Red Nights

by Shari J. Ryan

  “He is pretty amazing, huh?” I say.

  “Besides looking like a runway model, I can see how much he cares about you. The worry in his eyes when we were in the waiting room was like nothing I’ve ever seen. I thought he was going to be sick. We didn’t know what happened or what your injuries were. We were only told you asked for us.” I didn’t want them to call Mom or Dad. They’ve been through enough over the past couple of months. Calling them to tell them I have a broken arm will be much easier than them getting a call from the hospital again. “I hope you don’t mind, but I texted Tanner. I told him what happened.” I haven’t told her anything about what I found in Tanner’s house or the “dangerous” label that Hayes thinks should be tattooed on his forehead.

  “I don’t want him down here, Aspen. I need to separate myself from him. Especially with Hayes in the picture now.”

  She slaps her hand against her forehead. “God. What was I thinking? I’m sorry. You’re totally right. I just knew you guys had been friendlier recently…”

  “What did he say when you told him?”

  “He told me to let him know if you wanted him to come down but said you’ve been a little distant lately, so he thought it would be better to stay away.”

  “Good.”

  “Did he do something?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.” Not for certain, anyway.

  A nurse comes into the room and studies my chart for a minute. “We’re releasing you, honey. As the doctor said, you should follow up with an orthopedic specialist within the next couple of days.” She drops my bag of clothes onto the bed and hands me a large envelope. “Here’s a copy of your x-rays. You can give these to your doctor.”

  Aspen climbs out of the bed and pulls my clothes out of the bag. This is all too familiar, being in the hospital again. Except I don’t have to say good-bye to Blake this time. “It’s almost summer and you can wear tank tops…makes it easier to get dressed,” Aspen says, laying my clothes out on the bed. She helps me get my shirt on and places my sandals down next to my feet. “What’s Hayes’s number? I’ll let him know they’re discharging you and I’m taking you back to my place.”

  I give her the number and watch her type away. I don’t even have my phone right now. This sucks. “Can we swing by my apartment to get my stuff?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  After an hour of going through the discharge process, we climb into Aspen’s SUV. “Does Hayes usually get back to you right away?” she asks.

  “Usually. Yeah.” Although, he doesn’t know Aspen’s number. Or he could be talking to whoever’s at the scene, trying to get information.

  “Did you say who it was in the text?”

  “Yup.”

  When we pull up to my apartment, the entire area is wrapped with crime scene tape. No one has touched the broken pieces of the balcony wall, and Hayes isn’t here, but there are a few random cops taking notes and photographs.

  I push the door open with my left hand and step out, greeted at the yellow tape by one of the cops. “Have you seen Hayes Peyton?” I ask.

  He looks over his shoulder to the other two cops and asks them if they’ve seen him. They shake their heads. The cop looks down at my cradled arm. “Do you live here?”

  “I was the one who fell. That’s my apartment,” I point up to the hole in the wall.

  He looks back at my arm again. “You’re very lucky.” I wish people would stop saying that to me. He lifts the tape and steps underneath, coming a little closer. “Are you up for some questioning?”

  As I say the words, “It was just an accident,” I look past the cop to the broken pieces of balcony wall, which have perfectly cut edges.

  “This was not an accident, Miss Stone.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “I GOT HIM,” Aspen says, cupping her hand over her phone. “Oh okay. Sure.”

  Aspen hands me the phone. “Hayes, where are you?” I ask

  “I was at the firm, filling out some information. Where are you?”

  “I’m at Aspen’s,” I sigh.

  “I’ll be there in a few. Hang tight.”

  I hand Aspen her phone back. “He’ll be here soon,” I tell her.

  “Thank goodness,” she says. “Come here.” She takes my hand and helps me down onto the couch. “I’m going to make you some tea.”

  “I shouldn’t be putting you to so much trouble,” I tell her. “You don’t need this. I should be making you tea.” She’s starting to show. She’s so brave, doing this alone. She’s already cleared out her spare bedroom so she can make it into a nursery, and she’s started painting it light blue. It makes my heart swell, seeing how much she’s changed in the past couple of months since Blake… “How are you feeling? Has the nausea subsided yet?”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” she says, smiling proudly. “Really good, actually. I can’t wait to meet this little person.”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  She looks up at me like I just made her whole world. Her hand pats down on her chest. “Thank you for saying that,” she says, her eyes filling up. “I’m proud of me, too.”

