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It seems like slow motion as Bishop turns back to me, his green eyes locked on mine.
“We need to—” the cop begins, but Bishop doesn’t even look at him. Bishop holds up a hand to cut him off.
“Ivy,” he says. He’s not just looking at me, he’s looking into me, probing me with his gaze. He doesn’t believe. He’s waiting for the explanation, waiting for the words that will make sense of that vial. He doesn’t even look that concerned. He doesn’t believe in the vial because he believes in me.
A single tear spills over, runs down my cheek. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. Every inch of me hurts; even my skin aches. I want to throw my arms around him and never let go. But I stand on steadier legs than I deserve and face the policeman who is coming toward me. I don’t resist as he grabs my arms, keeping my gaze fixed on the far wall. I don’t look when Bishop tries to intervene, pushing against the cop, calling my name as I’m dragged into the living room, past the president, a stricken look on his face, and Erin, who would tear me apart if she could.
I don’t look back as I’m escorted out of the house, Bishop’s voice a constant, furious counterpoint behind me. On the outside I am calm, a careful blank, but inside my blood and bones and flesh scream out for him. But I put one foot in front of the other, remind myself that every step makes him safer even as it takes me farther away from him.
They put me in a cell in the basement of the courthouse. It is clean, at least, and separated from the other prisoners. The cop who found the vial practically shoves me in, but David, who met him at the courthouse door, is kinder.
“I’m sure we’ll get this all sorted out soon,” he tells me with a worried smile. “Sit tight. ”
The door clanks closed behind them, but I don’t sit. I sink onto the cot bolted to the far wall and curl up into a ball, as tight and small as I can make myself. It’s hot in the airless cell, but I shiver uncontrollably, clench my teeth to stop their chattering.
I have to be prepared for whatever happens next. I can’t falter now. I tell myself that whoever comes into my cell, I will be ready. It could be my father, the president, Bishop himself. Whoever it is, I will be strong.
I’m not sure how much time passes. Long enough that bright sunlight is slanting in through the tiny window at the top of the cell. It’s almost unbearably stuffy now and tiny dust motes dance in the bright shaft of light. If I stare at them long enough, I can pretend I’m floating among them, transported somewhere far away from here.
“Ivy?”
I jerk up to sitting, blood beating against the backs of my eyes. It’s Victoria in the doorway. Not who I expected. She closes the cell door behind her and leans back against it. Her eyes are sad.
“Your father and sister are here,” she says. “They’re upstairs being questioned. Then they’ll meet with the Lattimers. They say they had no idea what you were planning. ” It’s not a question, but she asks it like one. Waiting for me to sell them out.
“They didn’t know,” I say. My tongue is dry and feels several sizes too big for my mouth.
“I assume you don’t want to talk to the police without an attorney. So this afternoon, we’ll get a lawyer assigned to you. Then you can—”
“No,” I say, too loud. I temper my voice. “No lawyer. ” The legal system is not the same as it was before the war. We are not entitled to an attorney or to refuse to speak to the police. But my friends in the courthouse are giving me special treatment I neither need nor want. Victoria probably thinks she is helping me. “I want to plead guilty. No trial. ”
“Ivy,” Victoria says, taking a step toward me. “I don’t know what’s going on. But I do know what will happen if you plead guilty. And so do you. ”
I nod. Breathe past the terror sitting in my chest like a boulder. “I’m guilty. No trial. ”
Victoria stares at me for a moment, then reaches behind her and unlocks my cell. “Come with me,” she says.
I hesitate. “Where are we going?”
“Come on,” she says. “Hurry. ”
I don’t want to leave the relative safety of my cell, but Victoria has never hurt me. I stand and follow her out of the cell. “We’ll see what we can do about getting you some shoes,” Victoria says, glancing at my bare feet. “And some other clothes. ”
We walk out of the cellblock and through another door Victoria has to unlock with a ring of keys attached to her belt. David is waiting on the other side, and his eyebrows shoot up when we come through.
“I’m putting her in one of the interrogation rooms,” Victoria says.
“Okay. ” David seems confused, but he doesn’t argue.
Victoria leads me to a door on the left of the hallway, indistinguishable from all the rest. The room beyond the door is small, holding only a card table and two chairs. “Sit,” Victoria says. “I’ll be back. ” Before she leaves, she flicks a button on the wall intercom. She locks the door behind her.
There is a two-way mirror on the far side of the room, but I don’t think anyone’s watching me. I sit on the metal folding chair and cross my arms, using my hands to try and bring some warmth to my skin. The intercom on the wall buzzes to life, static shooting through the room, startling me and making me jump in my seat.
“She says she’s guilty. ” Victoria’s voice from the intercom. What is going on?
“Bishop! Are you listening? Did you hear what Victoria said?” Erin’s voice this time. The intercom distorts the sound, making everything fuzzy and slightly indistinct, but I still recognize the voices. I pick up my chair and move it closer to the wall.
“It doesn’t matter what she said. ” Bishop. He sounds exhausted. “She didn’t do it. She wasn’t going to kill me. ”
