by Fox, Harley
“But it … it changed! Things have changed! I found out you’re all not as bad as I thought and I … I’ve fallen in love with you, Flynn! I had no idea this would happen. I didn’t know I was going to meet you. I didn’t know I … but that’s why I’m telling you. I’m telling you because I want to be honest, Flynn. Completely honest. I want out, of both the police force and the Bullets. I want to run away with you, just like we talked about. Don’t you want to do that? With me? Just run away together, leave this town and never look back?”
My heart is pounding. I feel so nervous. And yet Flynn still hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t smiled, he hasn’t even moved.
Finally he blinks slowly, turning his gaze away from me. I watch him, my heart in my throat. He blinks again, and this time I see his eyes shimmer, becoming wet.
“You’re a cop?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I tell him. “But I don’t want to be anymore. I’m done with it. I just want to be with you.”
“You lied to me,” he says. His voice is oddly flat. “You lied to all of us.”
Oh God, my heart. “Yes,” I say again, knowing that anything else is the wrong answer.
Flynn shakes his head. He’s still not looking at me.
“Maddox asked me about you,” he says. “A few weeks ago, when you had just joined. He knew about us sleepin— … fucking in the bathroom. He asked me if there was anything off about you. Anything strange that I’d noticed. He asked me if I thought you were telling the truth about everything. About Pasadena, about the other gangs. And I said yeah. I thought you were telling the truth.”
My heart drops.
“I’m not from Pasadena,” I say quickly. “I’m from here. I grew up here. I’m sorry. That was a lie too.”
Now Flynn’s face changes, his upper lip curling. He turns to me, anger in his eyes.
“What the fuck else is a lie?!”
“Nothing!” I say quickly, pulling back on the bed. God, I wish I was wearing some clothes. “That’s it, it was those two things.”
“You fucking lied to me, Trista,” Flynn says, gathering himself up on the bed. “I trusted you so much! And you just spat it back in my face.”
“It was … I told you, I didn’t know this was going to happen!”
“Were you going to get me arrested too?”
I pause for a moment. “At first. Yes.”
He nods for a second. “And then after? I was certainly involved with everything. Were you going to get me arrested still?”
My mouth works but no sound comes out. “I was going to figure it out,” I squeak.
“Bullshit!” he yells. “You were going to fuck us, Trista! Me, my family, all of us! You have no idea what these people mean to me! What they helped me go through!”
“I know! I do know!” I yell back, but even coming out of my mouth my argument sounds feeble. Flynn shakes his head again, taking his eyes from me.
“Go,” he says. “Leave. Get the fuck out of my apartment and never come back.”
I’m shocked. My lip is trembling.
“Flynn—”
“Go,” he says. “Go.”
He’s still not looking at me. I don’t know what else I can say. I get up off the bed, walking naked out of his bedroom to the front hall where my clothes lie in a heap. My vision is blurry from tears. Everything looks splintered up into three and four. I’m crying as I try to untangle the mess of clothes.
I hear the bed springs squeak and turn, sniffing, to see Flynn walk to the doorway of his bedroom. He stops in it.
“It would never have worked,” he tells me in an oddly calm voice. It doesn’t sound like the Flynn I knew. It sounds like the Flynn I knew has died.
“What do you mean?” I ask, pulling on my clothes. I don’t want to leave, but I don’t want to be undressed anymore.
“Your plan, it wouldn’t have worked. It wouldn’t have accomplished anything. Arresting all the Bullets? We’re just pawns in all of this. You take this gang out, another one will sprout up in its place. You’re only attacking the problem. Not the source.”
I pull up my jeans and do them up, reaching down to grab my bra.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Flynn says to me.
My bra’s done up.
“Are you talking about Will Silver?”
Flynn looks at me, all of the sparkle that was in his eyes now gone.
“You’re in way over your head,” he says. “And you have no idea what you’re doing. If you don’t stop fucking around like this, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
I put on my leather jacket.