  As Aspen hands me my tea, the door buzzer rings. “Must be Hayes.” I lean behind me and hit the speaker button on the wall. “Hayes?”

  “It’s me,” he says. I hit the door button and hear him running up the stairs. Aspen unlocks the door and he bursts in. “They got the search warrant and just went through his house.”

  “And?” I swallow hard

  “Let’s just say, you’re off the hook. Tanner is in custody. He’s being charged, and held without bail.”

  * * *

  I pull my dress over my head, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I’m thankful I’m no longer a suspect. I’m thankful I’m the one testifying. I’m thankful to be on the other side—although, it doesn’t make this any easier. What if everything I’ve feared about Tanner is actually true? It seems impossible, but if that were the case, he wouldn’t be behind bars right now.

  Hayes walks into the bathroom and takes ahold of my good wrist. “Look at me.” His hands slide up to my elbows and he squeezes gently. “I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Today is the beginning of the end of this. You’ll have your answers and you can start coming to terms with the facts. It’ll give you closure.” I’m not sure if I’ll ever get closure. But it will be a start.

  “I’m ready,” I say, pulling in a sharp breath, walking toward the front door.

  We head downstairs and Hayes opens the truck door and helps me in—it has been a little challenging getting in without both hands.

  What was supposed to be a ten-minute ride, felt like less than two when we pull into the courthouse parking lot. My legs feel numb as I hop out of the truck. I feel like I’m walking toward the gates of hell, and this isn’t even about me. As we walk side by side, I notice Hayes’s face has gone red, whether out of anger or nerves, I’m not sure. I catch my reflection in the glass. I look like a ghost. I’m pretty sure the blood stopped pumping through my veins about an hour ago.

  I really thought I knew him. We all did. How could I not know how dangerous he was? What if he’s found not guilty? Then what?

  Mom and Dad are standing outside of the courtroom waiting for me and reach for me as I approach them. They wrap their arms around me, squeezing me tightly. Dad releases me first, offering his hand to Hayes. “How’s it going, son?”

  “Good, Sir. It’s great to see you and Mrs. Stone again,” Hayes says.

  Hayes and I dropped by Mom and Dad’s a few weeks ago so I could introduce them to him, and they were both immediately won over with Hayes’s charm. Dad seems to be extra smitten over having his daughter date a PI, so it isn’t a surprise when he puts his arm around Hayes’s shoulder and walks into the courtroom with him. “How’s the firm?” Dad continues.

  I don’t know where the conversation went from there because Mom is yapping my ear off.

  “Honey, he is adorable and so well-dressed. My goodne
ss, he somehow got even cuter since the last time I saw him. Are things still going well with you two?” she presses.

  “Mom, can we talk about this later?” I think she’s looking for a distraction. And as much as I’d like a distraction, I’m not sure there’s much that could distract me from what I’m about to witness.

  I expected the look on her face to change or worry to enter into her big blue eyes, but nothing changes at all. “Everything is going to be okay. You should be happy; you’re not a suspect any more.”

  “But Tanner is. We’ve known him forever and now we might find out that he’s…I don’t know. A murderer? A psychopath?” Mom bites down on her quivering bottom lip, nodding her head with the same disbelieving look I’ve probably had on my face for weeks.

  We walk into the courtroom hand in hand. I release her when we approach the row where Hayes and Dad are seated. Mom sits down beside Dad, and I slide in next to Hayes.

  As the bailiff asks everyone to rise, the judge walks in, and I take the opportunity to look over at Tanner. He’s dressed in an orange jumpsuit, with handcuffs on his wrists. Seeing him like this, it’s unreal…as unreal as what he’s been accused of. Tanner looks back at me with a twisted expression, almost like he’s confused, which sickens me.

