Page 75 of Body Count

The deputies hadn’t taken down the flag, I thought.It was a numb, distant realization.They’d searched his room, but they hadn’t taken down the flag.Because the whole case had been half-assed from the start.

“He’s got one of you,” Jordan said like someone walking out onto ice.“Rory.He said it’s you, anyway.There’s something over your face.”

I almost burst out laughing because it was so unreal.Sunny’s party.The college bros maneuvering me upstairs.The bag-and-tag job.Because, you know, it made it harder to get off if they had to see my face.

“This is why we went there,” Jordan said.He reached out, his finger brushing the curling edge of one of the photos.“To that house.To your house, I mean.Rory said Tip might be there.”

It was another picture of Tip.But different from the rest, because it had been taken after Tip had been injured.He still wore the bandage over one eye, and the cuts from the broken glass were scabbed and raised.But that only registered distantly, because I recognized the room in the background.I recognized the sheets on the bed, and the closet door, and way the light fell through the window.I recognized the broad back, and the sleeping face in profile of Darnell.

26

The day was so hot I felt like the car was floating as I drove.The steering wheel was greasy under one hand.My other hand held the photo, taken from the body count wall.I had it between two fingers, barely any pressure at all.I didn’t want to crumple it.I couldn’t crumple it.But I also had the strangest thought that if I let it go, it would disappear in a puff of smoke.

Darnell and Tip.

Sun flashed on glass and chrome, and I had to close my eyes for a moment.That was worse, though; it felt like the world was sliding out from under me.My eyes snapped open, but the car was still in its lane.Nothing had changed.It was so bright outside.

Some residual section of my brain told me to call it in.I had to use the steering wheel controls because I didn’t trust myself to let go of the photo and take out my phone, but after navigating through the car’s Bluetooth system, I managed.The phone rang on the car’s speakers.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Red Alvin said.“That asshole Sunny Sharp called and filed an official complaint about you.The sheriff’s thinking about having someone pick you up.”

“Jordan Hodge just confessed to assaulting Tip.”

The hum of the tires measured out the silence.

“What?”Red asked.

“You should probably go pick him up and get him to do it again, properly this time.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”Red Alvin’s volume rose.“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“He didn’t kill Tip.Go easy on him.”

“Go easy on him?Get your ass over to the sheriff’s station right now, and you’d better pray to God I don’t book you on interference—”

I disconnected.It’s just one button, and it’s right by your thumb.

Darnell and Tip.

Darnell and Tip.In our house.In our bed.

The phone rang, but I used that same little button to send it to voicemail.

My brain played out its own, home-theater version of what must have happened.Tip had shown up at the house looking for me.Darnell had answered the door.Cue the pretty little twink—no, the pretty littledamagedtwink.The little twink who just needed to talk to someone.Who just needed someone who understood.Who just needed to be saved.It was like I could see every single moment of it.Darnell sitting with him on the sofa, patting his back as Tip cried.And Darnell making tea or some shit like that.And then, oops, my dick went up your ass by accident.

And that little faggot had taken a picture of them in bed together.In our bed.In our house.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, the air conditioning was going full blast.It was arctic.My face had a strangely pleasant ache.My eyes were so dry they burned.I sat there, the car running, still floating.And then it was like everything fell into place—the jumble of rage and hurt and confusion clicked together like one big jigsaw puzzle.And I was fine.

I turned off the car.I got out.I went into the house through the back, like I always did.

All the lights were on.Coffee on the warming plate—long enough that it was starting to smell the faintest bit burned.From the front of the house came Darnell’s voice.His office.He was on a work call; I could tell by the familiar cadence.

In my room, I changed.A cute pair of nylon booty shorts that were barely long enough to cover my ass.No underwear, obvs.A super slutty tank.I checked my hair in the mirror.And then I padded down the hall.

“All right,” Darnell was saying.The door to his office was ajar.“Why don’t we jump to Robin next?”

I stepped inside.I hadn’t been consulted on the layout of the room, but it was perfect: Darnell had set up his desk so that it faced the door.He spotted me over the top of his monitor, and his eyes widened in a way that was still—even after everything—absurdly gratifying.Isn’t that what we all want, I thought as I smirked at him.To be seen.And, when we’re seen, to be wanted.I put a finger to my lips as I crossed the room.

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