by Sienna Blake
“His mother’s been notified,” my father said, his thumb rubbing against my back. That was my father. Strong and calm even when things were falling apart around him. “She’s coming in with her brother.”
I nodded. I didn’t even think about who might need to be notified. I was so lost right now.
“Don’t worry,” my father said, his voice vibrating with its first timbre of anger. “We’ll get the bastard who did this.”
I froze.
“There are no usable fingerprints on the gun,” my father continued. “But you saw who did it, didn’t you?”
Roman. Roman did this. But it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault.
I tugged away from my father, my thoughts jumbling around in my brain. I was a witness. I could not keep this quiet. I had to tell the truth. Right? It was my duty to say what I saw.
Could I turn on Roman? Could I speak up against him knowing it’d be my words that would slam the bars closed on him for life? He shot a police officer. No judge in the world would be lenient. Even if it wasn’t all his fault. He was just reacting against Espo killing Mercutio.
How could I justify what Roman did? He killed out of anger, out of revenge, out of a sense of justice. How could I let Espinoza’s death go unpunished? How could I ever face his mother again knowing that I had the power to send her son’s murderer away and chose not to? How could I remain a cop?
My father gripped my shoulders. “It was Roman Tyrell, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?”
I had to turn him in. This was my job. My duty. I opened my mouth to speak the words. The memory of Roman’s broken face as I sent him away flashed in my mind. Somehow, I knew he wouldn’t be angry with me if I turned him in. He would understand. Because that’s who he was. He would be expecting it. The part of him that didn’t see his own worth, embracing it.
It’s okay, Jules, I could almost hear him whisper. You do what you have to.
This wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. We were all to blame for creating a perfect storm resulting in two deaths. Even me.
They would never see it this way if I told them the truth. That’s not how the law worked. The law pinned the blame on the man who pulled the trigger, not on the unseen forces compelling him to do it.
“Julu?” My father frowned deeply at me.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t send Roman away for life. The thought of it made my heart twist in agony. It was wrong, even though it was the “right” thing to do.
“It was dark.” My tongue grew thick with my lies. “I didn’t see…”
My father let go of me like my skin had become poisonous. His face twisted from disbelief to incredulity to anger. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know who shot Espinoza.” My voice came out strained and weak. I hated lying to him. But it was the lesser of two evils.
“The bullet pulled from Mercutio’s body was fired from Espinoza’s gun. Espinoza’s death was a retaliation killing by Roman Tyrell. Admit it.” Disapproval radiated off my loving father, stabbing me across my torso.
But I wouldn’t break. I couldn’t. “I don’t know. I didn’t see.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Are you protecting him?”
“He isn’t what you think.”
“He is a Tyrell. They are monsters.”
If he just knew Roman like I did, maybe he would give Roman a chance. “He’s not like the rest of them. Father, if you only—”
“He killed your partner,” my father roared.
“Espo’s not innocent. He shot Mercutio, who didn’t even have a weapon on him.”
My father bristled. “So it was okay for Roman to kill him?”
“No, I just mean…” What did I mean? This gray brand of justice was never going to rest easy with my father, with the law. Espo had killed Mercutio, an innocent. In turn he was killed. An eye for an eye. It was a clean brand of justice. “Roman doesn’t deserve to go to jail.”
“He killed your goddamn partner, so why are you protecting him?”
My shoulders sagged as tears sprang to my eyes. I was never going to get through to him.
My father grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Tell me the truth or I swear to God I will have your badge.” His voice boomed out through the hospital corridor. Several nurses and orderlies gasped. I felt all eyes focused on our public display. My face flamed with heat. So much for keeping up appearances. “I’ll arrest you myself for obstruction of justice.”
My stomach twisted. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
I pushed his hands off me. My father hated the Tyrells so much it made him demented. It was like my father pinned all the world’s faults at the feet of the Tyrells. He gave evil a name, a pulse, so it’d be easier to pull down. He couldn’t see, blinded by his prejudice, that the world was more shaded than pure black and white.
He shook his head as he paced in front of me. “My own fucking daughter. What does he have on you, huh? What does Roman Tyrell have on you?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why won’t you speak up against him? Are you afraid of him?”
“No.”
“I can protect you. The system will protect you.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
“He saved me from those attackers. He stopped them from raping me.”
“He what?”
“You see, he’s good. He’s a good man. He’s caring and…”
My father stared at me like he didn’t even know me. “I can’t believe it.”
“I love him.” It came tumbling out.
There, I said it. I spoke the words. Now I couldn’t take them back. I chose where I stood. I would not falter.
“You…what?”
I gripped on to the sides of my pants for strength. “I’m in love with Roman.”
“N-No.” My father staggered back from me.
I stepped towards him, reaching for him, pleading with him. “I love him because I know the real him. If you just took the time to get to know him, you’d see what I see.”
My father’s wide eyes locked on mine. For a second I thought I had gotten through to him. For a single sweet second my two worlds met and coexisted.
