Page 64 of Riot Reunion
“Why would I try and callyou?” Dash says, genuinely confused. “You don’t count.”
I stifle back laughter, which earns me a dark, shitty look from Mercy.
“Where have you come from? How d’you know we were here?” Chase asks.
Carrie steps forward to take care of these questions. “Well, when we heard that there was a reunion taking place in New Hampshire, we weren’t about to missthat, were we.”
Chase looks delighted. Elodie, too. I have to admit, it’s fucking good to see Lord Lovett’s face. I’m not gonna say that out loud, obviously, but—
“It’s Wesley Fitzpatrick,” Mercy blurts out. “He escaped from police custody last night.”
The kitchen falls deathly silent.
We all look at each other, none of us knowing what to say.
Fucking Mercy. She taunts us with a secret, reveling in the attention it gets her, and the second that attention is pulled away, she spits something likethisout? Such a fucking brat.
Wren is the first to speak. “What are you talking about? How the hell would he escape? He was locked away.”
“They were transporting him back from the hospital or something. His lawyer got him an appointment with a specialist to look at a shoulder injury—”
“He’s on death row! Why the fuck would they need to look at a shoulder injury!”
Visibly pleased that everyone’s focus is back on her, Mercy basks in the center of the group, glowing like the sun. “It’s the law. They have to treat him if he’s hurt, even for minor matters. He’s appealing his verdict. There’s a chance that he could go free at some point, so they have to—”
“He’s never going free,” Elodie says, shaking her head. “He murdered all of those girls in Texas. And the other states. Not to mention Mara. The evidence is insurmountable.”
Grim as the grave, Wren has turned a sickly shade of grey. “The evidence doesn’t matter. They don’t need to overturn his verdict anymore, do they? Heisfree.”
“They’ve closed down state lines. There aresomany cops out looking for him,” Dash says. He’s on his phone, looking up information about Fitz’s escape. “They had the whole place on lockdown as soon as they realized he had slipped out of the hospital. He isn’t gonna get very far.”
Clearly, none of these facts make a difference to Wren. “He’s in the wind.”
“For sure,” Mercy agrees. “That bastard is as slippery as an eel. He’s probably sunning himself on a beach in Mexico by now. You have no idea how hard it was, keeping that shit to myself. Seriously. The look on your faces—”
“Why thefuckwouldn’t you tell us something that important immediately?” Elodie hisses. She’s so red in the face, she looks like she’s about to blow. The girl always seems to maintain her cool, but this might just be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
Mercy looks extra bored as she faces down her brother’s girlfriend. “Don’t be a drag, Stillwater. I was gonna tell you all eventually. Pardon me for trying to have a little fun.”
“Get out.”
Mercy’s smile fades. “Oh, please. Likeyoucan just—”
“She absolutely can. You heard her. Get thefuckout.” Wren hums with anger. Slowly rising to his feet, he towers over the kitchen island, his knuckles turned white, hands clenched into fists. Finally he’s ready to throw down. Thankfuckfor that. I was beginning to think my boy was broken or something. “Get the fuck out of my house before I fuckingmakeyou,” he barks. “Do not come back here, Mercy.”
The girl’s perma-smirk falters a little. She gets to her feet, grabbing her phone and the keys to her car from the kitchen island. “Like I wanna hang out with you idiots anyway. You’re welcome for the heads-up.”
21
WREN
The morning bringswith it thunder and lightning and an impenetrable curtain of rain that hammers at the windows, distorting the world beyond the glass into a green-grey blur. I stare out at the upward slope of the mountainside, knowing that Wesley Fitzpatrick is out there somewhere, a free man.
I’d put money on the fact that he called his lawyer for help after he made his escape from custody. She seemed as mad as a hatter back in Fairbanks. Mad enough to help him, that’s for sure. Alessia means nothing to Fitz. She’s awomanfor starters, and from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t seem like Wolf Hall’s old English professor likes the female of the species very much. He might sleep with them, but the act is a means to an end for Fitz. He thought fucking Mara would be a solid way of steering her attention away from me. That plan had worked out rather admirably for him. He probably ended her life the second he knew for sure that I wasn’t interested in having a relationship with her.
The morning crawls by on its knees, dragging, each second passing painfully slowly. In his room, Dash plays a dream-like melody, the notes of the piece flooding the second floor, floating up to my bedroom like some kind of melancholic love story. Elodie lies on the bed, eyes closed, listening intently, while I think about painting. I started out strong this morning—slashing at the canvas with a mix of moody midnight blues, slate greys and charcoal blacks, helped ease the tension wrapped around my neck like a cord, ever-tightening—but the moment the frenzy of my anger passed, I was left clutching hold of the brush, staring out of the window at the rain, unable to form a worthwhile thought.
“Whatisthis music?” Elodie asks sleepily from the bed. “I haven’t heard him play this before.”