“So what should I do?” I ask him.
No smile. No happiness.
“You should leave my apartment. And never talk to me again.”
I swear I can feel my heart shattering. The tears are flowing again, but Flynn only motions toward the door and I nod, turning away from him. I open it up and leave, feeling warm wetness trickling down my face. I hear the door shut and lock behind me. Struggling not to cry, I instead sniff and wipe my eyes as I make my way downstairs and out to the parking lot where our bikes are sitting there, side by side.
Our bikes. Now it’ll only be my bike.
I climb on and fumble with the key, finally getting it started. My hands are shaking as I pull out of the lot, but as I pick up speed the wind in my face helps to dry my tears, and I take a few deep breaths.
I knew this would happen. I knew we weren’t meant to be. It just wasn’t in the cards. It wasn’t in our futures. We come from two different places, from two completely different backgrounds. Of course it wasn’t going to happen. I was a fool to think that it was.
So then why does it hurt so much?
I have to breathe deeply to stop from crying again. In my chest it feels like there’s a hole, a painful wound that wasn’t there before. Like something is missing from me. It was rudely cut out of my life, and I’m the one who held the knife.
Can I still do this? Can I still go ahead with my plan? I have no idea. I have no reason not to. Flynn doesn’t want to see me again. I have literally nothing to lose now. I would just … take in whatever I have. I can’t go back to the Bullets. Not after telling Flynn the truth. So whatever I’ve got, that’s what I’ll use. I can do this. I can make a difference in this world.
But no matter how much I tell myself that, it still means nothing now. I feel nothing now.
I arrive at home and park my bike, hardly noticing anything around me. I take out my keys and turn them in the lock. It feels weird, but I don’t care. Everything feels weird now. Pointless. I go inside and walk up the stairs. Maybe I should have a shower. Maybe that would make me feel better. I reach the top of the stairs and take off my leather jacket, hanging it up.
The sounds of footsteps reach my ears.
I freeze, staring down to the end of the hall at my mom’s closed bedroom door. My hands are still on my jacket, in the middle of hanging it up. I don’t move, staring, not blinking, not even thinking.
Footsteps, from one end of the room to the other.
My mind kicks back into life as my instincts kick in and I leave my jacket on the hook, reaching behind me and taking out my gun, creeping down the hall, hugging the wall as I go, slowly getting closer and closer to my mom’s door.
I reach it and listen again. No movement now. I quietly click off the safety on my gun, then reach down and place my hand on the door handle. Steeling myself, I quickly open it up and bang the door open, my gun out and pointing forward where it lands on …
Will Silver.
He’s standing at my mom’s dresser, where there are framed pictures I put up of her when she was younger. Will is holding one, looking at it. He doesn’t look up as I enter the room.
“Hello Trista,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”
I’m confused. My eyes are wide. I look around the room, but Will says, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m the only on
e here. Well, apart from your beautiful mother, of course.”
Mom. I look down at her, checking for anything out of place, but my mom’s still in the same position, still staring blankly out the window. I turn back to Will where I see him putting the picture back down in its place. He finally turns to look at me.
“Put that down,” he says, indicating my gun, and I lower it. After a second I thumb the safety back on. “Good,” he says. Glancing over my at mom he asks, “What happened to her?”
My mouth is dry. All I can think of is the police uniform in my bedroom, the dossiers with all the information I have to make so many arrests. But I push that out of my head and open my mouth to answer instead.
“She’s catatonic,” I tell him. “The doctors don’t know if it’s a coma or not. But she’s staying with me. I’m taking care of her.”
Will nods. He walks slowly over to my mother’s bed and I keep my grip on the gun. I don’t put it away.
“Catatonic, that’s a pain,” he says, reaching her. He looks down at her with something … something like tenderness. It honestly makes me feel sick to my stomach. “You know, Trista, I’m going to have to apologize. I’m a busy man and sometimes I forget to personally welcome all of the new members of the Bullets.”
