Her Pained Blue Silence

by A. J. Downey

  I figured if I was about to start a new life, I might as well go all-in. I mean, go big or go home, right? That was hysterical, because in just a few short weeks, she’d become home for me, the only home I ever longed for. I realized I wasn’t as rogue or badass as I thought I was after a year undercover. I was just all about finding some stability, for me, for her, for the both of us.

  I stared at the ceiling, Everleigh sleeping peacefully against me and wondered what was around here. There were a lot of older homes in this area with enough yard that I thought Everleigh would be satisfied. It was also close enough to the city that commuting wouldn’t be too much of a pain in the ass. At least not for me, on the bike.

  I let myself dream while wide awake for a time, until her deep and even breathing lulled me into following her into a sleep of my own. I had a loose idea, almost a plan, forming, but unfortunately, our lives were officially on hold pending this fucking trial…

  23

  Everleigh…

  I felt exposed, even though we’d practiced in an empty courtroom countless times, even though there were a bare minimum of people in here. The gallery having been cleared, the only people left were the lawyers, King, as the defendant, the judge, the jury, and essential court staff.

  So many people, and they were all looking at me.

  The judge hadn’t allowed Narcos to stay, and I hadn’t pleaded, figuring it would only make things worse than they already were. Yale had asked his questions, and though I’d broken out in a cold sweat, I had managed to answer every one of them.

  Now King’s lawyer was getting up, and the cold pit of fear in my stomach felt lethally poisonous. I swallowed hard as he gave me an oily smile and came entirely too close to me for comfort.

  “Objection!” Yale stood up, dark eyes stormy.

  “I haven’t even asked a question yet!” King’s lawyer spread his hands as he laughed in disbelief.

  “You didn’t have to,” Yale scowled.

  “You’ll address your comments to the court, if you please, Prosecutor.”

  “Of course. My apologies, Your Honor, but given Ms. Tate’s already stated anxiety disorder – “

  I tuned out the bickering, my heart in my throat as King’s lawyer shifted his weight, bringing himself that much closer to me. I was determined that I wouldn’t lose it, that I wouldn’t clam up, that I would answer his questions the same as I had answered Yale’s, no matter what he did. King stared me down, a wholly evil look in his eyes. The same evil on his face as when he’d ordered Narcos to nail me to that tree… which we’d gone over already.

  “Ms. Tate?” I snapped back to the present and tore my gaze from King to his lawyer who had moved away from me and closer to the jury.

  “Yes, I’m s-s-sorry, did I miss a question?”

  “I asked you, have you ever been in a sexually-inappropriate relationship with Detective Rutledge?”

  Sexual, yes. Inappropriate? No. Not by my standards. I didn’t really care about anyone else’s. I opened my mouth to answer but was shouted down by Yale with another objection.

  They argued back and forth and the judge denied Yale this time, demanding I answer the question.

  I swallowed hard and said into the microphone, “No.”

  “But you and Detective Rutledge have had sex?”

  “Y-y-yes, but I don’t see how that has anything to do with – “

  “You don’t have to, and I’m asking the questions. You just have to answer what I ask, not add your own commentary.”

  “Your Honor!” Yale cried, standing for a third time.

  “Dial it back, Mr. Heath,” the judge said, displeased.

  “When did you and Detective Rutledge first start having sex?”

  I shivered and didn’t want to answer, but I did, and he smirked.

  “So how are we to believe that you haven’t been coached? Told to lie about my client and his activities?”

  I was mad, very mad. I’d been called a lot of things in my life, stupid, a whore, a cunt, and a bitch, to name a few, but I had never been called a liar.

  I sat up straighter and answered his questions as best I could, but he was lobbing them almost faster than I could answer them. I was getting overwhelmed, my panic rising, tears falling; the jury looked angry – disgusted ‒ and things were coiling tight, spiraling out of control and just as I thought for sure I would burst completely into wild sobbing –

  ‒That was it.

  King’s lawyer looked at me with disdain and said, “I have no more questions for this witness.”

