Accidental Witness

Home > Contemporary > Accidental Witness > Page 8
Accidental Witness Page 8

by Sam Mariano

He nods. “I know.” After a brief pause that I hope he’s going to follow up with a flicker of doubt, something I can work with, he leans in and brushes his lips against mine in a soft, chaste kiss. Ironic, considering I just threw my virginity at him a couple nights ago.

  “Goodbye, Mia.”

  I don’t move as he heads to his car, still hanging onto a flimsy hope he’ll change his mind. I wait, each second, for his steps to slow, for him to stop. I wait for him to look back at me over his shoulder, realize he’ll do anything to hold onto me, and head back. Slow at first, then he’ll jog. I’ll meet him halfway and he’ll wrap his arms around me, pulling me close. He’ll assure me we’ll figure this out, but he’s not ready to give up on me, not yet.

  But it doesn’t happen. Everything feels heavier as he opens the car door and slides in, and the last of my hopes fall away when he fires up the engine and drives off, leaving me standing in the middle of some random sidewalk, all by myself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Now that it’s over, I know I should go home. Crawl into my bed, listen to sad songs, and spend the rest of the day mourning the relationship we never even got to have.

  Instead, I go to the bakery.

  Francesca starts to smile when she hears the jingle of the door bells, but her pleasure stalls when she spots me—probably especially because it’s clear from the state of my face that I’ve pretty much cried the whole way here.

  “Mia,” she says, in that trailing off way like she’s not sure what to say.

  “Why did you have to do that?” I ask, figuring she can piece together what I’m talking about. “If you didn’t want to risk it, you didn’t have to hire me.”

  Francesca sighs, glancing over her shoulder, but no one else is around. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Mia. I just… I know my brother, and I wanted to see if there were any skeletons in your closet, anything he might take issue with. I didn’t expect to find anything.”

  “I didn’t do anything to wrong your family in any way. I did the opposite of that—I kept quiet, despite human decency. I kept my mouth shut; I could’ve hurt Vince anytime I wanted to, for literally any number of infractions. Do you know how many times he broke into my house? Twice. I couldn’t have been better, and still I lose?”

  She truly does look sympathetic, but inexplicably, her sympathy makes me feel worse. If she’d only been trying to come between us, if I had someone to blame, someone’s bad intentions… but she shouldn’t look so sympathetic. She broke us up.

  “I know it seems so unfair,” she says, coming around the counter so she can stand closer to me. “I know it’s hard, and you’re so young, and you shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. I truly didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  The helplessness is the worst of it. I feel like a puppet on a dark stage, dancing for an invisible audience. “Why won’t anybody consider that maybe your brother would see how good I’ve been, and he would be okay with me and Vince?”

  Concern flickers through her sympathy, not the sad kind, but the kind laced with fear. “Because he wouldn’t, Mia. You’re not wrong—you did do everything right. But I promise you, even in the best of scenarios, this is not your happily ever after. Even if Mateo saw how good you’ve been, even if he didn’t…. hurt you… You’re too young to get trapped in this life.”

  “But it wouldn’t be trapped if I chose it.”

  “It wouldn’t be worth it,” she states, implacable. “Take it from a woman born to this family, Mia. I would sell my soul to get away from it—and it would be far worse for you.”

  Chills move over me, not just at her words, but at how sincere she seems as she says them. I swallow, not sure how to respond to that.

  Patting me on the shoulder, she offers me a sad grimace. “You want to take a cupcake?”

  I shake my head no, certain I couldn’t eat right now if I tried.

  Francesca walks back around the counter and pulls out a small handbag. A moment later she holds out a fifty dollar bill. “Take what I would’ve paid you today, for your trouble.”

  I want to leave it there, on principle, but I’m too damn poor. I feel nothing as she hands it to me, but I push out a wooden, “Thanks.”

  “I wish you the best,” she tells me. “I know Vince really liked you.”