  The prosecutor is called up first. He tells the jury and everyone sitting around me what happened the night of the fire, how it was proven to be arson and how he’s going to show, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Tanner is guilty. I zone out while he’s rehashing every detail since I lived through it, but I’m not sure how much more Mom and Dad can handle. Every time they hear anything new about what happened that night, it’s like another bullet to their chests.

  When the judge calls up Tanner’s attorney, I snap out of my haze and focus my attention on the man dressed in a sleazy brown suit, sporting grease-slicked hair. Good thinking, Tanner. The guy starts with a lot of stuttering, and a lot of fluff in between what he’s trying to say: “Tanner Holt has a solid alibi for the night of the fire…” His father’s word is not an alibi.

  “Thank you,” the judge says after Tanner’s lawyer sits down. He looks over at the prosecutor and nods his head. “Please call your first witness.”

  “We call Pamela Henderson, mother of the late Julie Henderson, to the stand,” The prosecutor says. I’ve never heard either of their names before.

  A small woman from the back row walks up to the stand, holding a tissue beneath her nose. As soon as she’s seated and sworn in, the prosecutor introduces her to the court once more. “Ms. Henderson, first I’d like to say how very sorry I am for the loss of your daughter.”

  “Thank you,” she squeaks, fidgeting in the hard chair.

  “I know it’s hard, but I need to ask you some questions about your daughter and her relationship with Tanner Holt. Did they date?”

  “Yes, for a year, back in 2011.”

  “Was Julie dating Tanner at the time of her death?” The prosecutor asks.

  “No; she had broken up with him a couple of months prior.” Ms. Henderson is staring down at Tanner like she’s been waiting a long time for this. “My daughter was not a drinker. I had shared an occasional glass of wine with her, and she’d be hard-pressed to finish one glass before complaining of feeling dizzy—so finding out that she had alcohol poisoning didn’t seem right to me.” She looks up at the ceiling, seeming as though she’s trying to compose herself, holding back tears. My heart aches for her. “We found out from the autopsy that at least one of the drinks had been laced with a date-rape drug, which meant that it wasn’t accidental. But because we had no leads, and we couldn’t afford an attorney, the case didn’t go any further.”

  Tanner’s lawyer is called up to cross-examine the poor woman, which completely throws her over the edge. “Did your daughter ever complain about my client while they were together?” he asks.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything,” she cries.

  “So you’re saying that your daughter never had anything negative to say about him, but now you’re accusing him of murder?”

  “Yes,” she says, hesitating, now bawling her eyes out, verging on hysteria as the judge dismisses her.

  The prosecutor doesn’t take long before he calls up his next witness, who shares a similar story, only her daughter fell down the stairs and broke her neck. She also had a high dose of sedatives in her bloodstream. Tanner’s lawyer pushes her over the edge as well.

  “I’d now like to call Kayla Lyle to the stand,” the prosecutor says. Tanner’s ex-girlfriend, before me. I’m scared and sick about what she’s going to say. As she takes small, slow steps from the back of the room, I notice her features are similar to mine: long strawberry blond hair, big blue eyes, and a small frame. She’s flushed and definitely nervous. It’s apparent she’s doing everything possible to avoid looking at Tanner. I can see she’s swallowing hard and breathing even harder.

  “Miss Lyle, you were in a relationship with Mr. Holt, correct?” the prosecutor asks.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Can you tell the court when you and Mr. Holt broke up?”

  “Mid-August, 2014.”

  I gasp. Tanner and I were together then…

  “I know he was with Miss Stone at the same time.” She looks over at me with a bit of caution. I don’t blame her, though. “When I found out, I ended things with him.” I couldn’t care less about Tanner at this point, but anger is firing through me anyway. He was sleeping with both of us at the same time. How stupid could I have been? How did I not know?

  “And what was your relationship like with Mr. Holt when you two broke up?” I’m looking at Tanner, wondering how he can just sit there like that right now. When people are caught doing things like this, they turn red or look uncomfortable, shift their weight or something. But he’s still and stoic, as if he has no conscience.