  I held my breath, and looked at Yale whose face was made of stone.

  “Redirect, Your Honor?” he said, and the judge, an old man with rectangle specs and only a fringe of white hair around his bald head, nodded, his jowls wobbling.

  “Ms. Tate,” Yale started, coming around the desk.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you lying about any of this, and I do remind you, you’re under oath.”

  I swallowed hard, tears slipping free of my bottom lashes and tracking through the careful makeup that Chrissy had helped me apply that morning.

  “No, I’m not lying. I’m scared, but I wouldn’t lie. He bragged about killing that man in front of me, laughed with Grave Bass and Joker about it, and then threatened if I said anything to anyone he would kill me.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Tate. I have no more questions for this witness.”

  “Mr. Heath?” the judge asked.

  “No more questions,” King’s lawyer said smoothly.

  “Very well, Ms. Tate, you may go.”

  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I didn’t even look where I was going; the bailiff escorted me, my head down, my vision blurring with tears. He gripped my elbow gently and I walked stiffly, grateful when he switched sides to put himself between me and King and his lawyer’s table. Yale reached out subtly and brushed the back of my hand with his fingertips, but I didn’t think it was in sympathy, but rather empathy.

  He really wasn’t so bad, just focused and passionate about his work. He had tunnel vision; he really was trying to do everything in his power to put King and his men away for as long as possible.

  The bailiff opened the little swinging waist-high door and let me through, but he had to stay behind. I tried not to stumble as I whisked my way up the aisle between the empty gallery benches to the big, double wooden doors that led to the hallway, and freedom, beyond.

  I spilled out into the cavernous marble hallway and right into the waiting arms of Narcos, Driller standing nearby. I burst into tears and he held me close, Driller stepping in behind me to shield me should the door reopen, his hand going to my shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze, lending me strength I just didn’t have anymore.

  “I’ve got you, babe,” Narcos whispered into my hair as he held me tight. His voice was resigned and I felt so awful, knowing that he was likely in a lot of trouble because of me – because of us. We knew, but we had decided to tell the truth should it come up. I just really wished it hadn’t, but knew that it would once King got that nasty smile of his and leaned in to whisper to his equally-nasty lawyer.

  It was my fault. I’d given us away when Narcos had stood with the rest of the gallery to leave. I’d looked at him, and I knew my eyes held a pleading that he not go, and King had read me like a book.

  I hated him. I hated myself even more, for being so expressive, for adapting to not having a voice. For being so damn dysfunctional.

  “C’mon, Bright Eyes, let’s get the fuck out of here,” Driller crooned in my ear from behind me and the two men sandwiched me between them and marched me across the shining marble floor. I didn’t raise my head, I didn’t come out from behind my hair. I let myself be weak, let them shield me as questions were asked, comments were made, and we waded through the crowd waiting to be let back into the courtroom.

  They kept me safe. The courthouse was already secure, but Narcos and Driller kept me safe between them, protected me from reaching hands
and prying eyes. All I had to endure were sneers and snide comments that were thinly-veiled threats from the Knights of Crescentia they couldn’t jail, and who were here for King. I didn’t listen. I didn’t care. I just wanted to be anywhere but here, and Narcos and Driller were getting me out.

  They rushed me into the elevator that took us down to the lobby. It was freer here, less crowded than the hall, the soaring ceiling of the courthouse lobby making it so I felt like I could breathe again.

  We waited for the elevator to the garage and two men flanked us. The doors opened and Narcos and Driller rushed us inside.

  Driller turned and barred the men’s path and said, “You can get the next one.”

  “We ain’t doin’ shit, little piggy,” Rebel’s familiar voice sneered, and I cringed into Narcos’ side.

  “That’s right,” Narcos said. “You ain’t.”

  The doors slid shut and Driller swore softly and punched several garage level buttons. I looked up at Narcos, frightened.

  “We’re all good, babe. These dumb fucks don’t know who they’re dealing with.”

