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“Yes! Since you have my phone, you should also check who called me to say my shift at work was canceled. I bet they wanted to make sure I had no alibi. If I’d gone to work, plenty of people would testify I didn’t go rob a bank.”
The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced Ed set me up. Ed and who else? The whole damn bunch of idiots? Not so stupid after all, it seems, if they managed to convince the police I’m the one behind the robbery. I wonder where they’re now. Far, far away, if they have any brains.
And Luna... is she gone, too? She said she wouldn’t leave, but after this, why would she stay? She thinks I did it. I see doubt in her eyes the moment the sheriff pulled out the pendant, like a rabbit from a hat.
This is what Ed warned me about, she said. She knew this would happen? She’s in with him?
No, she wouldn’t do that to me. No, Ross, you decided to trust her, even if she doesn’t trust you. She has good reason to doubt you, you motherfucker—but she’s always been honest with you, and kind.
Yeah, and any sane person would be running the other way right about now. Prove myself to her? Whatever. She found me drunk and asleep on the steps of the grocery store, and the sheriff drove up to take me into custody.
I’m turning into my dad. I dunno when it happened, or how I found myself behind bars again, but I have a feeling I won’t be getting out of it that easy this time.
“I want to speak to John Elba,” I say, again for the thousandth time, my lips numb, my hands cold. “Can you call him for me?”
“After we’re done here.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“We’re still not done, Ross.” He leans forward, eyes glittering with delight at my obvious unease.
“I have rights,” I mutter.
“Rights? Surely you know better than that, after having sat in prison for so long.” He gives me a grim smile and I don’t know if he’s bluffing or not. Fuck, I hope he is. “The son of a serial killer. A known bully. I bet they’ve missed you in there, that they’ve made plans for you.”
I can’t stop the shiver that wracks me. But I manage to keep the words that want out behind my teeth—choice words about his mother, his father, and his whole ancestry.
They say that pain makes you stronger, but that’s bullshit. It only drives you mad, makes you hard, numb, uncaring. I feel the walls going back up, the hard mask slipping over my face as I lean back in my plastic chair. I feel ice feeling my veins.
It’s the only way to get through this new twist, the news that I’m probably going back to hell. Just laugh in the face of trouble, roll with the damn blows, pretend you feel nothing, that you don’t give a shit, until it becomes true.
Been there, done that many times before. Got the T-shirt. It will be harder this time, after I’ve dismantled the whole façade I was used to wearing, but hey, I took my chances. I’ll fight this setback, too, fight until I can’t get up anymore, and then...
Why does her face keep coming up in my thoughts? It breaks my concentration, shatters my control.
I rub at my brow, and start pulling myself together again. Again and again and again, until I can face the prospect of years in this goddamn prison like I’m not scared shitless, like I’m not back in that cell, on that bed, waiting to die.
I search for my anger to suck on, but it’s all gone. What do I have to draw on this time around? I feel so fucking... empty inside. I can only think of Luna, in my arms, in my bed, her head resting on my shoulder, her laughter ringing inside the room.
“You have no alibi,” the man says, slamming a bunch of papers on the table. “All evidence points to you. Give it up, Jones. Confess, and tell us where your buddies are hiding. If you confess, we could work on getting your sentence reduced. For being cooperative. You know what I’m saying.”
I lift my head, stare at him. Weigh his words.
“Has Luna... Has a girl been around to visit me?”
He frowns. “Nope. No girls. No-one.”
Yeah, that sounds about right. I’ve lost everything. If this is my only chance to reduce my sentence...
“I’ll confess,” I whisper.
***
So this is it, I think for the thousandth time since my self-imposed goddamn blinkers fell off and I started to see, to understand. This is what it feels like to be bullied, to be crushed, to be left with no option but to bend over and take it raw. This is who I was. This is how fucking bad it sucks. What a moron I was.
What an asshole I am.
And knowing it, understanding it, can’t undo the wrongs. Can’t roll back time.
