At 11:15 p.m., Friday, June 15, 2012, Reid Michael Landry was pronounced dead.
I am numb. Or at least I try to be. I pray to be.
Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I hear his voice. I feel his touch. Pain, consuming and agonizing, eats away at my insides until there’s nothing left but a gaping hole where my happiness used to be.
“Makenna, you can’t hide in this room forever,” Ryleigh says as she climbs in my bed and hugs me from behind.
Once they finally arrived and pried me from Reid, the police insisted on calling Reid’s father, Judge Landry. I did everything I could to convince them to let me ride in the ambulance, but they just fed me some crap about policies and procedures. That stuff is fine for other people, but this is my life we’re talking about. This has happened to me. And I could give a shit less about policies or procedures.
I ended up riding with Judge Landry to the hospital and found they had transported Reid to a room at the end of a long, cold hallway, where he lay all alone, covered in a white sheet. Like he was just another casualty. Just another body.
I kissed his forehead and begged him to come back to me. But he didn’t listen. Then they pulled me away again and now here I am, clothed in one of his T-shirts, lying in our bed with my arms wrapped around his pillow, so I can inhale his sweet, manly scent until my tears have washed all the remnants of him away.
“I know. But I can hide in here for now,” I reply, feeling like I should cry, but I’m all out of tears.
“No. You can’t.”
I turn over and glare at her. “Ryleigh, I’m not in the mood for a pep talk. Just let me grieve, okay?”
I instantly feel like shit. She’s grieving too. She just lost her brother. I don’t mean to lash out at her.
She glares right back. “I’m not giving you a pep talk. I’m telling you, you need to get up. The cops want to see you.”
“I already told the cops everything I know.”
She wipes a finger across my cheek, smearing the evidence of an emotional morning. “They caught the guy, Maks. They need you to identify him.”
No.
I can’t.
I feel like I’m going to be sick. I shake my head vehemently.
“Makenna, you’re the only one who can make sure Reid didn’t die for nothing. You can make sure this asshole gets what he deserves.”
The second night my boyfriend was home after serving overseas as a scout sniper in the Marines, we were carjacked.
It wasn’t even our car.
How fucking poetic.
I’d spent 182 sleepless nights worrying whether or not he’d make it home from a battlefield across the world, and he dies in a liquor store parking lot less than two blocks from his family’s home. I just got him back, and he’s gone. Only, he’s not coming back this time. No more waiting at the airport. No more midnight Skype calls. No more hope.
Apparently, the Lamborghini he borrowed from his father’s friend was equipped with a GPS tracking system. So, it was relatively easy for the police to find the guy who took it. Now it’s my job to tell them if the guy they have is the same one who stabbed Reid—the same one who killed Reid.
I recognize him the moment they bring him into the hearing room. My pulse races, and I feel like I’m hyperventilating. My first instinct is to cower away from him but before long, I am consumed with rage.
He smirks at me from across the room.
I stand abruptly and glare at him. “You chicken shit son of a bitch. I hope you rot in jail! I hope someone stabs you with a spoon and you bleed to death, so you’ll know exactly how it feels.” My voice is desperate, angry, not even my own. It’s filled with hatred. But, I don’t care.
The deputy grabs my arms and restrains me in an attempt to calm me down. “Ms. Taylor, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down.” He continues to hold me until my breathing returns to normal and I am no longer violent. “I need you to remain calm until you’re asked to identify the man you saw attack Mr. Landry. Can you do that for me?” the officer asks, his stern eyes filled with sympathy.
“Okay,” I state coldly then return to my seat on the opposite side of the room.
The officer nods and looks at me apologetically. “Thank you.”
I feel eyes on me, watching me, but I’m too focused on the arrogant little shit seated across the room to care who all might have witnessed my outburst. A few short moments later I’m asked if I see the assailant in the room.