He reaches his hand out over my mother, extending it toward me to shake. I stare at it a second and then walk over, switching my gun to my other hand so I can shake his. He has a firm grip.
“And yet busy as I’ve been,” he says, pumping my hand up and down, “I’ve learned never to forget a face. And I could swear I’ve seen you before.”
His eyes are on mine, burning into me. I try not to blink as I give what I hope is a casual shrug.
“You must’ve just seen me around,” I say, still shaking his hand. He looks at me in silence for a few seconds and then we finally let go of one another.
“Yes, that must’ve been it.”
Will looks back down at my mom and I look at her too. She looks frozen in time, completely unaware that we’re here.
“We’re a good family, the Bullets,” he says. “We take care of each other. Ours is a foundation built on trust, and honesty. If something goes wrong, it’s best that I find out sooner rather than later. That way I can help prevent bad situations escalating into worse ones. Sort of like you and your mom here.”
I look up at him, but he’s still looking down at her.
“You take care of her, Trista. Every day, you do your best to make sure she’s healthy and alive. And although she’s not really in a state where she can protest, she has to trust that you’re doing your best to keep her that way, isn’t she?”
Will reaches down and runs his hand over my mother’s hair, smoothing it back. I want to stop him, pull his hand away from her, but I keep myself in place.
“It’s the same with me. I have to trust my employees, Trista. I have to trust that they’re all being completely honest with me. Otherwise they’re useless. Worse than useless. They’re a danger. And it’s my place to remove all the dangers from my life.
“Your mother’s taking medication, isn’t she?”
I look up at him, and he raises his eyes to mine.
“Owning the only pharmaceutical company in the city has its perks, Trista. Being able to look up certain prescriptions, for instance. Or being in the position to switch those prescriptions for something similar, something that would transition your mother from a nice, peaceful state to one of slow and agonizing death.”
He takes his hand from my mother’s head and turns, walking around her bed, around me, toward her bedroom door.
“Think about what I said, Trista. And make certain I have no reason not to trust you.”
He walks out, his footsteps echoing loudly in the small hallway. I stay standing where I am, my heart pounding, as I hear him walk right past my closed bedroom door and down the stairs, then out the front door and gone.
The gun’s still in my hand. I’m breathing heavily, standing alone in this room with my catatonic mother. And Will Silver’s undeniable threat is ringing in my ears.
Trista
I’m nodding off over my fourth cup of coffee, but I shake my head awake and slap my face a bit.
I ended up staying up all night, trying to figure out what to do.
Will Silver’s threat made me realize just how close to the edge I’ve been playing. I never thought—I never even thought—that Will would have recognized me from the police station. Because that must’ve been it. I’ve been in the force for almost ten years. In all that time he must’ve come by at least once. The founder of the single company that holds this entire city up? Of course he must’ve come by at least once.
And if he never forgets a face, as he claims? He’d have seen me. I’m just lucky he hasn’t come by recently. And that he was fuzzy on the details. But it means my alibi isn’t going to hold water much longer. If Will, or his son Craig, or even someone he sends in, comes to the station and sees me it means I’m screwed. It makes me scared to even go in to work, but I have to. I have to go in to work today.
Because today’s the day I’m going to turn in the Bullets.
I decided that this was the best option. Flynn is angry at me, and understandably. If I found out he’d been lying such a big lie to me all this time, I would find it hard to forgive him too. I entirely understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. I just … I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.
I shake my head, pulling my tears back into hiding. No, I’m not going to cry any more over this. My sleep-deprived brain made me do enough of that last night. If Flynn never wants to talk to me again, that’s his choice. My choice is to go ahead with what I originally planned. Avenge Sal. Make this city better. Fuck what Flynn said about this plan only removing the problem and not the source. Will Silver is on to me. It would be best to execute my plan and then … and then leave town, I guess. Try to get transferred to a different city.
