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Stevens started to cry. “What do you want from me?”
“I want for you to not destroy lives with your selfish actions, but it’s too damn late for that. So I’ll have to settle for this instead.” He lightly slapped his left cheek, then stood upright. “Why’d you pick Andrea?”
“I don’t know,” Stevens said, keeping his gaze on the table.
“That’s bullshit and we both know it,” Malcolm said. “Try again.”
Stevens sniffled, then he adjusted himself. “She was cute, in those little dresses and with her long blond hair.” He squirmed in his seat.
Malcolm punched him so hard his chair started to fall backward, but the handcuff attached to the table held him upright. Stevens released an agonized scream, and I was certain he’d dislocated his shoulder or torn tendons. Maybe both.
Malcolm went around the table and grabbed the hair on the back of his head, tilting his head back so his neck was exposed, and he was staring up into Malcolm’s furious face. “Don’t you even think about that child like that. Do you hear me?”
Stevens nodded, his face crimson. Blood still dripped from his nose, and his left eye was starting to swell shut.
“Why’d you pick her?” Malcolm asked again in his scary neutral voice that carried an undercurrent of violence. “And think carefully about what you say.”
Stevens reached for his shoulder, still crying. “I saw her walking home from school with her friend. I knew she was mine.”
I swallowed the bile in my throat. It made me sick to think about him following Andi, yet it made sense that he had.
“Why’d you leave the red ribbon?”
“With the doll?” he asked in confusion, squinting up at Malcolm.
Malcolm glanced over at me, and I nodded.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know, I guess because I knew she wouldn’t be coming back, so I left a doll there instead.”
“Fucking sicko,” Malcolm snarled under his breath.
Stevens didn’t reply.
“Why’d you put the ribbon in her hair?” I asked from my place by the door, my question coming out less forceful than I’d intended.
Stevens turned his attention to me, looking like he was trying to place me. “It looked pretty.” A soft smile tweaked the corners of his mouth as though he was reliving a memory.
My stomach twisted in disgust. I was reliving memories too, but we viewed them in two very different ways.
Malcolm released his hold on Stevens with a shove.
“Who did you tell about the ribbon?” Malcolm asked.
The man looked up at him through his good eye. “What do you mean?”
“It’s redacted in the police reports, so who did you tell?”
“No one.”
“You expect me to believe you didn’t brag about raping that little girl?” Malcolm asked, his voice taking a dark tone. “You didn’t brag about wrapping a ribbon in her hair?”
I felt like I was going to vomit. I started breathing through my nose.
“I didn’t, dude. Guys in here don’t think banging a fourteen-year-old is cool.”
“That’s because it’s not cool, Stevens. It’s disgusting,” Malcolm punched him again, and this time Stevens’s head sagged.
