I flicked my cigarette out the window. “No.”
“You put him into a coma for a few days.”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
“He’s starting to remember.”
I wouldn’t let the panic cloud me. When that awful fog tried to roll in, when the distance came, my fingers clenched instead. It was only when the damn thing was gone that I remembered how effectively the nicotine had been in drowning out those awful memories. After six years, I still wasn’t sure what was real and what had been twisted. After six years, I still wasn’t sure if I’d done the right thing.
Locked muscles would only allow small a shrug. “What the fuck do I care?”
“Attempted murder’s a pretty serious charge last time I checked.” His chuckle ground my teeth a little harder, clouded my vision a little more. “Mick, if this kid presses charges—”
“Fuck off with that. Don’t act like you’re concerned for my wellbeing. You’re worried about losing your fucking job.”
“How the hell is it supposed to look when I’ve spent myentire careerdefending you?”
I wanted to lash out. When that rot took over my head, the same one that clouded memories of Josh Warren, I wanted to lunge across the fucking car. The sickness was taking over again, but with it came something darker.
Birdie was worried about the same thing, wasn’t she?
She didn’t want to protect you either.
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Don’t act like I haven’t stuck by you every god damn step.” The hiss wouldn’t tighten my shoulders— not when images of her golden eyes were filling whatever was left in my shell. My silence brought a huff of frustration, and as he pushed again, I was reminded of the one thing Omar was not. “If it were me, I’d make sure my alibis for that night were still intact.” The suggestion brought a shiver to my core. “The kid’s girlfriend, right?”
“I don’t remember.”
A single moment was all he’d need to decide to tear away my last bit of sanity. As Omar reached into the backseat, I felt the terror of reality blur with the nightmares of the dark. A file folder dropped onto my lap before the cop faced forward again. I didn’t need to open it to know what was waiting inside, to know that I’d never leave that rot far behind.
He pulled Bridget Holmes’ file.
You promised to leave her alone.
“She works up at that office building on Jameson,” Omar huffed. “If you want me to make a stop after I’m done my shift, I can—”
“What the fuck are you going to do?” The hiss, that awful one that came from my stomach, had a way of freezing everything. “If I need help fucking the secretary or blowing my mortgage payment, I’ll ask. Stay in your own fucking lane.”
“I’m looking out for you,” Omar quipped. “If you don’t get help, you’re going away for a decade. Don’t act like a prick to me because you can’t get your shit together.”
“Fuck you.” Every bone in my body cracked as it tried to hold this thing in, the beast that wanted to lunge for his throat. In the dark, I gripped out for the door, tried to fling myself outside of the car, but when those golden eyes stared back, my body iced again. “She is not involved in this. And if anything happens with that fucker,Iget called. If the kid wants to lie about what happened, then I need to know about it.”
I wouldn’t wait for a response— an extra second was just an extra chance for violence. The only good thing about Omar was he knew when to let go, and as the car door slammed behind me, he did what he did best. He left.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
Where does scum like that get off thinking he can look at her, that he can say her fucking name?
How does he think he can take what’smine?
The world would take another five minutes to colour in, jagged breaths shaking my frame. Everything was coming out in a disgusting wheeze, the sick gasp of a corpse. The anger had already begun to burn my skin by the time his squealing tires could be heard down the block. Just far enough to get away from the rot that called for him, just far enough to escape bloodied fantasies. The slightest hint of control wouldn’t come back until numbed legs carried me down the block. Even then, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I wouldn’t worry about him. I’d said worse and the fuck had still come back— he needed me. Omar was the one person Ididn’thave to worry about; the opposite list seemed to be growing endlessly. The dark whispered that I had to talk to her, that I had to scare her again, that I had to demand the obedience she was too willing to give.
Maybe I just wanted to see her again.
Maybe I just wanted to know if she’d still wear that look of fear.