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It’s not until they come back inside the next morning that I relax enough to sleep again.
The policeman sitting beside my bed is clearly uncomfortable. He’s wiping sweat from his brow again, shifting in the plastic chair they brought in for him, trying not to stare at the bruises and bandages covering me.
Heh, good luck with that. I’d stare if it were me in that chair. I bet I look spectacular. I’m beaten up, stabbed and stitched back together like a ragdoll. I feel like one, too—disjointed, broken, tattered.
Who would want someone like me, huh?
But then I have to shake my head, because I remember that Joel and Candy do, and I smile in spite of the pain in my jaw.
“Are you awake, Mr.
Connors?” He leans forward, having noticed my eyes are now open.
Which means I can’t put this off any longer.
Shit.
“I’m awake,” I croak.
He winces at the sound of my voice, but hey, not my fault hospital air is so dry and that I’ve just been stabbed half to death, right?
“I would like to talk to you about your father,” he says, and his words echo in my ears.
Talk to you about your father…
“You caught him?” I say, a shot in the dark, and I’m shocked when he actually nods. “You did? You serious?”
“Yes. We caught him a few blocks away from the alley where he, um, where he stabbed you.”
Holy fucking shit. Can’t believe it. My father was a ghost for five years, a vengeful ghost haunting my sleep. Nobody but me believed he was still alive. He’d been missing for too long.
Now they have no choice but to believe me, and the thought brings me no satisfaction whatsoever.
I stare at the policeman through my one good eye. “What will you do with him?”
He’s flustered again. “He’s in jail. He’ll be taken to trial and most probably spend a long time in prison.”
Right. “He won’t be released any time soon, right?”
“Released?” He opens his mouth, closes it. Tries again. “He tried to kill you. He was seen by witnesses. The knife he stabbed you with is covered in his fingerprints. He’s going to prison.”
Oh good. I close my eyes, so relieved I could cry, but my eyes are dry. It’s okay. My father can’t go after anyone else I care for—Joel or Candy. That’s all that matters.
“Do you know why he did it?” the policeman asks me. He’s a detective, most probably. I didn’t even catch his name. Did he even say it? “Your father. Why he came after you.”
I blink. Shit, it’s a long story, and I’m so tired. Not sure I can do this now. He’s in jail. There’s time. I just want to sleep.
Someone slides the curtain aside and enters. It’s Joel—I know from his shape, his gait, his mop of floppy dark hair, his presence—and I breathe out.
I’m safe.
“I can answer any other questions you might have,” he tells the policeman, his voice pleasant but firm. “Jet needs his rest.”
“But Mr. Connors can answer—”
“I. Can. Answer.” Joel looms over the policeman, looking pretty menacing for such a pretty boy, all wide shoulders and bulging biceps. “I’m privy to all the information you need. Mr. Connors is my boyfriend and has told me everything.”
The policeman’s face turns red, and I blink, a light ringing filling my ears.