  That only makes it worse. If I could at least blame him, maybe I’d feel better. Maybe I would be angrier, bitter instead of sad. He took my virginity and then ditched me—what a bastard.

  But no.

  We both have to be sad, because everyone thinks his cousin is the big, bad fucking wolf.

  ---

  Tuesday drags by in a depressing crawl. Vince gets to our class together early enough to reclaim his old seat, and when a confused Cody drops into the seat next to me instead, I have to fight back tears.

  It’s like we never even happened.

  I have to pick up both kids after school, so I’m holding onto Casey’s hand as we wait in the hallway at Allan’s school. My tired eyes scan the parents for the investigator again, but of course he isn’t there.

  Once I have them both and we’re on our way home, I realize I’m too exhausted to cook. I know it’s unwise, but I put a dent in my $50, ordering a sausage pizza from the place Vince took me to.

  I have to pick all the meat off and still listen to Allan complain about any potential sausage residue, but the worst part is, I can’t even eat it. I pick at the sausage with a lump in my throat, thinking of Vince, already missing him.

  Bedtime brings the relief of silence, the cover of night, but I can only lie there, wishing Vince would sneak into my room again. I’d welcome him, even now, even after dumping me, even if it didn’t mean anything. Even if it was just one more night.

  Those fantasies lead to more tears and no more sleep, so come Wednesday morning, I’m a puffy eyed zombie.

  I take a long shower and try to mask my sadness with makeup, but I’m so tired that I feel nauseated. I have to get some sleep tonight. I can’t go three days with only a few interrupted hours to keep me going.

  The whole morning, I debate skipping the class I have with Vince, but the part of me that still wants to see him overrules it. I was too sad to deal yesterday, but today I want to see how he looks. Of course I don’t want to be forgettable, but I hope he doesn’t feel as hopelessly sad as I still do.

  It seems like he has enough sadness without me adding to it.

  I approach our mutual class with the same tired anticipation as a reluctant junkie approaching my dealer. I’m disappointed when he’s not there yet, but he arrives before Cody and sits away from me again. I understand he wanted to end things between us, but I don’t see why he can’t even sit next to me anymore.

  When class ends, he’s out the door before I am, and he doesn’t even look at me.

  Maybe it is easier for him.

  After that class, I completely bomb my French test. Studying in the courtyard during lunch didn’t do any good, because I haven’t done the reading for the past two nights. I have an A in that class anyway, so I guess I can afford it, but I’m still not looking forward to getting that grade back.

  The school day finally ends. I don’t have to pick up my siblings today, and I’m so glad. My body feels like it weighs 800 pounds, which is really not helping me bounce back from this break-up. I need sleep so my stupid brain can start to function again. I might actually try to take a nap, since the house should be quiet and empty when I get there.

  I wish I had the car today. I’m too tired to walk all the way home. Technically, I could probably ask Lena for a ride, but things have been so weird between us lately that I don’t.

  I nearly make it to the end of the school’s sidewalk when a blue car slows to a stop beside me. I don’t even look, figuring they’re slowing down for the stop sign, until the window rolls down and I hear, “Get in.”

  Frowning, I look over to see Cherie in the driver’s seat.

  “What?” I ask, not sure I’m understanding.

  “I�
�ll give you a ride home.”

  I want to tell her no thanks, but I’m too tired. Sliding into the passenger seat, I give her my address and sag against the door. “Thanks,” I murmur.

  “Vince wanted to get you a car, but he didn’t have time,” she tells me.

  Pain twists in my gut, but I don’t respond.

  I expect her to say something on the short drive to my house, to address our break-up, since she obviously knows about it. But she doesn’t. She leaves me alone, turning the radio on at a low volume and humming along as she drives.

  She pulls into my driveway, looking at the charred house beside it. I can’t tell if she knows anything about how it happened.

  Flashing me an almost smile, she says, “If you ever need a ride, just let me know. I know we don’t have to be friends now, but…”

  That’s honestly so nice of her, and I’ve been such a bitch to this poor girl. I realize if Vince does end up with her, I can’t even pissed about it. She’s kind, and he deserves that.