His lips curled into a snarl. And my fantasy was shattered. “You don’t love him, you only think you do. And he doesn’t love you, he’s playing you, you stupid little girl.”
“That’s not true.”
“How do you know he didn’t hire those men himself to attack you so that he could swoop in and play the hero?”
His words slapped me hard across my face.
“What did he get you to do for him in return, huh? Did he ask you to throw the case on Vinnie?”
“No,” I said in horror.
“Did you tamper with evidence?”
“How could you even ask me that?” My gut curled with indignation.
“I don’t know. Maybe because my own fucking daughter just told me she was in love with a fucking criminal.”
My hands, reaching so hard for that dream where my two worlds coexisted, faltered then dropped uselessly by my sides, drained of hope. My father would never accept Roman Tyrell, not in a million years. There could never be a world where the two men I loved most walked on either side of me. In turning to one, I rejected the other. In loving one, I hurt the other. I could not have them both; they would not let me.
My father leaned in, thrusting his finger in my face. “You tell me right now, who shot Espinoza?”
I stared over his weighted brows, his lips pressed thin, the glare in his eyes daring me not to answer.
It came out barely a whisper. “I didn’t see.”
His finger dropped. Disappointment rolled off him, weighing down the corners of his mouth. “Hand over your badge.”
“Dad—”
“Badge. And your gun.”
I unclipped the shield and holster from their positions
on my belt. I had worked so hard to get them. I had fought sexism and accusations of nepotism. Now I was throwing it all away.
My father snatched them from me. “Now, get out of my sight.”
Somehow, it still felt like the right thing to do.
* * *
I shouldn’t be here. Even as I tried to walk as silently as possible, my heels still made soft clacking noises against the sterile laminate floor. I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact, walking assuredly as if I was supposed to be here.
I entered the morgue, silent and empty of living beings. Espinoza was lying partly under a white sheet on one of the tables. My step faltered when I spotted him. The only way I was able to keep walking was to focus on my shaky breath.
In.
Out.
In.
I clutched at the metal table as I stood near his head. His usually tanned skin was so pale. So damn pale that I could see the veins on his eyelids. Even his smart-ass mouth was starkly white against the stubble on his strong jaw.
“Oh, Espo,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Wetness rolled down my cheek.
“What are you doing here?” A voice came from behind me.
I spun, wiping my face. Lacey was standing at the doorway to the morgue, dressed in scrubs. She looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Like mine were.
“I just wanted to see him. To see… To say goodbye.”
After a pause, Lacey nodded and walked up to my side. We stood there, two people mourning over a friend, over a good man, who we both cared about.
I’d been hoping that coming here would give me some kind of closure. I was hoping to ask for forgiveness, strange as it was. I knew Espo couldn’t hear me anymore. I knew he was gone. I had to find some kind of way to make peace with what I’d decided to do.
“Did you do the autopsy?” I asked quietly. I hoped not. I hoped they didn’t make her do it.
She shook her head. “Dr. Carmichael.”
I nodded. Dr. Carmichael was a medical examiner who worked the night shift. He and Espo had little contact. Performing Espo’s autopsy would have been easier for him. “Did he find anything?”
“I don’t think that’s something I can discuss with you,” she said, her voice turning frosty. She glared at me out of the corner of her eye.
My blood chilled. A single flare of anger attempted to take off—I thought friends were supposed to take friends’ sides—but it fell to earth like a kite that wouldn’t catch the wind. I couldn’t blame her for acting this way towards me. She and Espo had been close too. I knew she’d even had a small crush on Espo, despite her hesitance at his playboyish ways.
“I should go.” I turned towards the exit.
Lacey grabbed my arm and spun me to face her. Her face was creased with blame, her eyes shiny with anger, her lip trembling. “Why won’t you tell them who did it?”
More apologies jammed up into a knot at my throat. Soon I would choke on them.
“Without your testimony, we have nothing,” she went on, her voice becoming more harried, more agitated. “Espo’s murderer gets away with it.”
“I’m sorry,” I finally managed to say.
Lacey’s face hardened and her gaze went to something over my shoulder. “I’m sorry too.”
A firm hand rested on my shoulder and I turned. Two officers in their shiny blue uniforms had been sent to escort me out. I recognized the officer with his hand on me as Detective Pierce. There was an almost sorry look in his cornflower blue eyes. He was just doing his job, even if he didn’t like it. Beside him was a new male officer whose name I couldn’t remember.
“Ms. Capulet,” Pierce addressed me. His formal tone struck me. He usually called me Capi just like Espo did. Had. Just like Espo had done. He’d never call me Capi again.
I realized Pierce was still talking to me. “You are not allowed to be here under your current suspension. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to escort you out.”
Oh.
Right.
I didn’t fight them as they led me out, up past the ground floor desks and the reception area. As I passed, the voices hushed around me. Heads turned. I felt the weight of every pair of eyes staring at me. Passing judgment on me, even without knowing the full story. Some of them were openly scowling at me, soft four-letter words uttered deliberately just within earshot. As if I had been the one to pull the trigger.
