Rain
I stand in the center of Wes’s cell with my arms wrapped around his waist and my cheek pressed against his chest, waiting, counting his heartbeats until the next horrible thing happens.
Eighteen … nineteen … twenty …
“Remember what I said,” Wes whispers into my hair.
I nod, feeling my own heart beating about twice as fast as his. I tighten my fist around my balled-up panties. Any second now, that door is going to open, and Wes is going to attack Officer Elliott. As soon as Wes has his arms pinned behind his back, my job is to strangle Officer Elliott until he passes out. Wes said it might be too hard for me to do with my bare hands, so I should wrap my panties around his neck and tighten them instead.
I can’t believe we’re about to do this.
The calming thump of Wes’s heartbeat is suddenly drowned out by the panic-inducing clomp of hard-sole shoes coming down the hall.
I squeeze my eyes shut and cling to him tighter.
“Okay, lovebirds,” Elliott sings from the hallway behind me as his footsteps come to a stop. “Time’s up.”
I feel Wes bristle in my arms, so I look over my shoulder at the man on the other side of the bars. Officer Elliott has a huge grin on his face … and a small handgun in his fist.
“Ms. McCartney, you come on over here, hon.” He gestures to the door with the barrel of the gun. “Handsome, you go stand in the corner with ya hands up.”
And just like that, our escape plan is ruined. Wes can’t jump Elliott if he’s got a gun pointed at him at point-blank range.
And we all know it.
“Fuck,” Wes hisses, squeezing me tighter.
“Shh … it’s okay,” I whisper, tilting my head back to look at him. His nostrils flare with every breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
I don’t even know why I said that. Maybe because it’s the closest thing to goodbye I can bring myself to say, or maybe it’s because it’s true. One way or another, I’m gonna see him tomorrow. Either in my arms after I rescue him or in Plaza Park when I lose him forever.
“Tomorrow? Oh my goodness, are you goin’ to the Green Mile event?” Officer Elliott asks enthusiastically. “Ooh! Maybe you could talk to Michelle Ling for me! See if I can introduce the governor this time!”
“Yeah, okay,” I mumble, not taking my eyes off Wes’s beautiful, tortured face. “Tomorrow,” I promise again, pushing up onto my toes to kiss his tightly drawn lips.
“Tomorrow,” Wes growls before his mouth crashes into mine, finally letting every ounce of the panicked desperation he’s been feeling make itself known.
My back arches as I try to absorb the brunt of his brutal kiss, the feral force of his love, the overwhelming power of his will to survive. I feel Wes becoming a caged animal in my arms, and my heart breaks, both for him and for anyone in this building who makes the mistake of coming too close to him.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Officer Elliott taps his gun against the bars. “You got three seconds to get in the corner with your hands up before I shoot, boy. Don’t make me hafta drag yo’ dead ass down the Green Mile tomorrow!”
I break our kiss and wriggle out of Wes’s death grip, walking him backward into the corner of his cell.
“I love you,” I whisper, holding him at arm’s length.
A lock of hair falls over one pale green eye as he stares down at me. Unbridled rage swims in the other. “Tomorrow,” he grinds out through clenched teeth.
I force a smile through my tears and nod. “Tomorrow.”
Tearing myself away from him and tearing my own heart out in the process, I turn and take three steps over to the bars.
Officer Elliott unlocks the door and yanks me out without once taking his eyes off of Wes. As soon as the door slams shut, he turns to me and beams. “So, here’s my vision. Instead of Michelle doing her usual boring-as-hell intro, what if the camera follows me, leading the accused all the way down the Green Mile? Make folks feel like they’re really there!”
As he walks me away, with a grin on his face and a gun pressed between my shoulder blades, I glance over my shoulder.
I used to love nothing more than watching Wes watch me. His rapt attention. His intense gaze. With a single look, he could make me feel seen. Studied. Special.
But watching him watch me go is an entirely different experience. I don’t feel special.
I feel split apart.
Officer Elliott rambles the entire way back to the lobby about all his TV show ideas, but I’m not listening. I’m too busy trying to remember how to breathe. Just before he buzzes us into the lobby, he holsters his gun and starts laughing like we’re old friends.
“Y’all come on back anytime, Ms. McCartney,” he says, giving me a little shove.
Officer Hoyt looks up from the front desk but drops his gaze the moment our eyes meet.
“Thank you, Officer Elliott,” I mumble without turning around. And I’m surprised to realize that I mean it.
I really hope Wes doesn’t kill you.
“Thank you, honey child. And be sure to tell ya boy Flip to get my good side tomorrow!”
“Which side is your good side?” Officer Hoyt asks as I click-clack over to the main entrance, trying to hold my head up and my sobs in.
“Both sides, silly!” Officer Elliott howls with laughter as the door buzzes open.
I walk outside and squint into the daylight.
The world before me looks just as abused and miserable and desperate and filthy as I feel.
But the sun is still shining.
Wes is still alive.
And the Channel 11 news van is still waiting for me out front.
And for that, I’m grateful.
As I drag my grieving bones across the street to the Channel 11 news van, the passenger door opens, and Michelle climbs out.
“You okay?” she asks, her battered face mirroring my battered spirit.
I nod. Then shrug. Then shake my head as she comes over to give me a hug.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think this footage is gonna have everybody in Georgia on Team Wes as soon as it airs. He’s a hottie, huh?” Michelle forces a smile as she tugs me closer to the van.
Opening the side doors, she gestures for me to climb inside. Flip is in the driver’s seat while Quint and Lamar are sitting in two small fold-out chairs. The three of them are chowing down on soup straight out of the can. A skinny counter wraps around the back and driver’s side of the van, and above it are rows of monitors, lights, switches, and buttons.
Lamar greets me with a grin. “Hey, Rainy Lady!”
“How’d it go?” Quint asks, setting his can on the counter.
I sit in the middle of the floor and try to pry off one of Michelle’s cruel shoes. It’s so tight on my foot that I end up yanking it off with both hands and throwing it across the van. “Ugh!”
“So … not good?” Lamar summarizes.
I screw my eyes shut and shove my hands into my hair, tugging as hard as I can to distract myself from the pain. A squeal emanates from somewhere deep inside of me, high and pained and pressured, like a teakettle about to blow.
“What the hell happened?” Michelle asks, climbing in behind me and shutting the doors. “You were in there for, like, half an hour!”