I look around for Saint until I spot him sitting on the shoulder of the road. His hands are cuffed in front of him. “Saint!” I scream, losing all my resolve. I run to him, dropping in front of him and wrapping my arms tighter than I ever thought possible around his neck.
“Is he dead?” The question comes out of him so empty. Like he already knows the answer and has gone through the steps of grief.
“I don’t know,” I answer. And while it’s the truth, my voice gives away my doubt. Each word cracks with the pressure of trying to keep it all together. “Why-why are you handcuffed?”
He looks down at them with surprise. As if he only just now noticed the metal rings clasped around his wrists. “Uhm,” he stalls, twisting his wrists around in the restraints.
“Excuse me, miss.” A new cop calls out. She rushes over to us, picking me off the ground in an attempt to lead me away. “You can’t be over here.”
“What do you mean?” I screech out as I attempt to wiggle out of her hold. “Why not?!”
“That man is a suspect of manslaughter.”
“What?” I scream out, ripping myself away from her. “Saint! What is she talking about?”
His eyes stare blankly through me.
“Saint!”
“Miss, I need you to calm down,” the cop says as she wraps her arms around me.
“No! What do you mean? He’s never hurt anyone!”
Even then, Saint does not move. As though he’s become a prisoner, locked inside of the shell that is his body. Completely unable to control it.
“He had an ounce of Fentanyl in his back pocket!” The officer screams at me. Two more rush over to help her hold me in place.
Her words shatter my heart, the pain worse than any hand that’s ever been laid on me. “You told me you were quitting! What did you do?” My screams leave my throat raw as they drag me away from him.
“Saint! Please!”
Play love, death, distraction by EDEN
“Your mom should be here soon,” the cop who had drug me away from Saint says as she sits down on the bench next to me. Turns out her name is Mallory, not that I’ve had to use it. I’ve been silent since I was shoved into the back of her car. The plastic seats had left my body aching by the time we got to the station.
Luke was pronounced dead on scene. The RV would be taken in for evidence, and his body was probably half way to the morgue in Melrose by now. They were trying to build a case against Saint, unwilling to listen to Abby or Jackson. They had begged me to tell them what I knew, but anything I had to offer felt so pointless. There wasn’t any magical way to string my words together to bring him back. Luke was gone. Whatever happens next seems so minuscule.
“I brought you a cup of coffee,” she offers. Her hand stretches out, her aging fingers gripping onto the paper cup. I glance at it before returning my sight forward. The offer hardly registersto me, but even if I were to take the cup, I don’t think I could stomach it.
The safety net that had been built around me was cut into pieces, covering the ground by my feet. The friendships, the love, all of it. It had all been torn apart right in front of me. I had been unable to stop it. My fairytale was never meant to exist.
“You know,” Mallory starts off as she crosses her legs, “we have a few crisis counselors on call. What you went through was traumatic, and I’m more than willing to help you find what you need.”
My body feels as though any form of autopilot was shut off, forcing me to manually swallow and blink as her words coast over me. My teeth stay clenched shut.What I went through was traumatic.What about what Luke went through? No one had been there to help him. We were too late. We were all too late.
The corners of my vision grow dark as I stare ahead at the exit sign above the door. It glows a bright red and I can’t help but wonder if there’s signs in the afterlife. Something to point you in the right direction of whatever lays beyond the veil. Or do our souls just get lost to the abyss?
“Is Luke lost?”
“What?” Mallory questions, straightening her spine.
“Luke. Do you think he knows where to go now?”
I listen as she clears her throat, searching for an answer to a question she’s not qualified to respond to. “Well I think that depends on what you believe in.”
I turn to her, taking her in with my bloodshot eyes. Her sympathy is written across her face. “I don’t know what I believe in.”
She opens her mouth to respond but the words never form. What could she even say? Instead she slowly closes her jaw, reminding me of a slow moving Venus fly trap. Mallory restsback against the wall once more, giving me silent company. Allowing me to share my grief withsomeone.
