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The policeman reads over my report with a bland, professional expression. I wrote down everything that I witnessed and handed over my phone with the video evidence on it.
I had expected more of a reaction from him when I told him my story, though I guess he probably sees this sort of thing all the time. It is Boston, after all. It’s a big city; murder is undoubtedly a reasonably common occurrence. Although, it can’t be every day that someone as high-profile as an O’Shea is accused of such a heinous crime.
“Okay, we have everything we need,” he states.
“So you’re going to arrest him?” I question, chewing on my bottom lip.
He looks at me for a long moment, and I stare right back, seeing nothing in his eyes. No empathy. No pity. Nothing. Honestly, he kinda gives me the creeps with his handlebar mustache and cold demeanor. I’d much rather have dealt with the nice woman behind reception who nearly had a heart attack when I blew through the police station doors like the hounds of hell were on my ass.
She took one look at me and tears welled in her eyes. She knew. Right now, she probably assumes that’s why I’m here. She called for one of the detectives to come down, and when mustache here arrived. He barely spared me a glance before ushering me into a private room.
That must have been several hours ago, and we’ve been in here ever since—me reciting my story and him interjecting with questions and getting me to repeat myself over and over until I was blue in the face.
The adrenaline that had been coursing through my system since Conor came home has long since disappeared, and I’m practically dead in my chair, barely able to hold myself upright.
“I’m gonna go get him.”
Eyes drooping shut, I nod. “Okay. Good.” It’s over.
“Since I have your phone, we’ll need an address and contact number to reach you. Is there anywhere you can go for a few days while we sort this out?”
I think about it for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I can go stay with my mom. She’s not in Boston, though.”
“That’s alright.” He pushes a legal pad and pen toward me. “Just write down her contact details, so we know where to reach you.”
Scribbling them down, he dismisses me.
The fresh air wakes me up a little as I step outside. It’s enough for me to realize I have no idea how to get to my mom’s. I can’t take Conor’s car. He can probably track it, and if he’s back at the apartment already, he’ll know I’m gone and be searching for me.
A fresh wave of panic overtakes me, and with only one viable option I can think of, I go back into the police station and ask the nice receptionist to call me a cab. Because she’s an angel, she also gives me some money to pay for it, and when the cab shows up, I give the driver Carla’s new address.
Birds caw against the backdrop of the blood-red sky as I knock on Carla’s door. Since I no longer have my phone, I couldn’t call to let her know I was coming. When no one answers, I bang my fist against the door, louder this time.
“Coming, coming,” someone eventually grumbles from inside, before I hear chains being withdrawn and locks turned.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Carla gapes when she opens the door.
I grimace. “It’s a long story, but I need to borrow your car.”
Her eyes, slowly taking in my torn and dirty dress, my smeared makeup, and my exhausted state, finally meet mine. The sympathy I find within them nearly undoes me, though I can’t fall apart yet.
“Did—”
I hold up my hand, silencing her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, choking on a sob. “I can’t do this right now. I’ve fucked up so bad.” Fresh tears fall down my cheeks before dripping off and landing on the asphalt at my feet. “I promise I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can, but right now, I just need to get away.”
“O-okay,” Carla says, clearing her throat while she bobs her head. “Here.” She ducks inside, reappearing a moment later with her car keys. “It’s parked down the street.” She points in the direction, and I spot her beat-up red wagon a few houses down from where we are.
“Thank you,” I rush out as she hands over the keys. It’s only when she presses the key into my hand that I notice the small wad of bills. I sniffle, having no words for her. With a watery smile, I move to step away, but before I can get far, she launches herself at me and wraps me in a hug that is very nearly my undoing.
“Be safe,” she whispers before letting me go.
Swiping the constant stream of tears away, I can’t bring myself to look back as I scurry down the street and climb into her car.
A short time later, I’m on the road with Boston growing smaller in my rearview mirror. When I left home, I swore I’d never go back. I was done with small towns, people who knew everything about everyone and having your pick of the same five guys you’ve known since you were in diapers.
Now, I wish I’d never wondered how glamorous the big city was. I should have stayed in my small pond. Where it’s safe. Where I didn’t let murderers into my bed. Where I didn’t give my heart to a complete stranger.
