The One You Can't Forget by Roni Loren
“So you can arrest him,” Rebecca said, her tone hard.
The male officer glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Yes. He shot his father.”
“Has he said why he did it?” she asked.
Wes peeked over at her, finding no sign of the panic he’d seen in her eyes a few minutes ago. She was all business, looking more pissed now than anything else. Only the hard grip she had on his hand gave him any clue how tense she was beneath all that.
“He said he was scared that his father was going to kill him. But there are no signs of that from what we can tell. His father is a respected police officer, and Steven seems to have a history of problems.”
“His father is abusing him,” Wes interjected. “Rebecca had to file a CPS report today.”
Officer Clement’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “At this point, I’m less concerned with the why. I just want the kid to put the gun down and talk to us. We can sort out the rest later.”
Rebecca sniffed derisively and sent a look Wes’s way. He nodded. Message clear. No one was on Steven’s side right now except the two of them. They couldn’t mess this up. They needed to get Steven safely out of there so that he could have a chance to tell his side.
Wes gave her hand a squeeze.
They pulled into a middle-class neighborhood with rows of houses that all looked the same. A line of cop cars had cordoned off an area, all their lights flashing. A spotlight was trained on the front door of what Wes presumed was Steven’s house. Further out, Wes could see the bright lights of news cameras.
The cops parked behind the main line of vehicles and turned to them. “We’re going to walk to that van over there. We’ll set up the call from there. Just do everything we say, and we can get this ended with no one else getting hurt, okay?”
“Okay,” Wes agreed, but he had no intention of feeding Steven lines from whatever script the cops had. If Steven wanted to talk to him, Wes would talk to him—or just listen, if that was what Steven needed. Whatever it took to get the kid out of that house in one piece.
Wes and Rebecca were led out of the car, a good distance from the house and under the cover of darkness. Rebecca held on to Wes’s hand, and he caught the tremor there.
He leaned over, the officers a few steps ahead. “You okay to do this?”
She wet her lips. “I hope so. I’m talking myself out of a freak-out. I don’t want to mess this up, but all of this is a little too familiar. It could go sideways for me.”
Wes’s stomach flipped over. Shit. He hadn’t even thought of that. This situation was stressful enough, but police, guns, news cameras… All kinds of reminders that could make Rebecca think of Long Acre. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
She rolled her lips inward and then nodded, as if making an agreement with herself. “I don’t always have control over how these things affect me. Like at the speech. Or the night of the mugging.” Her gaze went to the ground, her posture stuff. “My head’s all messed up, Wes. Sometimes, too often lately, I…see things, and past and reality can get mixed up in my brain. Like seeing ghosts and losing a sense of what’s real and what’s not.”
She was talking so softly that he barely heard the words, but they hit him squarely in the gut. She was seeing things. Past things. Scary things. He wanted to take her in his arms and chase those ghosts off for her, sweep her away from this situation that could trigger all that pain for her. “Bec…”
She gave him a sharp look. “You have to promise that if you see me start to lose it, you will take over. I don’t want to make this worse for Steven. I’m…a liability right now.”
He stopped walking for a moment, halting her with his grip on her hand. “Look at me.” When she did, he continued. “You are not a liability. Now or ever. To anyone. Steven is going to feel better knowing we’re both here for him. If you panic, I have your back. If I notice you acting strangely, I’ve got you covered.”
“Thank you,” she said, rubbing her forehead with a shaky hand. “I hate feeling weak like this. I hate feeling broken.”
Wes shook his head, amazed she’d even go there. “Lawyer girl, you’re the toughest person I’ve ever met. However this goes, you’re not weak or broken. You’ve got completely understandable challenges. Just keep reminding yourself that this is not Long Acre, that you are safe, and I am here to back you up. Focus on Steven. We are going to talk that kid out of there. You are not going to let him down. I know you. This is not going to end in tragedy.”
Rebecca pulled her shoulders back and nodded, some of the spark coming back into her eyes. “No, it’s not.”
God, he hoped that was the truth.
chapter
TWENTY-SIX
This is not going to end in tragedy.
Rebecca hoped with all she had that it was the truth. Every part of her nervous system wanted to trigger the alarms. She could feel the monsters lurking behind every corner. Fight or flight was beating through her with knee-weakening force. But she had to focus on the fight portion of that. Not the flight.
She kept repeating the facts in her head, trying to ground herself in the present. This was not Long Acre. Steven was a kid who didn’t want to die or hurt anyone else. She knew that in her gut. That boy who’d begged her not to tell about the mugging had plans to do something with his life. He was doing this because he was terrified. Reacting. Something had gone very wrong, and he’d gotten himself into this position.
He didn’t want to die. He wanted help. He wanted to talk. That was why he’d called for Wes and Rebecca. She needed to hold on to those facts. She would not let this kid down by dissolving into a flashback or panic episode.
