The Choice Is Yours

THE TINKLING OF A SMALL BELL SOUNDED AS A NEW CUSTOMER entered the shop. The baker slowly rose from the table, turning to greet the customer as she walked through the door.

“Ahhh, hello, my friend—and welcome. What shall I offer you? Choose wisely.”

Smythe glanced in Artie’s direction. Artie had not removed her gaze from the stranger.

Choose wisely.

A woman in her early thirties, dressed in trimmed black blouse, blazer, and slacks, sporting a thick, black overcoat warm enough to push out the early morning cold, strode toward the display counter. She stood before it and offered the baker a courteous smile and whispered, “Mahalo.”

Smythe watched Artie, perplexed by her change in posture. Her eyes danced between watching Artie and watching the stranger. Smythe saw the woman as nothing more than a customer looking forward to a pasty before heading off to work or whatever awaited her for the day.

Yet, Artie sensed danger. She sat more erect in her chair, and her fists and jaw began to tighten. Forcing her breathing to slow, she could hear every sound in the shop, and something felt… off. She narrowed her eyes as the stranger moved slowly from one display case to the next. The woman held no purse or pocketbook, and the overcoat was a bit too heavy for this time of year.

“Give me a moment to decide, brah,” the stranger politely said.

Artie did not wait to determine whether what she was sensing emanated from this customer or something else in the area. With the stranger’s back to Artie, she tapped into her com unit, signaling her team. She placed her hand underneath her jacket to the small of her back and unsnapped her weapon’s holster. She rose slowly from her chair, gesturing to Smythe as she moved toward her.

Team 1 and a member of Team 2 entered the bakery moments later. Dressed in casual business attire, they appeared to be nothing more than additional customers. One team member stood behind the woman and the other two walked to the side of a display case, appearing to peruse the pastries, severing any direct threat or sight to Smythe or Artie. The woman continued to look at the display of pastries. She glanced at the agents out of the corner of her eye, offering them a polite smile. She moved with deliberate ease and placed her order.

Smythe hastily gathered her items into her messenger bag while continuing to watch both Artie and this new customer. As she began to slide from her seat, Artie reached out the palm of her hand to Smythe. Smythe took her hand, slightly taken aback by the pressure Artie applied. She looked into Artie’s eyes, who glanced toward a hallway at the back of the shop. Smythe understood the request, and without a word, headed down the brightly lit corridor. She noticed a sign to the women’s restroom and turned to enter. Artie, however, had other plans. She placed her hands on both of Smythe’s arms and redirected her down the narrow hallway.

“There should be a door down here leading out to the back alley,” Artie whispered.

“You don’t know?!” Smythe whispered back.

Artie did not respond. They rounded the corner, and Artie spotted the exit sign.

“C’mon, over here.”

“Wait! My car is still here!”

“I know, let’s first get you into our vehicle.”

They exited out the back door and found Team 3’s vehicle idling at the back entrance. Artie quickly ushered Smythe into the backseat of the SUV and followed behind her.

“What happened, boss?” asked one of her agents.

“Something felt off.”

She asked Smythe for her car keys. Using her com set, she spoke to Team 2. Team 3 drove from the alley and turned on to a street that led away from the baker’s shop. As they slowed their vehicle, Artie rolled down her window.

A member of Team 2 walked quickly down the sidewalk toward the baker’s shop. He stopped momentarily to catch the keys Artie tossed out the window.

“Team 1 is checking in on the baker, and Team 2 will secure your vehicle. We’ll regroup at your place.”

“Artie, no! I know that customer. I’ve seen her here before.”

“When did you first notice her? Before or after the murder?”

Smythe slapped her fist on the seat’s arm rest before crossing her arms in front of her chest. Barely an hour with the baker. What the hell! It’s not like I’ll go scurrying away to my apartment!

“I don’t know, maybe after. I mean, the woman would come in and grab a coffee and talk with the baker. I assumed he knew her. Sometimes she would sit, other times—I don’t know. I mean, she smiled at me. She seemed nice enough. I thought she was a regular. She just seemed harmless, Artie!”

“Perhaps, but my gut’s not usually wrong. Something changed when she entered the shop.”

Smythe had so much more to say, but bit her tongue, knowing that her words would be biting and caustic. She remained quiet and simply stared out the backseat window.

“I’m not sorry, Smythe.”

Silence filled Team 3’s SUV for the duration of the drive. Smythe was worried. The baker was her friend and confidant. She reasoned that any injury to him would be her fault, and Artie and her teams were the only ones who could protect him. Right her apparent wrong—to visit him. Once safely inside of her apartment, with an air of command, Smythe snapped.

“I need you to find out if Joao is ok!”

Artie stood in the middle of the living room, her New York fighter rage rearing its head. While she understood the need Smythe felt to remain in the presence of her friend, she also had a job to do, and nothing would prevent her from ensuring Smythe’s safety. She did her best not to verbally pummel Smythe, responding coolly to her. “He’s alright. I received confirmation. As I said, I have a separate team with him right now.”