Okay. Time to go.
I pick up the stack of dossiers and put them in the expandable file folder, tying the string shut. Leaving my bedroom, I walk down the hall to my mom’s room—I already gave her her breakfast an hour ago—and go inside. My mom’s lying on her bed, staring out the window. I sit down beside her, taking her hand in mine.
“Okay, Mom,” I say to her immobile form. “This is it. Wish me luck. I’m going to hand in what I have on the Bullets, and hopefully … hopefully Captain Hartridge will take what I have seriously. Hopefully she’ll arrest everyone … everyone …”
Images of Flynn getting put into the back of a police cruiser, going to jail, come into my head and those tears almost make their escape. But I pull them back and shake my head clear of those thoughts.
“Everyone will get arrested. And I’ll … Mom, I’m not going to lie. There’s a big chance I’m going to get transferred out of Santa Espera. For my own safety. Will Silver knows what’s up, and once those arrests go through he’s going to come after me, unless I can get out of here first. Go where he can’t find me. But it means … it means we’ll have to move. Move somewhere where Will Silver can’t control the drugs you take. Somewhere where he can’t hurt you. I know we grew up here, and I know this is where Sal is buried, but we can do it, the two of us together. Okay?” I give her hand a squeeze. “I’ll take care of you, Mom. I promise.”
My mom doesn’t say anything. I lean forward and give her a kiss on the forehead. She doesn’t move. Getting up, I pick up the dossiers again and leave the apartment, stowing the folder in one of the panniers. Getting onto my bike and kicking it into life, I ride away from our apartment and head for the police station, ready to give over the information and get started on my new life.
I pull into the parking lot and park my bike, grabbing the file folder, taking it with me inside. I glance up at the clock as I walk in and see that I’m actually a few minutes late. My heart instinctively steels itself as I get ready for the verbal lashing from Captain Hartridge—what a perfect segue it’ll be, from a reprima
nd to helping destroy the worst gang in town—but her voice never arrives.
I look around for a sign of her, but I can’t see any. She’s always on my case, for any small thing I get wrong. And now that I think about it … I can’t see Devon anywhere either. I walk over to her office and check inside, but she’s not here. Neither is her jacket, which she usually hangs up. Frowning, I leave her office and take the file folder back with me over to my desk where I put it in the bottom drawer. I’ll just give it to her later, when I see her.
I sit down at my desk. It feels strange and I can’t put my finger on why, but then it hits me: I’ve hardly been sitting here lately. I’m usually doing filing work, at the captain’s orders. But now that she’s not here, I don’t really know what to do. I feel out of place. I look around at the office, seeing the rest of the officers walking around, or at their desks working. I blink and my eyes almost glue themselves shut. I’m still tired. Maybe I’ll get some more coffee.
I get back up and walk over to the break room, pour myself a cup of coffee. There’s a TV mounted up on the wall that only plays the Santa Espera news. We have the volume on low and I watch it idly as the newscasters talk about who won the recent lottery.
As I drink my coffee my mind starts to wander again to the future, and to what’s going to happen. To everyone. To myself. Poor Chloe. And Tyrone, and Alyssa, and Matthias. And Maddox. And Flynn. I’ve got dirt on all of them. They were careful, that’s for sure, but it’ll all add up. The Bullets will be out of commission for a while. They’ll all go to jail, and in that time the police force—at least, the good cops—will be able to make some real change around here.
But Flynn … he’s the one I feel the worst about. I wish I didn’t have to turn him in, but I do. He’s a bad guy. That’s all there is to it, plain and simple. The implications about the others wouldn’t make any sense if he were to just mysteriously disappear from it all. It wouldn’t add up. I just wish … I just wish I didn’t end up falling for him. I wish we’d never slept together that first time, or the second or third time … any of the times! I wish I’d never met him that night at Point Blank. I wish I’d kept my wits about me. I wish … I wish …