Plus, she had to keep her head clear because Steven needed an advocate, a protector. If the cops thought they were going to toss him away without investigating what had gone down today, they had another think coming. Steven now had a lawyer on his side. A damn good one. And she would use every resource she had to make sure that he would be treated fairly.
She and Wes climbed into the back of the police van, and another cop briefed them on the procedure. They were to keep Steven calm. Tell him everything was going to be okay. Talk him into putting the gun down and coming outside. Not offer to go to him. To make false promises if need be. Anything to keep him from hurting himself or someone else.
A little black-and-white TV showed a picture of Steven’s front door. Everything looked so still and quiet, no sign of the ring of cops just out of the camera’s view. Just a house. But inside was a scared kid, one who’d suffered God knows what behind those doors. One who didn’t trust people not to do him wrong—especially cops. But he’d called for her and Wes.
Rebecca was not going to make him false promises, and she was not going to trick him. She was going to show him that some people were worth trusting.
Wes took the phone first after the cop talked to Steven and told them what was going on. Wes sat on the floor of the van, his hand clasping the back of his head as he greeted Steven. Despite the tension on his face, in every tight line of his body, Wes’s voice was clear and calm when he spoke. Like he was simply telling Steven what they were going to do in class today.
“Hey, man, it’s Chef G. I’m here to talk about whatever you want.”
Rebecca couldn’t hear Steven’s end of the conversation, but she watched it play out on Wes’s face. The line between his eyebrows, the anguished crinkle around his eyes. Steven’s pain was Wes’s pain in that moment, the teacher absorbing the emotions of the student.
“I don’t blame you, Steven. I know what it’s like to be scared at home, to tiptoe around minefields. To feel like no one is on your side and that things will always be this bad. I’ve been there. But this isn’t the answer. Things can get better.”
Rebecca sank to the floor across from Wes and reached out to press her hand to his knee, to offer whatever support she could.
“
Wes shook his head at whatever Steven said.
“Yes you can, Steven,” Wes insisted. “You haven’t ruined everything. But you will if you don’t put the gun down and stop all this. You can have another chance. The gun takes away that chance.”
When Steven responded, it apparently wasn’t what Wes wanted to hear. He gave Rebecca a heartbreaking look.
She took a breath and put out her hand for the phone.
Wes mouthed, Are you sure?
She nodded.
“Steven, I want you to talk to Ms. Lindt. She can explain what I’m talking about.”
Wes handed Rebecca the phone, and she took it with a shaking hand. “Steven.”
“Ms. Lindt.” The hoarse voice was broken with tears. “I’m so sorry. This wasn’t… I didn’t plan. I was only going to come home and pack, and he came home early and caught… I thought he was going to kill me.” He sobbed for a moment, his breath coming out in choked bursts. “I don’t know what to do. They’re never going to believe me.”
“Steven,” she said, surprised to hear the calm in her voice. “Take a breath and listen to me, okay? I’m here for you. If you shot your father because you feared for your life, we will make sure everyone knows that. I am not going to let anyone steamroll over you because your father’s a cop or because you’re young. I believe you. I know you didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I know you don’t want to hurt yourself.”
There was a rustling sound on the line as he moved around. “Maybe that’s for the best, though. If I just end it. What the hell am I going to do now? Even if I don’t get thrown in jail for good, who would want to take in a kid who shot someone? I don’t have anyone. I have nothing. What’s the point?”
“The point is,” she said, his anguished tone cutting into her like tiny shards of ice, “that you aren’t alone. You have people in your life who care whether you’re here or not. You’re Chef G’s star student. Who else is he going to geek out with over old recipes?”
Steven sniffled.
“And think about your friends in the class. Lola will be pissed, Steven. Pissed. Xavier and Keisha will be gutted. And when we open The Burnt Cheeseball and are the first food truck in town to be run by teenagers, you’re going to miss out. Your food will not be on the menu. Your talent will die with you. And I know that I don’t know you that well yet, but I’ve lost a lot of people in my life.” She glanced at the cops who were listening in on headsets and turned her face away, trying to block them out and just talk one-on-one.
“I was a Long Acre High survivor. I saw friends and classmates lose their lives before they could even figure out who they were supposed to be in this world, before they ever got a chance. I don’t want your friends to go through that. And I don’t want to lose someone else. Please don’t make me lose you, too.”
She could hear him crying softly now. “But they’re going to take it all away from me. I know what they’re saying to you. You’re just telling me what I want to hear. They’re going to put me in jail. This is all a trick.”
She swallowed hard. “Do you think I would lie to you, Steven?”
“I don’t know, but I know you’re surrounded by cops. I know they’re hearing everything we say. I know you’ll probably tell me anything to get me out.”
She took a deep breath and glanced at Wes. “If I come in there and look you in the face and tell you all this with no one else there, will you believe me?”
