Page 122 of Ghosts Don't Cry
Lily.
Her name in my blood was the last thing I wrote on the white tiles inside Feldman’s store before they arrested me.
My fingernails dig into my palms. It should help me focus, but all it does is remind me how fucking stupid I am.
Someone starts reading the charges.
Breaking and entering.
Intent to commit theft.
Possession of a controlled substance.
I keep my face blank. If they want me to react, they’re going to be waiting for a long time. Someone moves in the gallery. It’s followed by a muffled sniff.
Lily.
My jaw clenches with the fight not to turn and look at her.
“The defendant was found in possession of hydrocodone, and a prescription pad half completed with a forged prescription for more of the same under a false name.”
A throat clears to my left. My attorney. I’d forgotten he was there. He flips through his notes, barely disguising his disinterest.
“Your Honor, given Mr. Oliver’s circumstances ... His mother died from an overdose when he was fourteen, and he has no next of kin.”
The image of her that final time in the bathroom with the EMT’s standing over her fills my mind. I’d known she was dead.I just didn’t want to believe it.I don’t let myself react to the discovery and try to focus on my attorney’s words.
“—and the nature of this case, we would request leniency in sentencing.”
The judge sighs. “Request denied.”
I swallow the laugh that nearly slips through. Of course it is. They didn’t bring me here to listen or ensure justice. They just want a win. A name to check off the list.
The prosecutor leans forward, straightening his tie. “Your Honor, this town has had enough of giving second chances. We’re not here to debate whether Mr. Oliver needed help. There are plenty of people in need who don’t break into honest businesses or put themselves into situations like this. The law is clear. Actions have consequences.”
I can hear the disgust in his tone.
There’s another quiet sniff behind me. My fingers curl tighter, nails biting deeper.
“The state recommends the maximum sentence allowable, given the circumstances,” the prosecutor continues. “A clear message needs to be sent.”
The judge speaks again, but I’ve stopped listening. I count the breaths it takes for him to finish speaking.
Fourteen. That’s all.
The defense attorney leans close to me, his breath stale with the smell of coffee. “Mr. Oliver, this is your chance to make a statement. You can appeal to the judge, and show him that you deserve a chance.”
I turn my head slightly, just enough to see his profile. He’s glancing at his watch, impatience etched into every move.
The part of me that stills knows how to fight stirs, weak and struggling to be acknowledged. That part would have spoken up once. He’d have told them they were wrong, and that I hadn’t gone to Feldman’s to steal anything. He’d have explained thatI set off the alarms because I knew it would bring someone. I wasn’t trying to run. I just needed someone to fucking find me before my body gave up.
But that part of me died somewhere between sending Lily away and smashing my fist against the factory wall, while I tried to erase the shape of her name from my blood.
I breathe in slowly, then release the breath. My ribs protest the movement, reminding me that my body is still recovering from everything it’s been through.
“I have nothing to say.”
I hear her inhale, and the sound cuts through the courtroom noise. I don’t have to look to know her fingers will be gripping the edge of the bench. Her eyes are probably wide, trying to find the person she used to know inside the wreckage sitting in front of her.
