by B. B. Hamel
We wait for Mitch to come back out before we leave, the address tucked into my pocket, a promise from Mitch to hold off for at least a day before they raid the place. I’m nervous, and I know I’m going about this all wrong, but we have to see it through.
24
Cora
We sit in Wyatt’s car for a few minutes, just idling and staring at the long dirt road. We haven’t said much in a little while, and I can feel my nerves building. Wyatt doesn’t look nervous at all, and keeps drumming on the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song’s playing on the radio.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “What are we waiting for?”
“Nothing,” he admits. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready to do this.”
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Are you sure?” He looks at me, head cocked. “This might get dangerous.”
“I know that. But I’ve come this far.”
He sighs and leans toward me. “I don’t want to risk you. But I won’t say you can’t come.”
“I’m ready,” I repeat, and that seems to satisfy him. He kills the engine, reaches across me, opens the glovebox, and pulls out a gun. He checks to make sure it’s loaded before we climb out and he slips the gun into his waistband.
I don’t say anything as we start walking. We step off the dirt road and cut through the woods, trying to step lightly over fallen leaves and twigs. I stay close to Wyatt. I’m scared as hell, and his gun isn’t making me feel any better, but I won’t run away from this.
We move through the woods, and up ahead, I can just start to spot a small house. As we get closer, I realize that it’s basically just a trailer that’s been bolted into the ground, which can’t be a good idea. The thing’s falling apart, the roof is covered in moss, and the walls are all a dirty off-white muddy color.
But there’s a light on inside. Wyatt stops and crouches, dragging me down next to him. “This is it,” he says. “Last chance to turn back.”
“Let’s go,” I say.
He nods. “Okay. Follow my lead.”
We start moving across the open space, over toward the trailer. We get to the side and pause, listening. There’s a TV on inside and voices talking low. We move up to the front and Wyatt pulls the gun from his jeans, holding it ready in front of him.
Slowly, agonizingly, he opens the screen door. It doesn’t make a sound. I hold it open for him as he goes around and suddenly kicks open the front door in a burst of action.
I follow him inside. The trailer itself is a goddamn mess. There’s trash all over the place, and it smells like moldy bread. I have to step over a little pile of needles as I move up the steps.
“Jaxson!” Wyatt shouts. “Stop!”
I turn the corner as Wyatt barrels down through the trailer. I spot Jaxson just ahead of him. Kristi is sitting in a little booth, head in her hands, mumbling to herself. There’s a small TV on the counter near her, playing some sitcom.
She doesn’t even look up as he comes past, and I notice that her arm’s tied off. She must have just shot up as we came in here, and Jaxson probably didn’t have the chance to set himself up yet. I follow them into the back room, just as Wyatt curses.
There’s a large window out the back, wide open. Wyatt dives out through it, clearly following after Jaxson. I spot Jaxson running to the tree line, Wyatt following after him, shouting.
I turn back into the trailer. The room’s a mess, and the idea that anyone could possibly live in here repulses me beyond belief. I move back into the main room, where Kristi’s still passed out at the table.
Gently, I take the rubber hose from around her arm. I take the needle from her arm and place it back on the table. She mumbles something and I lean her back against the seat.
There’s a bottle of water on the floor by her feet. I grab it, open the cap, and wait a few minutes. Her eyes start to flutter, like she’s coming back awake, so I throw the water in her face.
She sputters, eyes opening. “What,” she says, slowly, her voice thick. “Jax?”
“You helped him,” I say softly.
Kristi blinks at me, slowly coming to. “What?” she says again.
I slam my hands on the tabletop. “Atticus.”
She groans, rubbing her face. “The fuck is this,” she says. “Jax? How high am I?”
“You’re not high enough,” I say. I reach out, grab her hand, and smash it down onto the table.
“Ow,” she says, dazed
I slam my fist down onto her hand again.
“Fuck!” she says, pulling it back. I can see some more of her comes back. “The fuck is happening?”
“We know it was Jaxson,” I say to her. “And we know you’re with him. You helped kill Atticus, didn’t you? The guy you were supposed to be with.”
She groans and shakes her head. “No, I didn’t want to.”
I clench my jaw. “But you did.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.” I can’t tell if she’s still high or what, but she looks more lucid. She’s not making eye contact, her gaze is directly on the floor, but her voice sounds more coherent. “Jax said nobody would get hurt.”
“But he did get hurt. Atticus got killed, and brutally. How, Kristi? How did you let it happen?”
“I didn’t mean to.” She starts crying then, and I almost feel bad for her. At least until she keeps talking. “They started arguing. And Atticus wouldn’t give up the shit. It was crazy, they were yelling, and that’s when Jax just started stabbing him.”
A shiver runs through her visibly.
“What happened next?” I ask softly.
“Jax stabs him, over and over, yelling like a fucking animal, and I just… I shot him. I freaked. I didn’t know what else to do.”
I lean back and stare at her. So that’s how it happened. Atticus really was robbed during a drug deal, but he was robbed and killed by the two people he probably felt closest to in the world. Jaxson stabbed him multiple times, and Kristi put him out of his misery with a gunshot to the face.