Two cops were staring at her. One started shaking his head, and the other was waving her hands, calling Rebecca off.
“Yes,” Steven said. “Please. I need… Yes. Just you. No cops.”
Wes was looking at her with wide eyes.
“Okay, give me a minute, and let me see what I can do,” she said quickly, her mind already working. “I just need you to promise that if I come in there, you will not hurt me or yourself.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you. I swear,” Steven said fervently.
“I know,” she said with a nod. “I believe you.”
Rebecca handed the phone back to the cop.
Wes leaned forward, his head already shaking. “Bec, you can’t do this.”
“He’s not going to hurt me,” she said, her voice oddly steady.
“You don’t know that for sure. He’s on the edge,” Wes protested. “I don’t think he’ll hurt you on purpose, but he could still hurt himself. And what if…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “What if it triggers stuff for you? I won’t be there to help.”
She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, her heart pounding. “I can handle this. I don’t blame him for not believing me. I know if I look him in the face and tell him what I can do for him, he’ll listen.”
“Ma’am,” the male officer said, “we can’t let you go in there. He’s not stable. It’s too dangerous.”
Rebecca stood. “I’ll relieve the department of any liability, sign whatever you need me to. This kid is terrified and needs a friendly face. He’s not going to hurt me. And he’s not going to come out until he believes that he has a chance not to get locked up in jail. I know I can give him that chance, and he’ll see that truth on my face. It’s the best shot we have. I will go in acting as his lawyer.”
Wes got to his feet next to her. “Bec…”
The two cops looked at each other. Rebecca could tell they didn’t like it, but that they were out of options. The next steps would involve more force and had a much higher likelihood of someone getting hurt. The female officer sighed. “He could take her as a hostage.”
Wes frowned, worry etched into every inch of his handsome face. “Bec…”
She took Wes’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “I can do this. He’s not going to hurt me. You know that. You know him.”
Wes let out a harsh breath. “He didn’t mean for the Knight thing to happen either.”
A ripple of unease went through her at that, but she shook her head. This wasn’t like that. She had to trust her gut on this one. “I’ll be okay. I wouldn’t go in if I thought he’d hurt me.”
Wes cupped her face in his palm, and the concern in his eyes knocked her off-balance for a moment, but finally he nodded. “Go help him, but then come back safe to me.” He pinned her with a look. “There’s a conversation we need to have. I’ve got things to say. Don’t even try to get out of it by getting yourself shot.”
She smirked. “That’d be one hell of an avoidance tactic.”
“Yes,” he said seriously. “Don’t do that.”
“Right.” On impulse, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “It’s a date.”
He let out a long sigh.
Ten minutes later, they’d put Rebecca in a bulletproof vest and led her to the end of the sidewalk. That was as far as Steven said he wanted the cops to go. Rebecca stared along the broken pavement, her heart pounding so hard her breastbone hurt. The squad car lights flashing along the front of the house, the sound of voices around her, the tension like a fog in the air, all of it was trying to flip those dangerous switches inside her, the ones that would steal her away from this moment and drag her backward, make her useless. She couldn’t let that happen.
Focus.
She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the magnolia tree nearby, and forced herself to notice all the thi
She made her way up to the house and gently knocked on the door with two quick raps, something she’d warned Steven she’d do. The door lock clicked, and he called out that she should count to ten and then come in. She said the numbers aloud, and then with a surprisingly steady hand, she grabbed the knob, opened the door to the darkened interior, and stepped inside.
The coppery smell of blood hit her hard in the darkness, the familiarity almost knocking her over. A shock went through her like she’d run face-first into a wall. That smell permeated her nightmares. Scenes flashed through her mind—images of pooled blood beneath bodies, her own blood spreading beneath her leg, Finn bleeding on top of her. Bile rose in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the memories banged at the doors in her mind.
“Ms. Lindt?”
The small, trembly voice was like a flaming dart in the darkness, cutting through some of the visions trying to trample her. She swallowed back the burn in her throat. “Yes. It’s me.”
Steven flicked on a lamp. “Please don’t be scared. I swear I won’t hurt you.”
She forced her eyes his way, tried to breathe through the panic, and as her pupils adjusted to the sudden light, she spotted Steven sitting in a back corner of the living room. He’d positioned a recliner between him and the two windows that flanked the television. Heavy curtains were drawn over the windows, but the edges were lit with the flashing blue and red of the police lights. The small, shadeless lamp he’d turned on had a dusty bulb and a yellow glow. His hair was soaked with sweat, his lips crusted with dried blood, and a dark bruise marred his cheekbone.
All those lanky limbs of his were pulled tightly to him, knees to chest, arms wrapped around them. Like a small child who was hiding from the boogeyman. She wanted to rush over, make sure he was okay, comfort him in some way. But the shiny black of the gun hanging loosely in one of his hands loomed large, freezing her to her spot.