Page 71 of When I'm Gone
“Hard to believe me? You’ve got to be kidding. We’ve been friends for ten years. I barely even drink, much less use illegal drugs. Please tell me you can do something.” Being accused by a stranger was one thing, but to be accused by Brian, wife-beating, drug-abusing Brian, was nauseating.
“Wait, let me get this right.” Brian took a large step toward the bars, making them face-to-face, minus the metal barrier. “You want someone who knows you, who you’ve been friends with for a long time, to put in a good word for you? Is that what you’d like to happen here?”
A dark hole formed inside Luke, sucking out any hope he’d been holding on to. Brian knew he’d called Bormet. He released the bars and took a step back. Is this what Annie was talking about when she said that if Luke helped her, Brian would come after him too? Those pills weren’t Natalie’s after all. Brian put them there.
“It wasn’t really that hard to figure out. I find Annie at your house; she’s gone and told you all kinds of stories, and you believed her.” Brian put his arms through the bars this time and clasped them on the other side. “Then, a week later, I fly to DC, only to find out my orientation has been canceled and they gave the job to someone else. I might not be an engineer, but I can put those pieces together—you screwed my wife, and then you screwed me.”
“I can’t believe you’d do this to me. I tried to help you. I gave you a recommendation, but ...” Luke grabbed handfuls of hair in his fists, unable to look at Brian. “You’d been hitting her.”
“No, no, no, that’s ridiculous.” He kicked at the gate. “She’s not stable; you’ve got to know that by now.”
“Not stable?Youare the least stable person I know.”
“That’s not what my twenty years of service shows,” Brain explained, still infuriatingly calm. “No one here would believe your story. Why do you think Annie told you instead of someone who could actually help her, like the police?”
“I know you did this.” Luke squinted at Brian through the darkness. There was a smug confidence about the way he leaned against the bars, how much he seemed to enjoy Luke’s outburst instead of being incensed by it. “You broke my taillight, put drugs in my car, called in an anonymous tip, and got me arrested.”
Luke grabbed the tray next to him, rushed to the horizontal opening in the cell door, and crammed it through, almost hitting Brian in the gut. “I’m not hungry.” Brian stepped aside, and the metal tray clattered to the ground. Silent, he watched the apple roll until it came to a stop short of hitting the cement wall.
The briefest of smiles rippled across his lips before he stood and sniffed loudly. “That’s an unfounded and bold-faced lie. You sound desperate.”
“How could you?” Luke shook with half-restrained anger. “I could lose ... everything.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that earlier,” Brian scolded, sounding like a “scared straight” officer from a TV show. Bending one knee, he collected the tray and other items off the floor. Standing, he unwrapped a corner of the plastic around the mangled sandwich and took a bite. “Mmmm,” he mumbled, mouth full, “not bad.”
“You son of a bitch,” Luke growled, lunging at Brian, arms straining through the bars until the metal cut into his armpits. Brian sucked his teeth and shook his head.
“Now, now. If you wanted some, why didn’t you say so?” He rewrapped the sandwich and tossed it into the cell like he was playing catch with a dog. “You do seem to like my messy leftovers.” Dusting a few crumbs off the otherwise immaculate uniform, he wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index finger, still holding the tray in his other hand. “Hope you enjoy your stay.”
“No!” Luke shouted. “Come back! You can’t do this. You can’t!” The sound of Brian’s quiet chuckle and slam of the holding cell’s outer door reverberated through his bones. He collapsed on his knees and fell backward. This was it. Tomorrow he was going to die, or at least what was left of his life would end and he’d lose everything he still cared about. With Natalie, he could blame cancer, but this ... this death was his own fault.
Luke slapped the cold cement floor. Once, then again, then over and over until pain sliced through his palm, fingers, wrist. There was no way out of this trap. Even though he’d spent his whole life trying to not turn out like his father, Luke still ended up in the same place—jail. He slapped the floor again, expecting another dose of pain, but instead ... nothing. No more pain, just numb.
Good,Luke thought. If he was going to get through tomorrow and whatever domino effect his arrest caused, he had to be numb. Laying his numb hand across his chest, Luke let the chill from the floor soak through the skin on his other hand. Lying there in the silent blackness, he let the feelings of hopelessness and fury build up inside him again. Images of his mom, his sister, Natalie flashed in vivid detail. When the turmoil rolled inside him, growing uncontrollable, painful even, he slapped at the floor. Once, then again and again, waiting for the pain to turn to nothingness.
CHAPTER 31
Sleep didn’t come easily that night, but when it finally overcame him, it was deep and consuming. When the morning sun was high enough to peek through the elevated windows and its warm, end-of-summer rays landed on Luke’s face, he stirred. Blinking against the beams of light, it took him a moment to remember where he was and why. Then, the pain from his hands. They were swollen and stiff. He turned on his side to avoid the invading sunlight, his joints groaning.
Going back to sleep seemed like the best plan to avoid reality, but his mind was awake, on fire with possible scenarios. Hopefully Terry would have a lawyer for him soon, and then ... okay, he didn’t know what would happen then. Whatever happened at the arraignment, it had to be better than sitting in this tomblike cell, waiting, suspended in time.
The main door to the holding area clanked loudly, like the lock was being turned. Luke, in a zombielike state, jumped at the sound. Some flight instinct triggered inside him and he scrambled backward, wanting to be far away from the gate in case Brian was back to taunt him more. He couldn’t lose his temper again. It wouldn’t take much to turn this already horrible situation into a disaster, and certainly attacking an officer would do it.
Luke stared at his hands, tracing the crimson handcuff lines still visible around his wrists. He forced a look of submissiveness and remorse, trying to get some points for good behavior until he could tell his lawyer about the conversation he’d had with Brian last night.
Keys clanked, and the hinges of the seemingly ancient door creaked as it opened. Luke peered up over his clasped hands. Not Brian this time, thank God. Instead, a short older officer with a thickening waistline crossed the cell toward him. He was wearing white, and there were parallel gold bars pinned to his collar. A younger officer with a shaved head and ill-fitting uniform followed him closely. Luke sat back slowly, sure any sudden movements would be a bad idea.
“Mr. Richardson, you are free to go.” The older officer, a police chief maybe, held an opaque bag out toward him that looked a lot like the bags they offered Natalie at the end of her hospital stays. “All charges have been dropped.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Luke coughed, not sure if he should believe the officer or if this was another one of Brian’s dirty tricks.
“We’re going to process you out. Charges have been dropped,” he said matter-of-factly, as though that statement didn’t create twenty questions in its wake. “Follow Officer Miller here, and he’ll take care of you.” He shook the bag at Luke, without taking his eyes off his well-polished shoes. Even with his lack of legal experience, Luke knew something strange was going on. But he was being offered a chance at freedom, and he’d be ridiculous not to take it. Still in cautious mode, Luke grabbed the offered bag and slipped it over his shoulder.
“Miller, take Mr. Richardson to processing.” The chief turned on one foot, the heel of his shoe screeching against the wax on the floor.
“Yes, sir,” Officer Miller responded succinctly. Luke eyed the young officer, the way he watched every step the chief took as he walked out of the cell and through the main door, and how he silently tugged on the cuff of his sleeve like he was trying to make it longer. “Come on now, Mr. Richardson. Time for you to go home.”
Home. Last night he’d forced himself to believe that he might never be allowed to return home. Now they were opening the gate and setting him free. Luke moved toward the exit, each step echoing through the empty cell. He had to force himself to keep his steps slow and measured, still half-convinced this was some sort of a trap.