  “Right,” Driller agreed. “Here we go.” The doors opened on the second floor of the garage and they hustled me out.

  “I thought we parked on –”

  “Hush now, Bright Eyes. It’s all part of the master plan,” Driller declared and dragged open the door to the garage stairwell.

  We hustled the rest of the way to the SUV we’d arrived in and got in. Driller got us out of there, whisking past the stairwell door as it burst open, on one of the floors Driller had set the elevator to stop at. I sucked in a sharp breath, but we were around the bend in the garage and away before they could do much more than curse at us.

  I huddled miserably into Narcos’ side and closed my eyes, wondering What next?

  I thought we would go back to Youngblood and Chrissy’s house, but instead, we went almost halfway across the city and dipped off the street and down into another garage. I tried not to be scared. I trusted Narcos with my life, and he trusted Driller, which was enough for me. That wasn’t precisely right; I trusted Driller, too. He’d ever been kind to me, and had always been patient… I just didn’t see as much of him as I did Narcos, now. He just couldn’t be around.

  Driller pulled into a space and shut off the engine, turning around in the driver’s seat, his leather jacket, minus his cut, creaking against the leather of the seat.

  “I think it’s high time we all took a break from this bullshit,” he declared.

  I peered at him from behind a fall of my hair and Narcos chuckled, the vibration through his chest a soothing thing as it thrummed through my body where I was pressed against him.

  “Pizza and beer?” he asked.

  “You fuckin’ know it,” Driller grinned.

  “What movies you got in mind?” he asked.

  “Something mind-blowingly awesome,” he answered and popped the driver’s side door. He swung his keyring around his index fingers, the metal jangling as he caught the keys in the palm of his hand.

  “What are we doing?” I asked Narcos, softly.

  “Pizza, beer, movies, and if you’re up for it and things go that way, maybe making your fantasies come true.”

  I blinked at him, at a loss for words, jumping when the rear passenger door opened. Driller held out a hand to me and said, “We’re all good. We’re at my place.”

  I reached out and placed my hand in his and he helped me out of the back seat in true, gentleman-like fashion. Narcos slid across the seat and got out right behind me, staying close, and I loved him for it.

  We traipsed across the smooth cement garage to the bank of elevators and Driller punched the button. He grinned at me and winked saying, “I like pushing all kinds of buttons.”

  I blushed furiously at the double entendre, and he laughed and laughed, Narcos joining in. I didn’t quite make it to full-on laughter, but the two of them definitely put a smile on my face.

  We rode the elevator up to the third floor and walked down a long, long, hallway. The walls were brick, the carpet a deep green. Art had been hung, and narrow tables of rich dark wood holding decorative ferns in copper pots were set against the walls between sets of apartment doors, which were painted a glossy green with brass numbers set above the spy holes.

  He stopped at ‘3C’ and selected the key for the deadbolt. He swiftly unlocked it and the doorknob, Narcos at my back, hands kneading my shoulders carefully. Driller swung the door wide and made an ‘after you’ motion, smiling gently.

  “Ladies first, baby. Shoes, though, if you please.”

  I smiled and nodded, stepping through the door and slipping the elegant, light brown boho leather flats off my feet. I set them aside on the tile entryway, the tiles made to look like wood and cool beneath my feet. I stepped onto the dark carpet, a charcoal gray so dark as to be almost black, and moved into the living room so that the men could follow me in.

  Driller secured the door and turned to me, Narcos at my side, slipping off his nice courtroom shoes.

  “Make yourself at home, Bright Eyes,” he said with a wink, and I nodded, taking myself further into the living room. There was a couch, a big one, the kind that had the long lounge chair on one end and the rest overstuffed and fluffy, in a light gray. It had one of those matching big square footstools in front of the regular couch seats and looked ungodly comfortable. I drifted that way. There was a tall, black four-person dining table with four tall chairs just beyond the living room and past that, the kitchen.

