Photos fire faster. The street has become a giant flashing strobe.
“My family’s been through enough! The people I care about have suffered enough.” I think about the article on Torrin. Lava replaces the blood in my veins. “Can’t you see that?!”
That’s when I drop to the ground because I can’t hold myself up anymore. Adrenaline got me out the door, but now that I’ve burned through that, there’s nothing left to keep me going.
“I’ve been through enough.” I cup my face in my hands. “Just leave us alone.”
The noise blasts through me, encapsulating me at the same time. Questions fire at me, but I’ve given all I have to give. I don’t have anything left.
The front door’s not far, but it feels like I’ll have to cross an ocean to reach it. I can’t stand. I don’t think I can crawl. I’m stuck. Every flash going off catches another shot of me losing myself on the front lawn of the house I grew up in.
I wonder if there’s an inner circle in hell reserved for reporters too. After my experience with them, I think there must be.
When I feel a couple of hands reach for me, I startle.
It’s my mom, and she’s smiling at me with strength in her expression. “Come on, Jade. Let’s go.”
As she starts to help me up, another pair of hands reaches for me from the other side. It’s Sam. She’s not crying anymore.
“I can’t get up,” I say when I test my legs. If I had muscles in them a minute ago, they’re gone now.
“I know,” Sam says, guiding me up with my mom. I drape an arm around each of their shoulders as they turn our backs to the cameras and guide me toward the house. “We’ll help you.”
SINCE I BROKE my silence with the media, I decide to do the same with the police. The detectives working my case have been patient, and unlike the home-wrecking media, I think their reasons for wanting to know what happened to me are legitimate.
The detectives agreed to meet at my house, and even though they said I could have whomever I wanted present during the interview, I’ve decided to do this on my own. My decision practically sends Dad into cardiac arrest. I guess that to him, it feels like I’ve just benched the captain of the team when the championship game is going into sudden death overtime.
Torrin would have been here if I’d asked, but I didn’t ask. I couldn’t ask. Not with everything I’ve already done to him. After the article in the newspaper a few days ago, I’ve tried to build a little distance between us. I don’t want to do that—we’ve had ten years of “distance”—but I have to. It’s what’s best for him.
I know he was confused when I said I was too tired to go out the other day or when I wouldn’t come to the phone when Mom told me he was on the line, but confusion can fade—a ruined reputation can’t.
Mom set up the farm table in the kitchen with mugs and a coffee pot. She even baked cookies and lit a candle like she was trying to make the interview a little easier on me. I appreciate her efforts even though I know the only way the interview will be easier on me is if it never happens.
I know the detectives are here when the noise from outside rumbles to a roar. The damn vampires do the same thing when the delivery driver shows up. After my display in the front yard, they’ve gotten a taste for blood that won’t be satisfied until they’ve drained me of every last drop.
I don’t feel far away from that last drop.
Dad greets them at the door, and I hear footsteps echo closer. I’ve taken the seat at the table closest to the door because I want to be able to escape if I need to. I need to know I’m not trapped.
I’ve got on an oversized cowl-neck sweater, even though it’s summer, because of the scar. I caught a glimpse of one of the photos taken that day on the lawn, and it made my scar look different than what I saw in the mirror.
I didn’t know how large and ugly it was until I saw it in a photo.
I asked Mom to pick up a few tops that would cover it, and she did. She picked up a few colorful scarves too.
“Miss Childs, good to meet you,” a woman in a charcoal suit says as she and who I guess is her partner approaches.
Dad lingers in the doorway for a moment before leaving with a sigh.
“I’m Detective Reyes, and this is Detective Burnside. Thank you for taking the time to talk with us.” She holds out her hand for me to shake, then something flickers on her face.
She’s about to lower her hand when I grab it. I shake it gently. Even though touching others has gotten easier, it still burns a little. Kind of like an arm waking up after sleeping on it all night.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to do this.” I reach for the pot of coffee and pour some into all of our cups. Mom left cream and sugar out, but none of us take any. “Thanks for your patience.”
Detective Reyes is clearly taking the lead in the interview since, other than smiling at me and sliding into a chair across from me, Burnside hasn’t said a thing. I wonder if that’s because the department thought putting a female on the case would make it easier on the victim. I wonder if everyone sees me as being so damaged I won’t trust another man again.
Maybe they’re right. I don’t know.
Burnside pulls a recorder out of his jacket and sets it on the table. I stare at the thing I’m about to spill my soul out to, and I wonder if when I’m done, I’ll feel better or worse. I think I know.
“First off, how are you doing?” Reyes takes the lead with the questions as I’d guessed she would. Burnside’s probably just here as a formality.