Now I truly understood how Roman felt.
16
____________
Julianna
“What do I do, Nora?” I begged her. I was lying on my side, curled up on the covers of my bed.
Tell me. What do I do?
Nora sat by my side, brushing my hair from my forehead as if I were a sick child. I had told her everything. Confessed everything. The things I knew were too big, too swollen to keep inside me. I’d burst if I did.
I was so twisted up in my thoughts, like rope around my body, that I could not see a way to untangle myself. I could not cut my way out.
Should I hate Roman for killing my friend? My friend that would have killed him, the man I love. Or should I vilify my partner, who killed Roman’s friend? If I wished that Espinoza were still alive, it would be wishing Roman dead. Roman’s death would mean a death of me, too. How could I give thanks that Roman lived if Espinoza was dead?
Nora took my hand and patted it. “The only question you need to ask yourself is…how much do you love him?”
“What does love have to do with anything?”
“Love has everything to do with everything.”
I pushed myself up to sitting and sniffed. “I don’t understand.”
Nora smiled. “My girl.” She wiped my cheeks. “Love forgives. Love accepts. If you love Roman, truly love him…go to him.”
“But he’s gone.” I sent him away. Why did I send the keeper of my heart away? Why did I banish my only joy?
Nora gripped me with a strength that I didn’t know she had. “Then don’t stop looking until you find him.”
17
____________
Roman
It was late, very late. The cathedral was locked when I arrived. But locked doors had never deterred me.
I had received a lock-picking kit from my father when I had turned fifteen. He told me I had one week to learn how to open any door or I’d be sorry. Exactly one week later my father locked me in the basement without food, water or light and told me the only way I was getting out was by my own skill. Turns out that fear was a very useful learning incentive.
I was here because I had nowhere else to go. I wouldn’t seek refuge with my father. No doubt he had heard what I’d done and was scouring the city looking for me. Perhaps part of me was waiting to get caught.
I sat in one of the pews. The large wooden Jesus stared down at me from his eternal place of suffering. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but he gazed at me with such pity, or perhaps the few candles I had lit about the empty church caused the deep shadows around his eyes. Fuck your pity.
I turned my head and found a pillar closest to me carved with an image of Satan, his face monstrous and warping as if it were melting wax. Here was a figure I could relate to.
“Roman? Is that you?”
I didn’t have to turn to know that Father Laurence had entered the main section of the cathedral. I must have woken him.
I said nothing. I didn’t have the strength even to hold my own head up under all this crushing guilt. Under all the tormented chants of if only…
Father Laurence slipped into the pew beside me, dressed in striped pajamas and slippers. He placed a warm hand on my shoulder. “Talk to me, my son.”
I confessed everything. I had no strength to hold it all in. My guards were down, my will wrecked upon the rocks of fate. I told him about Julianna, about the duel, then about what had happened to bring me here. Even as I spoke, some of the heaviness lifted, but still the guilt remained.
I’d shot a man out of fury. I’d killed him out of pure reve
nge. This was worse than any death I’d dealt before, because no one had forced me to pull the trigger that severed a man’s connection to this Earth. Not just any man. Julianna’s friend.
And Mercutio… My heart twisted in agony every time I thought of him. He had been innocent in all of this. He died to save my wretched life. Why couldn’t he have just let me take that stupid bullet? Of the two of us, I deserved it a thousand times more than he did. If he’d just let me take that bullet as punishment, I wouldn’t have had to kill a man to avenge him.
“Oh, Roman,” Father Laurence breathed. “I am so sorry.”
“Pity Mercutio. Pity Espinoza. But do not pity me. I don’t deserve it.” I stared at the sculpted pillar of the ultimate sinner. “I am no better than Satan himself,” I said, quietly.
The Father was silent for a long time. Then he hummed to himself and leaned back in the pew, folding his hands over in his lap. “Do you know what Satan’s only mistake was?” he said.
“Going against God, being an evil bastard, that about sum it up?”
“It was not his rebellion or his wickedness that was his mistake.”
“Really? They seem like pretty big mistakes.”
If my sarcasm affected the Father he didn’t show it. His demeanor remained calm and steady. “His only mistake was to believe that God would not forgive him.”
Father’s words settled on my skin like a fresh layer of snow. It began to melt and seep in slowly, like the end of winter.
I shook my head, not ready to hope that I could be forgiven. “By now I should be a wanted man. I’ll leave before I force you into an uncomfortable situation.” It was the Father’s moral duty to call the police, even if the law protected my confession to him. I couldn’t hate him for turning me in. Just like I couldn’t hate Julianna for eventually speaking the truth about what I did.
Father Laurence patted my hand resting on the back of the pew in front of me. “You will always have a safe place here, Roman. Come, you must be tired.”
I stared at Father Laurence as he stood and slipped out of the pew. He couldn’t possibly mean to help me. He looked back at me and motioned for me to follow him.