“Hands up!” More boots, more footsteps, more officers.
Letting the phone fall to the floor, I raised both arms and stood as close as I could to Olive and Gil. Nudging him with my toe, I wished he’d wake up and tell them exactly what’d happened.
But he stayed unconscious. His blood was a dark stain on the dirty carpet. Three officers flooded into the awning, their shrewd gazes bouncing from my painted nakedness, Olive’s tears, Gil’s blood, and Jeffrey’s corpse.
A cop ducked to Gil’s side, tending to him, checking for a pulse.
A wave of utter exhaustion swept through me. Most likely from the drugs but also from the chaos that would come from this. The fear of Gil’s survival. The worry over Olive’s trauma. The total upheaval of my own life going forward.
Tomorrow lurked largely with the unknown.
If Gil died...my future would unfold one way.
If he didn’t...it would unfold another.
Either way, I would never be the same.
A young male cop with a black beanie and bright blue eyes came toward me. “You can put your arms down, miss.”
I nodded, lowering them gratefully. They automatically wrapped around myself, seeking warmth after being naked for so long.
Another officer with a matching black beanie and grey beard appeared behind me after checking the coast was clear in the caravan. He draped a woollen blanket over me from one of the bunk beds.
I gave him a weak smile, tugging the scratchy material closer, glancing at the officer still checking on Gil.
A female agent with her blonde hair wrapped in a knot at the base of her nape went toward Olive. “Hey, you okay? Not hurt anywhere?”
Olive scrambled to her feet, Gil’s blood all over her from where she’d hugged and pleaded with him. “It’s my dad. Please help him.”
The woman nodded. “We’ll take care of him. But right now, I need you to come with me. All right?”
Olive scowled. “No. Dad needs me.” Tears wobbled on her bottom lashes. A tantrum made up of horror and heartbreak quickly scrunched up her face.
I scooted next to her, wrapping half my blanket around her tiny shoulders. “It’s okay, officer. I’ll stay with her.”
Olive looked up, her huge eyes blinking and distrustful. “Do you know how to fix Dad?”
Shaking my head, I whispered, “No, but these nice people do. They need to take him in an ambulance to the hospital. The doctors there will help.”
Olive bit her lip. “I don’t want him to leave. He can’t leave me again.”
How many fears would she have to overcome after the tragic year she’d suffered? The separation and threats?
Two officers squatted by Jeffrey’s body, their voices low while checking vitals. Finding none, they spoke curtly into a walkie-talkie, hinting they’d just elevated this crime scene from worried caller to homicide.
A young male agent asked me, “What happened here?” He gaze travelled over my painted legs poking from the bottom of the blanket.
Where did I begin?
What could I say?
I would never be able to lie, but I also couldn’t tell the truth.
Gil killed him.
I wanted him to do it.
Another wave of tiredness caught me, making me wobble. I overacted the effects, purely to get out of unanswerable questions.
An older man appeared. He’d taken his beanie off and his dark hair stood up in disarray. He spoke into a walkie-talkie stuck on his shoulder. “Three for an ambulance. One critical.” Giving me a smile, he said, “Questions will come later. For now, let’s get you help.”
Chapter Nine
______________________________
Gil
“YOU GOOD FOR nothing son of a bitch!”
I ducked my father’s swing, missing the full brunt of his fist. I wanted to shout back that he would know. Only he knew which of his whores I’d been born to, seeing as when I asked them, they never answered me. Never hinted who I belonged to.
But even at seven years old, I knew better than to answer back.
Dad chased me, quick for a man drowning in booze.
I bolted from the lounge and into the dingy kitchen. “Come here, you little runt.”
Breathing fast, I tried to charge around the table piled high with dirty dishes, only to be yanked back with his fist in my hair. He threw me to the ground. He loomed over me like a bear. He kicked me so hard in the side, I almost blacked out.
The world went slow and sluggish as pain overtook every perception.
I curled around the dull throb from his boot, swallowing back silent tears, refusing to let them fall.
“There. That’s your punishment for not picking up my pack of smokes like I told you to.”
The pain didn’t diminish.
It only spread.
When I didn’t get up and scurry away like I normally did when he beat me, he crouched and nudged me with his cigarette-stained finger. “Winded, boy?”
I gritted my teeth and didn’t move.
I couldn’t move.
The agony in my lower back stole everything.
Bored of my injuries, he stood and chuckled. “Ah well, learned ya lesson. Next time do what I tell you and you won’t get hurt.”
He strolled from the kitchen with a drunken whistle, leaving me to watch daylight switch to midnight. Whores came in and stepped over me. Paying customers rolled their eyes as they chose which woman to use.
And I waited until I felt better again.
* * * * *
I woke to heaviness.
To false numbness.
To terrifying strangeness.
My limbs were connected to my body, but they were stretched and knotted, utterly useless against the softness I lay upon. Just like so many times in my youth, I lay still, waiting to heal so I could be free from overwhelming agony.
My throat was the first thing to trigger an avalanche of pain. I swallowed, trying to push away the sensation of underwater sluggishness, but it seemed to give permission for every injury to roar alive, every cell determined to destroy me first.
I gasped, crashing fully awake, wishing I could reverse the process and fall back into the numbing blackness once again.
The heart-rate monitor attached to my chest beeped as my pulse increased. A door opened and closed, delivering a middle-age female with brown hair and silver-framed glasses to my bedside. Her blue slacks were covered with a white coat and the pink sneakers she wore squeaked a little on the linoleum. “You’re awake.”
Turning a few dials on the machine beside me, she stayed busy for a moment, administering something with a push of a button. “I’ve just given you another dose of morphine. It will take the edge off.”
I didn’t have chance to thank her before the door opened and another visitor arrived. Not a white coat of medical personal but a stern uniform with important buttons and emblems.
Police.
He marched to the bottom of my bed, his arms crossed and face cold. “You’re under arrest, Gilbert Clark, for the murder of Jeffrey Clark and accessory before the fact in four other cases.”
I winced as a flare of heat lashed around my back.
So this was what it felt like to finally be held accountable for your crimes.
His chin arched, delivering the rest of my fate. “While in the care of Birmingham Medical, you are not to leave this room under any circumstance. You are allowed an attorney and have the right to remain silent—”