I groan and shake my head. “Why?” I ask her.
“I didn’t know.” She sobs and leans forward, head in her hands. “Jaxson made me do it.”
I want to hit her. I want to hurt her so badly that it nearly pulls me apart. I’m not the kind of person to cause someone else pain just because I want to, and I don’t think Atticus would want me to, either. He was always a gentle person, despite the addiction. But this is his killer, the woman he was supposed to be with.
“How long were you with Jaxson?” I ask her instead of kicking her face in.
“Months,” she sobs.
“You were cheating on my brother.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
She’s so pathetic. I stand up and leave the trailer, not able to sit there a second longer. As soon as I get outside, I suddenly feel dizzy, overwhelmed. I stumble, mind reeling, and fall to my knees.
My brother was stabbed by his closest friend, and shot in the head by his girlfriend. Jaxson and Kristi were sleeping together, cheating on him, and their last moments with him were to murder him. That was how my brother died, alone, broken, betrayed. He was probably confused and angry and in pain, and it’s all because of these scum.
I break down, tears spilling from my eyes. I can’t stop myself. I sob and fall over onto my side, holding myself, breath coming in ragged.
There’s a voice then, and someone pulls me into their arms. It takes me a second to realize that it’s Wyatt, whispering in my ear. He holds me tight while I sob, and slowly my tears subside until I’m looking up at him.
He smiles at me. “It’s over,” he says.
“You got him?”
He nods. “He’s tied up in our car right now. Mitch and the police are on the way.” He glances at the trailer. “What about Kristi?”
“She’s in there,” I say.
“Good.” He sighs and holds me tighter. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I whisper. “I just want to
go home.”
“Let’s get you home then.” He slowly stands me up. I can hear sirens in the distance, getting closer. “It’s all over, Cora. It’s going to be okay.”
“Yeah. It’ll be okay.”
We walk back toward the car. The sirens get louder, but all I can hear are Wyatt’s words, whispered softly in my ear. I don’t want him to ever let me go, never ever, but part of me knows that this is the end. He’s going to leave, and I’m going to be left here, trying to pick up the pieces of my broken life.
More chills run through me as Wyatt takes me home, and I don’t know where to go.
Chapter Twenty-Five; Wyatt
25
Wyatt
A few days pass and we don’t hear much from Mitch or the Mason police in general.
Cora is slowly coming back to herself. We spend most of our time together, going to eat around Mason, walking through the nature preserve, and watching old movies together. At night, I make her feel alive again, get her nice and exhausted so she can fall asleep in my arms.
Neither of us talks about me leaving. The case is finished, we both know what happened now, but I’m still here, still in town. Cora could go back to her apartment, but instead we both stay in my crappy little motel room, although the staff isn’t exactly happy to have me around considering the damage to their other room.
Saturday comes, and I get a call from my captain. “Haven’t heard a word from you,” he says to me.
“Sorry about that.” I lean up against the railing outside of our room. “This case has been tricky.”
“I made some calls.” I feel a chill run down my spine. “I know they made arrests.”
I clench my jaw. “That’s not all there is.”
“What, you still cleaning up their fucking mess, son? Come back and do your damn job.”
I think fast. I can’t explain to him that I want to stay because I’m falling for Cora. I couldn’t possibly explain that to him, and frankly, it’s not a good excuse. He’d fire my ass in a second.
“Her mother’s still missing,” I say quickly. “We’re trying to find her.”
That’s only half a lie. Cora got a call from her mom the day after she went missing, right after we caught Kristi and Jaxson. She said that she’s okay, but she’s taking some time to herself. Cora said she sounded drunk, which wasn’t a surprise. Her mom didn’t bother to say where she was.
He groans. “What the hell did you get yourself into?”
“It’s complicated here,” I admit.
“Damn small towns. You know, out here in the city, shit’s simple. Gangs are clear, they kill each other, we clean it up and arrest some of them. We have a way of life, a balance. But out there, it’s the damn Wild West still.”
I can’t say I disagree, although there’s not really a balance in the city, either. The gangs still do whatever they want and we’re left trying to chase them down after it’s all over.
“Just a few more days, sir,” I say to him. “Please. I’ll be back and work all the shit cases, if that’s what it’ll take.”
“You’ll work those shit cases, all right. And you’ll fucking close them. Got it?”
“Got it,” I say.
“I want you back here Tuesday morning. No fucking later.”
“Understood, sir.”
He hangs up the phone without another word. I sigh to myself, shaking my head. I don’t know why I bothered buying that time, it’s just a few more days to get even more attached to Cora before I have to go back home.
I just can’t help myself. I go back into the room and she looks up at me, her smile so bright and genuine. I don’t think anyone’s ever smiled like that at me in my whole life, and it feels os damn good. Cora wants to be around me, wants to be near me all the time, and I love it.
More than that, I want to be around her. She makes me laugh, makes me smile, makes me feel good. She’s smart and funny and real, a genuine person, good to the core. Despite all the shit that’s happened to her, she’s still strong and optimistic, and that’s the best trait imaginable.
