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Ugly, industrial South San Francisco rolled by as the driver took us down the Peninsula. I balled my fists over my knees as I watched Will’s face growing more and more anxious.He fingered a bottle of water in his hands.
“You know, I pictured this moment many times in my head. What I would say, what they would look like…When I saw myself doing this, I didn’t see a bunch of fucking reporters documenting the whole thing.” He looked at me. “I hate this.”
“I know you didn’t, but your dad’s right. This is affecting him, too. We have to do something.”
He made an impatient noise and stared out the window. “I can’t believe he dangled that job in front of me to fix me.”
At least your parents care about you.
“Are you going to go back to work?”
“I don’t know.”
He said it in a closed way that made me realize that the conversation was over. Disappointed, I fell back into my seat. William’s quiet gloom spread throughout the car like a heavy fog, and I felt his anticipation when the car suddenly stopped in front of a modest home in a quiet suburb. This was the place that held one of the families that Will had a part in destroying.
Will craned his neck to look inside the windows where a few dark forms shifted inside. “They’re here.” His pupils were like pins.
I moved across the car and sat next to him, wrapping my arm around his back. “You can do this.”
The door swung open as the driver got out of the car to let us out. At the sight of the reporters standing by with their cameras, he swallowed hard.
“Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”
It was so bright outside I flung my hand in front of my face. Remembering I was supposed to be Will’s “girlfriend,” I took his hand and tried not to look at the cameras following us across the trimmed lawn. He stopped in front of the door, his face a blank mask. He closed his eyes and grimaced every time he heard the cameras beep.
“I can’t do this with them there.”
Will gave me a pleading look, and I sighed and nodded.
“I need you to wait outside,” he said to the two reporters behind us.
“That’s not what we agreed on.”
“Just stay the fuck outside.”
“Your father paid us.”
I placed a hand on his arm and stepped forward, blocking him from the reporters.
“This will all go easier if you stay outside. You’ll get the photos of them together, I promise.”
“Fine.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Will nodded, looking relieved. “Okay, I’m ready.” Before he could rap his knuckles on the door, it unlocked and swung inward. I grabbed Will’s hand in a vice grip.
A tall, heavyset man with graying hair answered us, unsmiling. “You must be William.”
He flinched as if the man struck him, but there was no anger in his voice—no accusatory stare. He sounded tired.
“Yes, Mr. Metsky.”
I never heard him speak in such a quiet voice, and then I realized with a shock that this must be the father of Julian Metsky, the youngest victim.
That’s why he looks so terrified.
I could see him forcing himself to look the man in the eyes.
