Reinforcements were coming. In a matter of minutes, another squad and a K-9 unit completed the semicircle around my section of ditch.
A few of them hoisted me upright. One sputtered, “Idiot kid’s covered in gasoline.” Lightheadedness drained me. My feet tangled together as my vision faded. I sagged under their strong grip, and fingers dug into my biceps. One big guy put an arm around my torso, supporting slash dragging me towards the backseat of the first police car.
A walkie clicked, “Escorting him to emergency care. Perp lost a lot of blood.”
I fell into the backseat, my fight sapped. The door slammed behind me. My eyes followed a dog exiting the K-9 unit. He ran to the Buick, sniffing around. They retrieved two bags of I don’t even know what. Why was that stuff in my car? A siren chirped to life, and we reversed. Against my will, my head tipped backward onto the seat while the car spun around me at a dizzying speed. I blinked, pushing back the blackness.
Gracie, where are you?
The nausea pressed against my chest as my blood volume rebelled with the gravity.
“Talk and she’s dead.”
Darkness rushed in.
THIRTY-TWO
Julia
The soft skin under my eyes burned. I’d been dabbing them raw for the last half an hour. Patrick’s story broke my heart right from the beginning. He recited the story with his elbows propped on his knees, eyes looking at his hands mostly. I couldn’t imagine what recounting those horrors must feel like. My heart squeezed with compassion for him.
I glanced up at Fray for the millionth time, trying to judge if he was as shocked and horrified as me. His brown eyes were wide, jaw slack. No one in their right mind would hear this story and not be at a total loss for words.
Pat wrung his hands between his knees, and his shoulders expanded with a deep breath. He seemed to be searching for what to say next.
“Pat,” I began then stopped to clear the emotions in my throat. I was afraid to ask the question nagging at me. I swallowed, hoping he’d say yes. “Did you ever see her again?”
He looked at me, eyes glazy. “No, that was the last time.” His voice caught on the last word. He sat back, adjusting his head against the back of the couch. He studied the ceiling. “I was hauled into the county jail that morning, where I spent some of the most agonizing hours of my life, wondering where on earth Gracie had gone and whether she was safe. I didn’t feel like I could really talk to the officers, because I was scared out of my mind. I waited at the jail for my court date.”
“My mama came down, insisted we get an attorney. But I already knew the evidence was stacked against me. Forensics showed my fingerprints and DNA all over everything. The gas can and the drug bags. I’d done nothing in those few weeks of waiting but think. Fear controlled me. I’d convinced myself everyone was out to get me and Gracie, and the best thing I could do was keep my mouth shut.” He shook his head. “I lied to the attorney and Mama. My life would be really different right now if I hadn’t.”
“What was the gas can for?” Fray asked before I had the chance to myself.
“Uh, huh, I forgot that part.” Pat palmed his face. “The building in Gracie’s yard I told you about? It blew sky high that night. So, even if I had made accusations against Gracie’s father, the man burned down every bit of evidence and framed me for it.”
Fray’s mouth gaped open. Mine too.
Patrick blew a breath out, hesitating and searching for the story’s next step. Fray started filling in the blanks for him. “So, if you had gone to trial, and accused a man with friends in high places who had so conveniently destroyed evidence, masterfully framed you for it, and threatened to kill his daughter, then you would likely lose the case anyway and therefore receive a longer sentence.” The convolution made him shake his head. “You pled guilty, didn’t you?”
Pat nodded. Mouthed the word “yeah.”
My heart ripped in two.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep a handle on his composure. “I was lucky to get fourteen years.”
Fourteen years. He didn’t even deserve it.
He wasn’t a felon, not even a criminal. How long had the poor man been treated like one though? He swam in my vision, and I wiped my eyes again. I scooted closer to him, and reached my fingers out for his hand. His hand was receptive, engulfing mine. He pulled my hand onto his midsection and clasped it there.
The thought of Pat as a kid, scared and falsely accused, gutted me. He accepted and bore the burden of such claims. He got tangled up with the wrong situation and paid such a high price.
A baby’s cry pierced the silence. Fray stood. “Brady’s probably wanting to be held.” He paced over to our section of the couch, and pulled Pat up into a bro hug. “Thanks for telling me. Here for you brother.” He looked at the two of us, a grin tugging at his cheeks. “Y’all have some talking to do, so I’m gonna take care of the little guy, then turn in.”
Fray disappeared into his room and Pat shifted his body toward me, bringing a knee up on the couch. Our knees touched, and it took every bit of my power not to throw myself at the man and kiss him. “I haven’t told you the best part.” The corner of his mouth turned up, and I stiffened. Hopefully the story wouldn’t get worse!
The front door swung open, and Carl barged in, followed by a few guys. They were laughing, rowdy, and it was pretty clear they had been drinking. And had plans to continue. One held a six pack of craft something rather. Carl announced they were planning to play some video games.
Pat tapped my knee. “Let’s see if your dress is dry. We’ll go on a walk.”