“Who was that?” she asks.
“Nobody.” I sit down at the end of the bed. I can tell she knows I’m lying, but she doesn’t push.
“What are we doing today?” she asks.
“I was thinking…” I grab the remote and turn the TV off. “Let’s go find your mom.”
She raises an eyebrow. “What if my mom doesn’t want to be found?”
“We’ll do it anyway.”
She hesitates. “I’ve tried this before. Didn’t end well.”
“You didn’t have me before.”
“True.” She can’t help but smile. “Where have you been all my life?”
“Here for most of it.” I grin back at her. “Remember that?”
“I remember,” she says softly. “You know, I had such a crush on you.”
“I can’t blame you. I mean, I am awesome.”
She laughs and pushes me, and I pull her over toward me. I kiss her softly and she looks up at me with that same expression, and suddenly I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. The idea of leaving her drives me insane, but I’d lose my job if I stay. I have nothing here, no reason to stay.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s drag your mom out of whatever hole she’s dug for herself.”
Cora sighs. “Fine. I think I know where she is, too.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Because I didn’t want to go after her. She’s… unpleasant when she’s on a bender.”
I stand up and flex a little. “I’ll make her be pleasant, or else.”
She laughs and gets out of bed. “My hero.” She kisses me on the cheek and we head out together, holding hands.
We stop at three bars before we finally find her mom’s car. It’s parked behind this beat-up place called the Irish Rover. It looks like it was probably nice thirty years ago, but neglect has really let it go to seed. There are two other cars in the parking lot, and I’m guessing this is the only bar in the area willing to serve her this early.
“You sure you want to do this?” Cora asks me.
“I’m sure. Come on, we have to help her.”
Cora sighs, but doesn’t argue. We climb out of my car and head over toward the bar.
I go in first. The inside is dimly lit and is supposed to look like an Irish pub, but really it just looks like a sad and lonely shrine to drinking. The floors are sticky, everything is old and grungy, and a few older regulars are stacked up at the bar, heads down, not talking much to each other.
Cora’s mom is sitting at the end of the bar, leaning in toward an older man with a thick beard. He’s talking and she’s got this smile on her face that basically telegraphs her desire to get fucked sideways. The guy seems oblivious though, and as we get closer, I realize that he’s talking about motorcycles.
Cora’s mom looks up as we approach, and her whole demeanor changes. The guy doesn’t notice this, either. Cora stays behind me as we approach.
“What are you doing here?” she snaps. “Got some more gang members looking to kill me?”
The bearded guy looks up, surprised. He mumbles something and gets up, walking away from the conversation. That doesn’t surprise me. The guy probably survives by avoiding confrontation, and he can probably smell the fight coming in the air.
“I’m sorry that happened,” I say to her. “I couldn’t have known.”
“No? I think you’re a damn liar.”
“Mom,” Cora says, stepping up beside me. “It’s true. He was almost killed, just like us.”
“I don’t believe you. Girl, I can see how obsessed you are with him, don’t you see it? He’s got you wrapped around his fingers.”
Cora shrinks back from her mother, but I won’t let her bully me. “Mrs. Lewis, please,” I say.
“Call me fucking Salina, okay?” she says to me. “You’re a grown man, out getting folks killed.”
“Nobody got killed,�
� I say softly. “All thanks to you.”
She scoffs at that. “Just hit the fucker and ran away. I didn’t save anyone.”
“Mom, you saved me,” Cora says. “If you hadn’t done that, Jaxson would have killed me.”
“It was brave, Salina,” I say.
“Fuck brave.” She swallows her wine in a single gulp. “I don’t need fucking brave.”
“Doesn’t matter. When the time came, you did what you had to do,” I tell her seriously.
“And then I ran.” She meets my gaze. I can tell she’s a little drunk, but not so drunk that she doesn’t know what she’s saying. “I hit that guy and I ran, leaving my daughter behind.”
It shouldn’t surprise me, but the pain in her voice digs down deep. Cora steps closer to her. “Mom, it’s okay,” she says.
“It’s not okay. I’m a failure. Don’t you see that? I’m a drunk and I almost left my baby to die.” She looks down at the bar. “You’re all I got left, Cora.”
“Mom.” She walks over to her mother and wraps her arms around her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I leave them like that. I move halfway down the bar, giving them some space, and order a soda. One of the locals gives me a toothy smile but I don’t smile back, and that ends the potential conversation.
Looks like Cora completely misunderstood her mother. She probably assumed that her mother was just going to get angry at us for trying to pull her out of her drinking, but that’s not even it. Her mother was ashamed for running that day, for leaving Cora behind, but she doesn’t need to be. She saved Cora’s life, and although she didn’t stay behind, she still did something hard. I don’t blame her one bit for running. Your mind doesn’t work right when it’s under stress like that, and it takes real training to be able to keep yourself cool in a life-threatening situation.
After a little while, and halfway through my soda, Cora comes walking over. “I think she’s ready,” she says.
“Good.” I smile at her. “You did a good job.”
“It wasn’t like the other times,” she says softly. “I think… I think she actually wants to get better. I mean, she has nothing left.”