  Impulsively, and more because I need one than because she does, I lean over and hug her. “Thanks, Cherie.”

  She’s understandably surprised, but she offers a smile as I open the door and climb out.

  Fishing my keys out of my bag, I climb the porch steps.

  A car door flies open behind me. “Mia,” Cherie calls out.

  I turn back to see what she wants, but when my eyes land on her, her face is a mask of fear as she runs for me, a phone to her ear.

  “What?” I ask, perplexed.

  She knocks into me, grabbing me, standing way too close—for a second, I get the very confused feeling she’s going to kiss me. “Get back in my car, Mia.”

  I can’t grasp what’s happening, but I look back at her car.

  Into the phone, she says gravely, “You need to get here right now.”

  Fear surges through me and I consider bolting, running into my house. “Who is that?” I ask.

  I try to pull away from her but she grabs me, hustling me back to her car. She’s small, but surprisingly strong.

  “Cherie, what are you doing?” I demand as she throws open the car door.

  “Adrian’s here,” she says, like that’s supposed to mean something to me.

  “What?” I ask, confused. She shoves me into the car, but doesn’t leave my side to get back in the driver’s side. “Cherie, what the hell?”

  She isn’t looking at me. I realize then she wasn’t talking to me, either, but to the person on the phone.

  “Who’s Adrian?” I ask, wishing I knew what the hell was going on. Is Cherie a good guy or a bad guy?

  “I’ll do what I can,” she says into the phone. “Hurry, Vince.”

  Relief pours through me when she says his name, and a spike of exhilaration hits when I realize he must be coming here.

  It drains immediately when I realize there’s only one reason he would have to.

  “Mateo?”

  Cherie meets my gaze, with far more trepidation than I’m comfortable with.

  Then she nods. “Mateo’s here.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It feels surreal.

  I’ve heard the monster’s name so many times, those closest to him trying to drive home the threat he presents, that I can’t imagine the legend of Mateo Morelli having a physical presence. He’s more myth than man to me, and as many times as they’ve expressed their paranoid fears about him, I’ve never experienced it.

  Not until I watch Cherie shrink as the soft clap of footsteps along my driveway moves closer. I don’t know what happens when he gets to me, and I’m terrified to find out.

  Cherie clutches her phone, backing up against the open car door, but staying by me, like a momma bear with her cub.

  The man comes to a stop beside the car, and for several seconds, I don’t think anyone dares even breathe.

  “Go home, Cherie.”

  His voice sends fear slicing through me—smooth and deep, possessing the seamless confidence exclusive to a man no one says no to.

  Cherie swallows audibly. I want to turn and see what he looks like, but I’m too afraid to move.

  “I can’t do that, Mateo,” she says, but if I can hear the fear in her voice, I know he can.

  She’s going to abandon me here with him. She won’t have a choice. Maybe she’s a good friend to Vince, maybe she even knows his family better than I do, but she’s not going to stand up to this intimidating man to save my neck—not for long.

  My breath hitches as he steps closer and I feel glued to my seat, like my legs couldn’t move if they wanted to. The testaments I’ve heard about him come rushing back and no amount of optimism can deny the reality that Mateo Morelli is standing in my driveway, knowing it’s my driveway, mere feet away from the house where Vince killed two people.

  Oh, God.

  They’re going to kill me.

  I want to get out of the car. Not to run, there would be no point, but to appeal to him. He’s here, he’s caught me—throwing myself at his mercy is my only remaining option.

  “Vince is blowing up my phone.” That’s a different voice, quieter, not Mateo’s. Again, I want to look, but I feel safer if he knows I haven’t seen his face. I know that logic doesn’t hold here—he’s not some mystery assailant; he won’t let me go because I can’t identify him—but I’m in survival mode here, just trying to find a way out of this exchange that doesn’t end with my dismembered body being dumped in a large body of water.