  “Bathroom is the door right there on the left, at the end of the kitchen,” he said. I nodded and set my clutch purse on the dining room table and took off my chiffon and lace kimono-like jacket and hung it on the back of one of the chairs. I wore one of the beautiful, long, tan country lace dresses that Narcos had bought me in the little town’s second-hand store and had felt pretty confident as I looked in the mirror that morning.

  I was feeling a lot less confident, my nerves working overtime as I went around the couch to take a seat.

  “You got anything of mine here, man? These pants are too damn tight. Makin’ my balls itch.”

  Driller laughed and shook his head as he went around into the kitchen and got into the fridge.

  “You know where my closet is, might find some basketball shorts to fit your big ass.”

  Narcos chuckled and said, “I’m not gonna love you anymore, you keep calling me fat.”

  “Now, did I say you were fat, Sunshine? No, I did not.”

  “Whatever, fucker. You implied it.”

  I giggled as Narcos disappeared into the bedroom and disappeared into what had to be a walk-in closet.

  “Beer?” Driller asked me.

  I nodded and pressed my lips together, wondering what was supposed to happen next, unsure if they really meant to watch movies or… The hiss and clack of bottle tops coming off killed my train of thought. He came around the kitchen island with one in each hand and held one out to me. I took it, grateful, and sipped at the cold, hoppy brew. Crisp and refreshing, it went down smooth, but I was hungry now, and pizza sounded fabulous to go along with it.

  “Hang tight, I’m gonna order us up some food.”

  He pulled his cell out of his back pocket and set his beer down next to my purse to shrug out of his jacket and hang it on one of the chairs near my little sleeved wrap thing. He tapped out things on the screen and I took the time to look over the rest of the apartment.

  There were no windows. We were on the inside of the building, so there was no light, no life moving by outside… I felt strangely okay about that, though. Safer, more secure for the time being. Like the outside world had been truly shut out and I couldn’t be in any better of a safe place if I wanted to be. It was… cozy.

  The entertainment center was big, the television easily one of those sixty-five-inch flat screens. It had all the bells and whistles around it. Speakers, game systems, Blu-ray player, and a full cable box setup. The man apparently liked his cinema b
ecause flanking it were shelves and shelves of movies and television series. I drifted over to those shelves and perused the selection he had, finding that his tastes mostly ran towards action and horror, but there was a surprising amount of drama mixed in, too.

  Narcos reappeared from the bathroom door and I turned, raising my eyebrows and taking another drink of my beer as he looked over at Driller and asked, “This mine?” and held up a third beer from the kitchen counter.

  “Yeah, yeah, man…” Driller said, barely looking up from his phone. “Pizza’s ordered, too.”

  “Sweet, what’re we watching, babe?” he asked and I shrugged my shoulders.

  “You like scary movies or shows?” Driller asked and I shook my head.

  Narcos went over to the end of the couch that was a lounge and carefully dropped himself onto it, putting his legs up with a gusty, satisfied sigh before taking a swig out of his beer. I stared at him and he winked at me.

  “Would you watch one with us?” Driller practically begged, and I nodded.

  “As long as you don’t make fun of me when I don’t look,” I said quietly.

  He grinned and said, “Deal.”

  I went around and curled up on the couch beside Narcos and he lifted his arms so I could tuck myself into his side.

  “All right, let’s see…” Driller dropped onto the couch on my other side and I smiled and took another drink of my beer.

  He and Narcos argued over what to watch for the entire time it took for the pizza to arrive. Their banter back and forth left me laughing so hard, a couple of times I nearly had beer come out of my nose. I learned very quickly not to drink if I thought they were going to say something ornery.

  We ate on the couch, using paper plates, the box of pizza open on the footrest, which was easily the size of a coffee table. They finally settled on a television series about a small town, a fog or mist rolling in, holding all sorts of terrifying and horrific creatures – the true terror of it actually lie within the townsfolk, and how they came apart under the pressure. It was incredibly sad and multilayered, and was difficult to watch in places. Uncomfortable not because of the imagery, but because I had lived firsthand with that kind of apathy, that distrust and negativity.