The second I was inside, the door locked me in, and the older officer joined his colleague in the front. They drove me away from the hospital just as I spotted O walking from the visitor’s car park, holding Olive’s hand.
Her gaze caught mine.
A brief, violent moment.
Our connection snapped tight.
My heart crashed hard.
I twisted to keep both girls in my sights as the car turned the corner and she vanished.
* * * * *
“Mr. Clark. You’ve been arrested for the murder of Jeffrey Clark by use of succinylcholine.” The judge read the file on her desk, her half-moon glasses sliding down her nose. “You’ve also been charged with accessory before the fact and second-degree manslaughter for the four women who lost their lives while covered in the same pigment found in your paint supplies.”
She pinned me to the spot, her brown stare severe and unyielding. “How do you plead?”
“Guilty for the murder of Jeffrey Clark. Not guilty for the women, your honour.” My voice stayed stable, but my heart was a fucking mess.
“You don’t have a lawyer present. Are you sure you’d like to submit those pleas?”
I nodded.
The sooner this was over, the better.
The past few hours had been mayhem.
Thanks to the eight days I’d already technically served being arrested in my hospital room, the moment I’d arrived at the station, they booked me, fingerprinted me, asked for any personal items, which I did not have, and placed me in a holding cell with a few other men who looked as shell-shocked as I did.
I didn’t know how the justice system worked and figured the cell I was in was the cell I’d be living and sleeping in for the next unknown while. However, a few hours later, an officer appeared, called my name, and hurried me down a concrete corridor and into a room with heavy wood panelling.
The judge eyed me up and down. “Murder charges are serious, Mr. Clark. Ordinarily, I would hold you without bail until your trial.” Her gaze went to my pale blue t-shirt and the small bloodstain that’d appeared from my stitches. I’d twisted too far in the squad car, trying to see Olive and O. I’d ruptured something.
“As you’ve come here directly from hospital and still have at least a month of recovery, I will permit you to post bail with the strictest instructions not to leave Birmingham or even the street where you live. You will wear an ankle bracelet at all times. Do you understand?”
I nodded again. “Yes, your honour.”
Bail sounded great. I could go home. I could be a father. I could cram in as much normalcy as humanly possible before I couldn’t anymore.
But I had zero equity. I had no cash. No assets to use as collateral.
It didn’t matter if bail was ten pounds or a million, I couldn’t afford it.
My shoulders rounded, my pain level magnifying as she muttered, “Bail is set at two hundred thousand pounds, and your hearing date will be advised.” Her gavel smashed down with finality, and the next unlucky schmuck was shuffled forward.
I had no time to question or let shock trickle through my bloodstream.
I’d been processed.
It was done.
I was guided to a small room where more paperwork was presented and signed, a monitoring anklet was locked around my leg, and the terms and conditions of my bail advised even though I had no way of taking them up on their offer.
With the condemning device strapped to my ankle, the guard guided me back to the holding cell. This time, the icy depressing space was empty.
“In.” The officer pushed me forward.
I hissed as my wound twinged. I sat on the metal bench and rested my head in my hands.
Now what?
If I couldn’t post bail, would I have to stay here until my trial?
Would they at least give me a blanket because I was fucking cold?
Would they let me see my doctor tomorrow like she requested?
I didn’t even know O’s cell phone number to call and tell her what happened. To make arrangements for Olive. To advise her that Justin would once again have to pick up my fucking pieces so O could run far away from the mess I’d caused.
Fuck, poor Olive.
She wouldn’t understand.
She’d hate me for failing her all over again.
My grey sneakers would soon be traded for prison shoes. My jeans would become a jumpsuit. My business no longer operational. I would never paint again. Never watch TV with Olive again. Never tell O every answer to her every biting question.
It’s over.
I couldn’t catch a proper breath as I accepted that fate had once again fucked me over.
I’d lost my freedom, daughter, and the love of my life all over again.
And this time, I only had myself to blame.
* * * * *
“Clark, you made bail.” A guard banged his hand on the bars, wrenching my eyes open.
I hissed between my teeth as I moved too fast, hurting my side. I would kill Jeffrey all over again for some painkillers and a hoodie.
The guard opened the cell, waiting for me to exit.
The prison vanished for a moment as my blood pressure dropped. The goosebumps that had permanently decorated my skin increased as my bones complained of being so cold.
I hauled myself to my feet, fighting a body that craved rest.
I’d been stupid to think I was cured.
I wasn’t nearly as healed as I’d hoped.
Clearing my throat, I moved into the corridor and waited for the guard to lock up. “Who paid my bail?”
He shrugged. “No one tells me nothing.” Striding forward, he looked back at me. “Come on. I don’t have all night.”
Following him as fast as I could, I kept my hand on my wound as we entered the foyer of the precinct and I signed yet more paperwork that they shoved under my nose.
My back prickled as someone came up behind me.
Someone I knew.
Someone I owed more than I could ever repay.
Turning slowly, I held out my hand to shake Justin’s. Half of me wanted to punch him while the other wanted to bow in defeat. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He nodded, his dark blond hair neat and body encased in a suit from work. “But I couldn’t let you rot in there awaiting trial. Besides, I know you won’t run, so it’s not like I’m going to lose my investment in you.”
We broke contact. “I won’t cost you bail.” I frowned. “How did you find out about it? No way should you have had to part with two hundred grand for my sorry arse.”
He smiled, heading toward the exit and waiting until I fell into step with him. “You’ve listed me as next of kin. They called and asked if I wanted to post your bail or knew of someone who would.”
“Why did you do it?”
“It’s either free your sorry arse or become surrogate father to your child.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to do that.” I winced. “I’ve already asked so fucking much of you.”
“So you’re okay with O looking after your kid?”
“O needs to be free of me. I’ve already hurt her too much.”
“So your plan is to let O run away and Olive to be packed into foster care?”
My heart stopped beating. “Fuck, no. But I refuse to put my fuck-ups on others anymore. None of you deserve this. I should’ve handled the situation better. I should’ve—”