  “He’s on his way,” Cherie says, not moving. “He… Just, please, wait for him to get here. I can’t leave until he gets here.”

  “Sure you can,” Mateo replies, smoothly.

  “I won’t leave her with you,” she tells him.

  “How heroic,” he says, not trying to hide his amusement.

  There’s more movement but I still don’t look. My head may as well be glued to the headrest, for all the movement I’m capable of.

  Someone walks in front of my car. It’s a man, but it’s not Mateo. I recognize his shaggy hair as he turns to look in at me, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s because he was the other man who came out of the house with Vince that night.

  It feels like my chest is going to cave in as he stares at me through the windshield. He doesn’t move, and he’s calm enough that it scares the shit out of me.

  You’re only that calm if you know you have nothing to worry about.

  I try to find my voice, knowing I need to start speaking for myself while I can.

  “Cherie, let me out,” I say, my voice unsteady.

  Her eyes widen and she glances at me like I’m experiencing a psychotic break. “No.”

  The door is open, but she’s standing right in my way. To protect me, but also to keep me inside. I glance over at the unlocked driver’s side door, aware that either one of them could just slide into that one if they really wanted to. Her human barrier thing is sweet, but I’m not stupid; she’s not in their way any longer than they allow her to be.

  “See, she wants to meet me,” Mateo says lightly.

  Dread runs through me and I realize for the first time, no, I really don’t want to meet him.

  His amusement at the scariest moment of my whole entire life has finally convinced me. Vince and Francesca were right, and I am a fucking idiot.

  He ducks his head to glance in at me, but I can’t look. Can’t move. Before I see more than a vague blur of him, he’s straightening again.

  “Move aside, Cherie.”

  His amusement is fading, impatience moving in.

  “Please,” she says softly, not moving. “Vince will never forgive me.”

  “He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Mateo says reasonably. “I won’t do anything that can’t be undone until he gets here and has a chance to explain himself.”

  My stomach sinks, hearing him word it like that, and that does it—that breaks my phantom paralysis. I turn, pushing one leg out of the car, then the other. Cherie doesn’t move, so I can’t s
tand, but I finally get my first glimpse of Mateo Morelli in real life.

  I’ve seen pictures, but they don’t do him justice. I guess his age to be somewhere around 30, but I’m not sure. He feels much older than me. Towering over me in my driveway, the dark-haired, dark-eyed Morelli can easily be identified as a relative of Vince’s, and yet, they feel nothing alike. A mantle of power hangs from the broad shoulders of this man, worn with the comfortable familiarity only attained by never having known anything else. This isn’t a man who had to climb to power—it’s his birthright, and if you want even a shred of it for yourself, you’d better be prepared to fight.

  My blue eyes tentatively meet his gaze. I wish I felt confident, as I had all the times I insisted to other people he would probably be more understanding than they thought. “What do you mean, explain himself?” I question. “Vince didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Instead of answering me, he smiles a slow, predatory smile. “She speaks.”

  In a flash, he’s reaching into the car and grabbing me by the arm. A fearful cry slips out of me as he yanks me from the car, and Cherie gasps, skittering out of the way. Once I’ve cleared the door, he slams me against the closed door of the backseat.

  “Hello, Mia,” he says calmly.

  My breath hitches, staring into a pair of brown eyes so unlike Vince’s. Where Vince’s have that attractive spark of warmth, the emptiness in this man’s eyes chills me to the bone.

  That’s the scene when Vince’s car flies around the corner, coming to a sudden, squealing stop in the middle of the road. He launches out of the car and heads toward us.

  “Get away from her,” he calls out.

  Mateo moves his body closer to mine. I try to lean away, but with my back against the car, there’s nowhere to go. Vince’s footsteps slow and he looks at me, more fearfully than I’ve ever seen him look.

  I realize then, he might not be able to control this situation any better than Cherie.

  Mateo’s still grasping my arm, and it’s definitely going to bruise. I look away from Vince, at Mateo, trying to come up with a plan, fast.

 

‹ Prev