Rising slowly, Wil quietly left the room, wondering how he could preserve his humanity if he allowed these two broken souls to be torn apart at the most traumatic moment of their lives.
CHAPTER 8
When the detective talked to them, he was much kinder than the officers. He apologized for the rough way the police had told Rita Healy and Connor about the other boy. His warmth and sympathy touched her, but also highlighted her loneliness as a parent, without anyone to support her during this crisis—no loving husband to hold her hand through the nightmare… which made the detective’s kindness almost painful and brought more tears.
Since no official charges had yet been filed against her son, he was allowed to return to their apartment with her. However, she couldn’t leave the hospital until she had seen her baby boy.
“Mom… don’t.” Connor had come back to himself a little, though he still trembled on the brink of that dark abyss. Tears streamed down his face as he gripped her arm, shaking his head. “Wait till tomorrow. Don’t look at him tonight.”
The detective, Wil Jordan, agreed with the young man. “He’s right, Mrs. Healy,” he said gently. “Go home and try to rest. I’ll take you to see your boy tomorrow.”
Rita broke then, wilting against her oldest son and sobbing. “I can’t… I can’t leave him… on a cold table… alone… I can’t…”
“He won’t be alone,” the detective assured, his voice soft. “The coroner is a good friend of mine; he will take care of your boy tonight. He’ll stay with him. He’s a very kind and caring man; he’ll look after your son. I give you my word.”
When they left the hospital, the detective called them a cab, feeling neither of them was fit to drive. Rita agreed. During the ride to their apartment building, she and Connor held each other, clinging to one another, crying together.
Standing at the door to their apartment, neither wanted to go inside. If she’d had the money, Rita would have rented them a hotel room… anything to avoid coming back here. The anguish waiting on the other side of that door was more than she or her son could bear. But they had nowhere else to go.
As she stood trembling, staring at the doorknob, her son made the first move. He gripped the handle numbly and unlocked the door. She didn’t remember locking it, nor did she remember closing the door as she’d rushed from the apartment in a panic.
Maybe the cowboy closed and locked it behind you.
She let her mind focus on him because she couldn’t bear to think of anything else. He’d said he had the wrong apartment, but something in his voice and eyes convinced her otherwise. But she didn’t know him and had never seen him before.
The distraction was brief as the door swung open and they walked inside. The apartment was cold as a tomb, and that’s how it felt—like a tomb. Her tomb. What life she had left after the horrifying call had died back at the hospital with her youngest child.
You still have a son, and he needs you now more than ever.
Rita realized she was standing alone in the narrow walkway between the kitchen and the living room. Warm tears ran down her face. Had the tears stopped since she got the call that her boy had been shot? Fresh ones filled her eyes and spilled over, streaming down to drip off her chin. Could someonedrownin their own tears? She felt like she was drowning now.
Her gaze shifted to the kitchen, where she was preparing dinner when the call arrived. How could life be so normal one moment and suddenly feel like her worst nightmare the next?Life can be cruel that way—offering no warning, hitting hard and blindsiding its innocent victims.
Rita wiped her face and hugged herself, her body and mind numb with grief that grew more unbearable with each passing moment. She found Connor in his little brother’s bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a baseball mitt, tears streaming down his face.
“He was getting really good,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “He couldn’t wait for high school… so he could join the team.” His head dropped forward, shaking with sobs. He pressed his face into the mitt, crying harder.
Rita sat beside him and held him, crying with him.
“I was right there, Mom.” Connor grabbed her and buried his face in her shoulder, fierce tremors wracking him. “I should’ve protected him.” He clung to her tighter, his pain and grief straining his body. “It should’ve been me… it should’ve…”
“No, sweetheart.” Rite held him closer, sobbing, stroking his hair. “It’s not your fault, baby… it’s not…”
“He should be here,” he cried. “It should’ve been me.”
“Don’t say that, baby.” Rita hugged his head and kissed his hair.
A surge of sobs gripped him, and for a moment, he could barely breathe through his cries. “I killed that boy, Mom—I killed their son.”His fingers dug into her back. “His dad should’ve killed me—I deserve to die.”
“No, no, baby,you don’t.”Rita broke. He was dying inside, and she couldn’t save him. “It was an accident, baby… it wasn’t your fault…” She held him tight and cried. “It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart, it wasn’t.”
“It hurts so much, Mom… I feel like I can’tbreathe… I can’t…”He still clutched the baseball mitt in his hand, pressing it against her back.“I want him back, Mom… I want them both back… I can’t handle this… I can’t, Mom… I can’t…”
Rita held her son as tightly as she could, so completely lost in the dark with no beacon of light to shine for her child as the nightmare slowly swallowed them whole.
Rather than putting Dan Brown in the general holding tank, the detective instructed an officer to place him in a private cell and allow his wife to stay with him. Dan was grateful for the detective’s kindness and understanding; he couldn’t be apart from Nora right now.
Inside the cell—more like a “room” since there were no bars, just a solid door that confined them—Dan and Nora lay on the bunk, crying in each other’s arms. They didn't speak; what was there to say? Jamie was the center of their world, and now he was gone. Dan didn’t know if they would endure this or if the grief would ultimately swallow them. He couldn’t think past this moment, couldn’t picture life without their son. From the moment Jamie arrived, they had lived entirely for him.
