• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“It took me a long time to understand what Nathaniel wanted from me.”

She looked at me, horrified. “You’re going to blame him? You’re going to blame the victim?”

This was not going to go well. “Have you ever met someone who’s been blind from birth?”

She frowned at me. “What?”

“Someone who’s never seen color, ever.”

“No,” she said, “but what does that have to do with Nathaniel?”

“You’re blind, Jessica, how do I explain to you what blue looks like?”

“What are you babbling about?” she asked.

“How do I explain to you that Nathaniel enjoyed being on stage, that he sort of forced the situation on me?”

“You’re the victim, please, you weren’t chained up.”

I shrugged. “I’m saying there was no victim on stage last night, just a bunch of consenting adults.”

She was shaking her head. “No, I know what I saw.”

“You know what you would have felt if it had been you chained on stage and treated like that, and you’re assuming that because that’s how you would feel, that that’s how everyone would feel. Not everyone feels the same way about things.”

“I know that. I’m not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

She stood up then and stared down at me, her hands in fists at her sides. “I am not acting like a child.”

“You’re right, you’re being way too judgmental to be a child.”

Zerbrowski called, “Anita, we need to roll.”

I stood up, brushed off the back of my jeans, and yelled, “I’m coming.” I looked at Arnet and tried to think of anything that would make this better. Nothing came to mind. “Nathaniel is my sweetie, Jessica, I would never hurt him.”

“I saw you hurt him,” she said, and she sort of threw the words at me like she had the word gigolo.

“He doesn’t see it that way.”

“He doesn’t know any better,” she said.

I smiled and fought the urge to give one of those laughs that is half nerves and half exasperation. “You want to save him. You want to ride in and save him from a life of degradation.”

She didn’t say anything, just glared at me.

“Anita, we need to go, now,” Zerbrowski yelled. He was standing in the open door of his car.

I glanced back at Arnet. “I thought Nathaniel needed saving once, too, needed me to fix him. What I didn’t understand is that he isn’t broken, well, not more broken than the rest of us.” And that was probably more truth than I owed Detective Jessica Arnet. I left it at that, and jogged for Zerbrowski’s car. He asked me how it had gone with Arnet. I told him it could have gone better.

“How better?” He asked as we eased past the news van and a crowd of gawkers.

“Oh, like the Valentine’s Day Massacre could have been a better party.”

He gave me a look. “Jesus, Anita, it isn’t enough that you and Dolph are pissed at each other, you’ve got pick a fight with Arnet?”

“I didn’t pick a fight with either of them. You know I didn’t pick one with Dolph.” We were easing past the tape and barriers that the uniforms had moved for us. The television crew had the camera pointed straight at us. Great. I resisted the urge to give them the finger, or something else equally childish.

“I shouldn’t have said that about Dolph. I know you didn’t start that.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s eating Arnet?”

“If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”

“You’re not going to tell your version first?”

“No one ever believes my version, Zerbrowski. I’m fucking coffin bait. If you’ll fuck vampires, you’ll do anything, right?” And just like that, I started to cry. Not loud, but tears, real tears. I turned away and stared out the window. I had no idea why I was crying. Stupid, so stupid.

Did I really care what Arnet thought of me? No. Did I care if she trashed my reputation to the rest of the squad? Yeah, I guess I did. Shit.

Zerbrowski was either so astounded that I was crying that he didn’t know what to say, or he was treating me like he’d treat any other cop. If they don’t want you to see them cry, you don’t see it. Zerbrowski drove to the Church of Eternal Life, concentrating on the road like a son of a bitch. I stared out the window the entire time,