, a reminder etched in blood and memory.

From that day forward, I made a vow—not to God, not to the law, but to Kate and Julia. I would end the Bakers. Every last one of them. Their empire, their allies, their protectors—anyone who dared carry their name or breathe under their shadow.

I whispered it into the silence, my voice low but sharp as broken glass:

“They took everything from me… now I’ll take everything from them.”

The crowd’s noise faded from my mind. The world itself seemed to shrink until only the vow remained.

I could still hear Lucy’s voice echoing in my head, “Your principles will make you enemies, Finch.” She was right. But enemies didn’t scare me anymore.

What scared me was the man I had become—

And yet, I welcomed him.

---

The knock on my door jolted me awake. My head throbbed, the room spun. I was sprawled on the couch where I had passed out drunk, the stench of liquor hanging thick in the air. Empty bottles littered the floor like fallen soldiers.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Open up, Finch!” A familiar voice—Lucy’s.

I rubbed my face, my mouth dry as ash. “Go away…” I muttered, my voice hoarse and broken.

The knocking grew harder. “Don’t make me kick this door in, you stubborn fool!” she barked, but beneath her tone I heard the tremor of worry.

I dragged myself up, stumbling over bottles, my chest heavy with rage and grief. “What the hell do you want, Lucy?” I snapped, though part of me was grateful she hadn’t given up on me yet.

Through the door came her answer, sharp and cutting:

“To remind you you’re still human, Finch… before you forget completely.”

I slid the bolt free and yanked the door open, not even looking at her as I staggered back toward the couch.

“Jesus Christ, Finch!” Lucy’s voice cracked, half shock, half disgust. She stepped inside, her eyes sweeping the room—the scattered bottles, overturned ashtray, and the stale reek of liquor choking the air. She lifted her hand to cover her nose.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” she demanded, her tone trembling between anger and sorrow. “I understand you’re hurting, but this—” she gestured around the room, her hand shaking “—this is too much.”

I sank onto the couch, my head falling into my hands. “You don’t understand, Lucy… you couldn’t.” My voice was raw, frayed, carrying the weight of sleepless nights.

Her heels clicked as she crossed the room, standing over me. “Don’t you dare shut me out. I was there, Finch. I saw what happened. You’re not the only one who lost something that day.”

I lifted my gaze to her, my bloodshot eyes empty yet burning. “But I’m the one who failed them,” I whispered.

Lucy crouched slightly, forcing me to meet her eyes. “No. You didn’t fail, Finch. They failed you. And if you drown yourself like this, then the Bakers win twice.”

I let out a bitter laugh, dry and humorless. “Maybe I’ve already lost, Lucy. Maybe what’s left of me isn’t worth saving.”

She slammed her hand down on the table, rattling the bottles. “Then let me be the one to decide that. Because I’m not ready to lose you too.”

“Can’t you see, Lucy?” I rasped, my voice hoarse, my eyes red from both drink and grief. “Every method I tried to get justice for them was turned off, every door slammed in my face. Even their deaths—” my voice cracked but I forced a bitter laugh “—were ruled as just a mere gang shootout. And why? Because they ‘haven’t found any suspects.’”

I let out another hollow laugh, shaking my head. “Can’t you see how funny this is? When wrong things become right… when murder becomes paperwork. All it takes is the Bakers paying off the authorities to bury the truth.”

My hands trembled as I reached for a half-drunk bottle and sloshed liquor into a dirty glass. But before I could raise it to my lips, Lucy snatched it from me.

Her eyes burned with a mix of anger and tears. “Do you think Katie would want this for you?” she demanded, her voice sharp, cutting through my haze.

I froze, the words stabbing deeper than any knife. My jaw clenched, but I didn’t look at her.

“She loved you, Finch. Julia adored you. And this—” she shook the bottle in her hand, liquor splashing against the rim “—this is how you honor them?”

I shot her a glare, pain twisting my features. “Don’t you dare talk about honoring them. You didn’t watch them zipped into body bags.”

Her face softened for a moment, but she didn’t back down. “No… but I watched you die with them. And I can’t stand here and watch you keep killing what’s left.”

My hands curled into fists on my knees, the weight of her words crushing me. For a heartbeat, the room was silent except for the faint clink of glass in her grip.

