In placation, John put his hands up. “Okay, I hear you. You don't want to see Hailey looking like that, though.”
Devon looked down at himself. His knuckles were bloody. A mixture of blood and mud stained his sweatshirt, and the hem had a tear. Again, he felt like a child. “I’ll go home and change.”
John spoke tactfully. “You and I need to have a talk, yeah?”
Devon looked at John in surprise. He was in his uniform, including a thick black jacket with the embroideredJ. Hurleyon one side. It was an official talk, then. “Okay. Can it be at my house?”
“Sure, Devon. You don’t strike me as a flight risk, but I’ll drive you over, anyway.”
Carefully, Devon stood. His bones ached. On second thought, he wasn't a child; he was ancient and moldy. Crime scene tape surrounded the parking lot which was full of the curious, the officials, and his family; what was left of them. His mother cried almost hysterically, holding onto Lori as they supported each other. Lori was a mess. Devon felt sorry for her.
“I don't want to speak to them, but I don’t want them to worry about me.”
“I’ll take care of it, Devon.” John walked to the line of bright yellow tape and spoke quietly to the McMillan women. They cried harder, and Lydia kept her gaze on her son.
Devon had to lower his head. He couldn't look at her. Feelings of guilt engulfed him once more.
When John came for him, he led Devon to his official car and let him slide in the front. They didn't exchange small talk on the way, and the sergeant didn't begin an interrogation on such a short drive. They pulled in front of the modest two-story in Robin’s egg blue, and Devon stared at the white shutters, suddenly realizing why he’d felt so uncomfortable there earlier. It was a logical reaction, all things considered. Only so many ghosts could fit in one building before it felt haunted.
The two men went inside the house. John sat at the kitchen table while Devon jogged upstairs to take a shower. He was quick about it, conscious of the other man’s time. He saw the bag he’d packed earlier and took it downstairs with him, making a pot of coffee and staring out the back window as it brewed.
“I’m selling the house.”
“Oh?”
“I can’t stand the thought of him being in here. It makes my skin crawl. I won’t bring Hailey back here.”
“Where will you live?” John glanced at the yellow notepad in front of him, though he wasn’t taking notes just yet.
“I don't know anymore. I thought I might move in with my parents until I could find something else, but I just don't know. Everything I thought I knew is a lie.”
“What happened, Devon?”
Contemplating the gently asked question, Devon turned to retrieve mugs from the cabinet and fill them. He set one in front of John and sat across from him with the other. “I went to the hospital first.” He rubbed a shaking hand over his mouth. “I had to confirm she was okay. There was a guard on the door, and Chloe was inside the room.”
“And you went in, spoke to Chloe?” John prompted as he wrote.
“Yeah. I told her you knew who it was, but I didn't say anything else. I couldn't even form the words.” There was silence as Devon thought about what happened after that. It was very blurry. “I ran.” He looked down at his busted hands and took a sip of coffee. “I don’t remember everything. I just knew I needed to check the truck you mentioned. I wanted to see for myself.”
“And what did you find?”
Tears slipped down Devon’s face. “Hailey’s hair clip from the day she went missing. It was in the bed of the truck under a leaf.” When Devon picked up the mug, it shook.
“And then?”
“I know who drives that truck the most. I knew what you’d said. I couldn't—I didn't—”
“Breathe, Devon. In and out.”
Devon thumped his fist to his chest, tear-streaked eyes meeting John’s. “Howcouldhe?”
“I don't know yet. He wasn't very forthcoming with answers.”
Devon’s breath left him in a whoosh. “I don’t care what you have to do to me. I know I was in the wrong.”
“Devon, I don’t think anyone wants to prosecute you.” John tapped his pen on his pad. “You messed his face up pretty good. It’s a good thing Chloe called her mom on her way there.”
“I wanted to kill him.”Still do.
