Page 69 of Souls and Sorrows

Argument and secrets forgotten, I watch them turn around and head back into the station, signaling to me that they’ll be right back.

Pressing my phone to my ear, I listen to Zephyr explain what she’s found out—which essentially amounts to nothing.

“You’re letting her refuse the autopsy?”

I make a face. “I’m notlettingher do anything, Zephyr. She’s a grown woman, and she’s capable of making that decision for herself.”

“No one’s even been able to confirm whether or not Rafael is actually down at the ME’s office,” she says. “The pathologist they usually send people to is retired, and I can’t get ahold of anyone else there. I think, at the very least, she should go and make sure they have him and aren’t just trying to lure her into some trap.”

“What kind of trap would they be…”

My sentence falls off as I turn, staring at the entrance of the police station, waiting for Ariana and Elena to come back out of the front doors.

But no one exits.

There aren’t even any shadows appearing inside, and I think back to what the officer from before looked like, what his badge number was.

His name.

Nico Butera.

The same officer who signed off on the incomplete search warrant.

21

“I’m pretty surethis is illegal.”

The short, stocky officer from before runs a hand over his greasy hair, leaning back in his chair as his partner cuffs me to the table I was just at for completely different reasons.

Upon going back inside with Elena so she could tell them what funeral home to send Papà to, they grabbed me for questioning and then took my coat, tried to rip off my ring, and dragged me into what must be their only interrogation room.

Elena tried to get them to let her in too, but they shut the door in her face.

Blood smears the tops of my thighs and stains my pink shorts, and I curl my mutilated finger inward just to make sure it’s not broken underneath the torn flesh. Unsurprisingly, they’ve also refused to give me any sort of medical attention or even a rag to stop the bleeding.

I haven’t even had a chance to really process anything that’s happened tonight, and even now, my brain seems to be primarily functioning on autopilot, carrying me through the bullshit until I can get home, where I’m safe.

My insides are wound a little tight, and anxiety percolates in my chest as I try to think what of what they might want to question me about.

Air grazes the back of my neck from the vent in the ceiling, and I wonder what my sister is doing outside or if she’s gone to find Cash.

I can’t believe theyknoweach other, but then again, I guess I haven’t really paid much attention to Cash’s relationships outside of the people I’ve seen him with.

And since I haven’t been speaking to Elena at all, I suppose it shouldn’t come as such a surprise that there would be aspects of her life I’m in the dark with.

Guilt throbs in my chest. I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that outside, but I couldn’t stop the hurt and anger from spilling over. Every container filled must eventually be released, and I guess, paired with everything else that’s happened tonight, my breaking point was her showing up.

The thing is, she’s right. I used to tell her everything. Well, everything that wouldn’t make her look at me differently, like some sort of cat with three legs and a bum eye. Outside of the general shared abuse from our parents, I kept the really dark stuff to myself, afraid that if she knew, she’d make a big deal out of things.

And I was scared that if she made a big deal, Mamma would start taking things away from me rather than just making me miserable while doing them. I knew ballet was always just one wrong move from being torn out from under me, and so I kept quiet because I wanted to keep it.

Eventually, I guess the internalization led to resentment, and I stopped telling Elena anything.

Part of me just expected her to get it. To maybe even see past what I was showing the rest of the world and realize that the wounds inside of me were festering.

But she didn’t, and I just got worse.

“A real stickler of the law, huh?” the officer who’s locking me in place taunts, moving around to the other side once he’s sure I’m not going anywhere. “Are you aware that murder is also illegal, Mrs. Primrose?”

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