“You know I caused their death,” I muttered, my voice cracking as the weight of the words pressed down on me. “And you say I’m punishing myself for it…” I paused, staring at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. My chest heaved. “I deserve every punishment I can get. If I had just listened… if I had just changed that damn report that day, they would still be alive.”

The silence after my confession felt like a noose tightening around my throat.

Lucy’s face softened, though her jaw remained firm. She crouched closer, forcing my eyes to meet hers. “No, Finch. You’re wrong.” Her tone was steady, almost defiant. “What you did that day was remove a quack doctor—a man who was going to be careless with life. What you did was save someone else before Stephen’s negligence destroyed another family.”

Her hand pressed against my chest as if willing her words into my heart. “You didn’t kill Kate and Julia. He did. His family did. Don’t twist that truth into self-hatred.”

Tears burned my eyes, my voice low, ragged. “But what kind of father… what kind of husband can’t even protect his own?”

Lucy’s lips trembled, but her gaze never wavered. “The kind who’s still breathing. The kind who still has a choice—to drown in guilt, or to fight back.”

My fists tightened, my breathing sharp and uneven, torn between breaking down and breaking free.

“Now get up,” Lucy ordered firmly, hands on her hips as she glanced around the mess. “I’ll tidy this place for you. God, Finch… have you even bathed in days? You stink.”

Her bluntness stung, but beneath it was care—care I desperately needed. To be honest, I did need her. Somehow, Lucy always found a way to cut through the fog in my head.

She knew pain—had lived it. Lucy had lost her husband years ago, yet she carried herself with strength, raising two daughters on her own. One was already in medical school, the other still in high school. She had faired well—more than well. To me, she’d always felt like a mother I never knew I needed.

I managed a weak smile, my lips trembling. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” she interrupted sharply, but her eyes softened. “And tonight, you’re not staying here in this pit. I’m having a family dinner. Riss and Leigh will be there. You’re coming with me.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she raised a finger, silencing me. “No excuses, Finch. You’ve hidden long enough. It’s time you remembered what it feels like to be around the living.”

Her words sank deep, tugging at something I thought had already died inside me. For the first time in months, I felt a flicker—small, fragile, but real.

“How’s the hospital?” I asked quietly, bending down to gather the wrinkled clothes I’d left scattered across the couch.

Lucy smiled, her voice carrying a warmth I hadn’t felt in months. “Good. We can’t wait for your return. The nurses and doctors—especially Bernard—keep asking about you.”

I froze for a moment, clutching the clothes tighter, as if her words carried more weight than they should.

She continued gently, her eyes shining with encouragement. “I could name a few… Trinity, Jade, everyone really. They miss you, Finch. You still matter there.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Matter? Or do they just want the old me back—the one who still knew how to breathe?”

Lucy shook her head, stepping closer, her hand brushing lightly against my arm. “No. They want you. The man who stood for what was right. The one who gave them courage.”

I looked at her, fighting the lump in my throat. Part of me wanted to believe her… another part whispered I was already too far gone.

It was 9:40 p.m. The streets were quiet, bathed in the pale orange glow of the streetlights that stretched endlessly ahead. Lucy drove with steady hands, her eyes fixed on the road, while I sat slumped in the passenger seat, staring blankly out the window. My reflection looked hollow in the glass—like a ghost hitching a ride.

The silence in the car was heavy, almost suffocating, until Lucy finally broke it. “Riss is going to be happy to see you,” she said softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “All she talks about is being a good surgeon like you.”

I shifted uncomfortably, my chest tightening at her words. A good surgeon. Me? That title felt like it belonged to another man, a man who died six months ago.

“Riss sees you as a mentor, Finch,” Lucy continued, her tone gentle but firm, as if she wanted to remind me of a responsibility I couldn’t ignore. “She believes in you—even now.”

I let out a hollow laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Funny… I can’t even believe in myself anymore.”

Lucy glanced at me briefly, her eyes filled with quiet determination. “Then let her belief carry you for now. Sometimes… we survive on the faith others have in us until we find our own again.”

Her words lingered, pressing against the cracks in my chest. For the first time in months, I didn’t feel entirely alone.

Riss was Lucy’s eldest daughter, and Leigh the second.

“You know,” I said quietly, still staring out the window, “I would just tell her to be herself. She shouldn’t try to be like me. She should become her own version of herself. She can be a great surgeon… maybe even better than I ever was.”

Lucy’s lips curved into a warm smile. “Well, you can tell her that yourself when we get home.”