Page 91 of Illicit

“Go ahead,” the judge nods to the guy standing in front of me in a uniform. “We need your answer for the court record.”

It’s all I can do not to look across the room at him.

I swallow hard and nod. “Yeah. I do.”

“Have a seat, Rocco,” the judge orders. He’s the same guy who’s asked me two million questions. I think he’s trying to make sure I’m not whacko crazy.

“Your Honor, the defense objects to the boy as a witness. He?—”

But the judge bangs his gavel. “Overruled. I interviewed him myself. He’s sound and capable.”

I stare down at my hands as I violently wring my fingers in knots. The guy from the table across from Dad stands and moves in front of me. Hell, he told me his name, but I can’t seem to remember it. “Hi, Rocco.”

I have to clear my throat. “Hey.”

“I’m going to keep this short. We’ll get you out of here as fast as we can, okay? I only have a few questions.”

I shrug. It’s not like I have a choice but to be here. Not really. Mom’s brother told me I had to if I wanted to live with him. The only other option was foster care. He told me no one would want someone my age, and I’d end up in a boys’ home. I know he’s right. It happened to a guy at school last year.

“Okay,” the guy goes on. “Do you know that man sitting at the table over there?”

I refuse to look across the room. We caught sight of each other when I walked in, and that was bad enough. If Dad could kill me with his eyes, I’d for sure be dead right now.

An addition to the family gravesite. If there was one.

I don’t look away from the guy in the suit talking to me. “Yeah. He’s my dad.”

The guy stuffs his hands in his pockets. “What’s your dad’s name, Rocco?”

I swallow hard. The sound of his name on my lips sounds like sandpaper. “Rodney. Rodney Monroe.”

“Thank you for making that clear for the court. Rocco, I’m so sorry about the loss of your mother. Can you tell us where you were the night she died?”

That’s easy. I’m never at home. It’s the most miserable place on earth. I’d give anything if I weren’t there that day.

Telling the truth isn’t the norm for me, but I just swore on the Bible I would. I’ve never even touched a Bible. But I don’t need that kind of bad karma. And the guy talking to me now prepped me that if I told the truth, there’s a good chance I’d never have to see Dad again.

That’s something I could be down for.

“I was at home.”

He nods. From the expression on his face, it looks like he thinks that’s the saddest thing he’s ever heard.

I’d go with gross, but I guess to someone who looks like they could be on TV, it could be sad.

“I see,” he goes on. “Were your parents at home that night?”

I don’t look away from him. For some reason, the pounding in my chest gets louder in my ears. “Yeah.”

“Can you tell me what happened that night?”

I do what he told me to do when he acted like he gave two shits about me, which he doesn’t. There’s no reason for him to give two, let alone one.

“They were high.” Like they always were.

“I see. Anything else?”

“They were fighting.” Like they always did.

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