Smythe took in a long breath. She moved in front of her picture window and exhaled, simultaneously realizing knots were beginning to form around her shoulders from the stress. She rolled her neck from side to side and drew in another long breath before releasing it. She bit the inside of her cheek and stared expressionless at a nearly empty parking lot, lost within her thoughts.

“Please move away from the window, Smythe.”

Reluctant to heed the warning, Smythe held her tongue and complied. With her head bent, she concentrated on each footstep she took into her dining room. She turned to face Artie, her arms crossed against her chest, and glared.

“I don’t have much going for me at the moment, Artie. To get out of my head, I usually stay at the baker’s shop and write. It’s a great place to people watch and talk with Joao. I’m not convinced that woman was a hired assassin. But if she was, what really concerns me is Joao. When we left his shop, he was all alone. If she was there for me, to harm me, she could have easily turned on him. And—and I never got to say goodbye. My momma didn’t raise an animal!”

Artie softened her tone. “Smythe, Team 1 arrived before we even left.”

Smythe slowly shook her head from side to side.

The ache within Smythe’s voice was noticeable. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t imagine not going back to the shop. But at the same time, I don’t want to place his life in danger. I’m not even sure if I should visit my mom.”

“We got this, Smythe. I have a team stationed inside his shop. But this is the thing. All of the people that you care about are at risk. All of them.”

Artie walked into the dining room and stood before Smythe. “You refused WitSec, so we’re working with a less than an optimal plan, at least where your safety is concerned. I would love to keep you confined to your apartment until—”

“Don’t you dare!”

“See what I mean? It is a less than optimal situation, but I’m working on making it doable. I’ve got enough teams to cover you and some of the most important people in your life, but it would be helpful if you limit that number in your sphere for now.”

Smythe fell silent for a moment.

“So, I guess, in a way, I am in witness security; only I’m confined to my apartment most of the time.”

“You were already confined, Smythe. Listen, not a whole lot has changed for you. Two weeks ago, even a week ago, you were visiting the baker. He wasn’t harmed then. Nor was he harmed today. You’ve visited your mother since the murder, and she’s not been harmed.”

“But—” Smythe started.

“No, let me finish!” Artie caught the anger rising within her voice. She released her shoulders and changed her posture, standing with her feet only slightly apart and unfurrowed her brow. “Their lives are no more in danger if you went into WitSec or not. What I am more concerned about is your movement. They want you, Smythe, not Joao. They want you, not your mom. But they may try to use them to get to you, which is why I have teams covering them. Your benefactor has allowed me to use all of my available personnel to keep you safe and to keep tabs on your mother, as well as the baker. You’re my only long-term case right now. Just keep your circle small. The less people in your life right now, the better.”

Smythe finally understood and nodded. She took a seat at her dining room table. So much of her wanted to bask in the waters of self-pity and woe. Who wouldn’t? After all, like so many people, she was conditioned to think the worst, referring to past events to confirm present circumstances. The problem with such emotional conditioning is she unknowingly continued to train her body to live in the past.

Smythe stared out her window for a few moments. She knew she had a choice: she could wallow in self-doubt or stay on task. Remaining on task by studying seemed the better of the two. She forced herself to smile at the blue sky and white billowy clouds as they drifted by until she began to actually feel grateful for the peace the clouds gently demonstrated. Eventually, she nudged her thoughts toward the mountain of studying she set out to accomplish for the day. Artie watched the change in Smythe’s demeanor. Let her be for now, she thought. This is a lot for her to handle. She moved into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

Artie turned around to face Smythe, unsure of what to say next, but Smythe excused herself and entered her bedroom to change. When she returned, she carried three books in her arms. She looked around her space—Artie had left the apartment. It’s better this way, she thought. I don’t owe her an apology. Just forget about it and get to work. She placed her books onto her dining room table alongside a notebook and her tablet and settled in to begin her work.

After a couple of hours, Smythe leaned back from her chair. She recalled an Albert Einstein quote which said, “Everything in life is vibration.” She thought about her last video module. Her mentor spoke about vibration. Ever the one to think deeply about new concepts, she began to weave a construct.

Our thoughts, our emotions, our very words are vibrations as well. The energy of our thoughts, emotions, and words manifest into reality. They become a creative force.

I’ve buried my father, resigned my position, started a new business, took on a year-long education program, and witnessed a murder. What the hell kind of energy is that?! What stories am I telling myself? What am I creating, even right now?

Everything I’m reading says that we can shift our vibration, lifting ourselves out of a state of mind through intentionality and positive action.

It was then that her Beloved spoke. A tingle flowed from the base of her neck, and a single thought emerged.

“You have the ability to transform hate into understanding, fear into the purest form of love, and sorrow to the highest mountain peaks of joy.”

She stopped to jot down that last thought. She read it, then read it again, lightly touching the paper.

“Thank you,” she muttered. “But it begs the question, how?” She returned to her dining table and continued to study.