  “Things were strained. He would call me daily,” she says. “A week after we broke up, I was in a car accident.” She takes a moment and fidgets with her hands before looking back up. “It turns out my brake lines were cut. I drove into a tree and ended up with a few minor injuries. There was an investigation, but they couldn’t trace it back to anyone. Even I didn’t know who would do something like that. Tanner didn’t seem like that type of person. If a bug were in the house, he’d carefully remove it and set it free outside. That’s the type of person I thought he was. But then the next week, I was out to dinner—” She pulls in a sharp breath and rubs at the base of her neck, causing more redness in her fair skin. “There was a piece of glass in my soup. I swallowed it and choked. It sliced through my throat and I had to be rushed to the hospital. While being carted out of the restaurant, I saw Tanner sitting in a car in the parking lot. He hated that restaurant. That’s when I started putting things together. I went to the police, but I didn’t have any evidence, and they said I didn’t have a case. So I moved. I changed my phone number and erased myself from social media in fear of more accidents.”

  I turn to gauge the reaction on everyone’s faces, including Tanner’s parents. Shock doesn’t even cover it. They look numb and broken down, like they couldn’t imagine their son being capable of such horrible things. As for everyone else, disgust is the only way to describe the looks on their faces. “We’re glad you’re okay, Miss Lyle.”

  Tanner’s lawyer stands up and asks her the same questions he asked the previous witnesses, plus one new one. “What kind of car was Tanner sitting in the night you choked on the glass?”

  “I don’t remember,” she sighs. “I think it was some type of SUV.”

  Tanner’s attorney looks over at him and back at Kayla. “Tanner never owned an SUV. Is there a chance that in the dark of night, you might have seen a man who looked similar to Tanner?”

  In a split second, Kayla goes from despondent and crushed to angry. “No. It was him,” she says.

  The judge releases her from the stand and she makes her way back down the center of the courtroom, now in tears and avoiding eye con
tact with everyone…except me. When she passes by my row, she places her hand over her heart and mouths the words, good luck.

  Hours of questioning and cross-examinations continue, and my butt is starting to ache from sitting here. I don’t know how many times or different ways the same questions can be asked.

  Just as I thought the questioning might be coming to a close, the prosecutor calls my name. “I’d like to call Felicity Stone to the stand.” I knew this was a possibility and Michaels prepared me for it. I met with him a few times after our first meeting, but once Tanner was arrested and charged, and I was no longer considered a suspect, I didn’t need representation any more. Regardless, he filled me with knowledge about my rights and what types of questions to expect in this situation.

  I stand up, feeling my knees wobble, hoping I don’t trip on my way up. I take a seat beside the judge, ringing my hands together, feeling what seems like a thousand eyes boring into me.

  The prosecutor has me reiterate everything that happened the night of the fire from my point of view, as well as the timing of my relationship with Tanner, and then my relationship with him over the past month. It’s simplistic. No real “aha!” moments. Not that I think anyone was expecting one at this point. “I have one last question, for you, Miss Stone. What was the date of your break up with Mr. Holt?” I thought it would be something I wouldn’t want to answer in front of the jury, or my parents, or Hayes. I think back to last year, trying to remember what was happening around that time. It was a week before the Phantom Gourmet food critic came in. It was a Friday. Blake had played some silly prank on me the day before because it was April Fools Day…

  “It was April 2nd, 2013.” As I say it out loud, a realization hits me.

  “So, you broke up with Tanner Holt on April 2nd, 2013, and your house was set on fire on April 2nd, 2014? Exactly one year apart,” he says, well asks, to confirm. I try to swallow. I try to breathe. I try to move or do anything to make it look like I’m still alive, but I’m frozen. The anniversary of our break up—we broke up at a bonfire beach party in Newport. I had planned on waiting until the next day, but I had a couple of drinks and was feeling brave. I remember the pained look on his face when the words came out. And I remember him telling me I should just throw him into the bonfire because he said he felt like I was burning him alive. It was a strange choice of words, but I guess I didn’t think much of it at the time. I just knew he took the break-up way worse than I ever expected, and I figured he was responding to me like that because he was drunk, too. But I see now, that his words were foreshadowing the revenge he would later take on me, and on Blake—the one person who didn’t want us together.