Painful Truths

by Brian Spangler

  “A walk in the surf during sunset,” he said.

  I nodded contentedly, agreeing. It was a perfect way to end an almost perfect day. I know that sounds sappy, but it’s true. A perfect day. We had needed one too. Time alone had magically made the last few months disappear. There’d been no homeless man or shooting. There’d been no lies or Katie dying, no sadness over losing our baby. And there’d been no Garrett or his phone or the video evidence. All of it was gone. Whatever wedge had been between us had been washed away with the surf.

  Steve looked past me, searching the open ocean, as if waiting. I nudged him, curious to know his thoughts. He let out a grunt, a recognition that I was there. I nuzzled his chin—playful and romantic, hoping to stir a reaction. He mumbled some words about the beauty and tranquility, and that what was beneath the surface wasn’t what it seemed.

  “It’s just an ocean,” I told him as I rested my body against his, listening to the thrum of his heart.

  I moaned and slid my leg around him, wanting him to take me into his arms and kiss me passionately. But he didn’t. He hadn’t since before I’d lost our baby. Not once. But that was okay too. We were different now, and I was still trying to figure out who we were becoming. This was the weekend we would figure it out together.

  The sound of gulls rained down from overhead, their hopeful calls searching for food where there was none. A feathery blur swooped and yelled, begging. We ignored the noise, and the birds flew toward a new commotion, a new sound—perhaps another couple watching the sunset too.

  “Tide’s coming in,” I said as a salty spray reached my arms and turned my flesh bumpy with a chill.

  The sunlight was the color of butter and it warmed my back. I turned to find a sliver of moon perched just above Steve’s shoulders. The moment was perfectly loving, and I thought I’d try again. After all, he was the one who had insisted on time away from the kids. I wrapped my arms around his neck and slumped into his body—a move practiced and rehearsed—matching my curves to his, finding what was familiar like a memory. He braced and leaned onto his bad leg, holding me. He feathered my sides with his fingers until his hands cradled the small of my back.

  “How about a weekend away?” Steve had said, surprising me late Thursday night with plans for just the two of us.

  His mother was in on it too, telling me to go, encouraging me with a tidy little gift bag. “Some goodies to pamper yourself,” she’d said.

  I’d made excuses, but ten minutes into the discussion, I’d lost the argument and agreed to go. The truth was, I wanted to go. And not just for me, but for us.

  An improvement, I thought, realizing how strong his leg was getting. I could have said something, but held my words, preferring to keep the moment about us. I know that sounds selfish, but I wanted the weekend to be about us. I missed us. And without a word, I grazed his lips with mine, slipping my tongue in just enough to gauge a reaction. He returned my kiss, and we disappeared from the world for a moment. Steve kissed me hard, but he was rigid, his body language telling me he wasn’t into it.

  Maybe it was the news about Garrett Williams. Seven weeks had passed since I had killed the detective. School buses were on the road again, and children piled into their classrooms, seeing old friends and making new ones. The humid nights were gone too, and the air carried the taste of autumn. The summer was just a memory, and so was Detective Garrett Williams.

  I worried something would come of his murder, but after a while, I fretted less. I wasn’t completely done worrying, though. Not yet. As a precaution, Nerd and I put a hold on our work—we shut down Team Two until we could be sure the links in his application were safe. Nerd also spread the news about the compromised software, sent a warning to owners to vacate all the Deep Web storefronts. That left us with nowhere to buy our supplies, our ingredients. In a sense, it was like starting over.

  “We have to be certain nobody else is on to us,” Nerd warned.

  That’s when his software really began to shine. Becky became our digital eyes and ears, spying behind the closed doors of police headquarters. We filled our downtime, our empty days, watching the station and the investigations. We’d started watching federal offices too—Becky’s reach had gone national. I’d never been a fan of reality television, but the day-to-day drama of the station kept us glued to our screens.

  While Nerd enjoyed the criminal interviews and the bookings, I found myself drawn to watching Steve and Detective Summer-red. Often, my mind raced with bizarre images, like their half-naked bodies huddled in a closet, twisted and groaning in a carnal heap. But the truth was, I never saw anything. I waited, though, waited for a flirty gesture or a lusty look when their days went late. But nothing happened. Nothing outside my imagination, anyway. Mostly, I saw Steve hard at work or taking a break to study his law books. I even tried texting as I had before, to see if he’d reply or ignore me again. He always picked up, always tapped a reply, and the sight of it always warmed me.

  As for Detective Williams, there was less said about him every day. I suppose that’s what happens with murder cases. Time is the greatest relief valve for all that’s urgent. Sometimes, a criminal’s best friend is time. That, and a little patience. But even time won’t erase evidence . . . not all of it. Garrett’s murder had been like none of my others. I’d killed like my mother.

  Like my mother, I heard in my head. I considered what I’d done again. My mind cramped as questions of that night surfaced again. Did he deserve to die? Was I careful?

  “You okay?” Steve asked, lifting our hands to turn and face the ocean.

  I blindly followed his lead, walking around to his side until the last of the day’s sunlight was on my shoulders again. It was late, and the sun was dropping from the sky like a tear, casting long shadows from our bodies. I gave him a short nod and reached for Needle. I knew my ring was gone, but I still searched for the comfort I’d found in holding it. I hated how the uncertainty made me question Garrett’s murder.

  Did I leave any evidence? I was careful, wasn’t I?

  The first news stories about the detective had begun with a missing-person’s report filed by Garrett’s wife. Later, she had gone on television, hitting all the popular talk shows, pleading to the public for any information. And with her wealth, she’d offered a handsome reward. A few days after her announcement, a tip came in that led the station to the detective’s car. In my mind, I saw every detail of where I’d parked it and how I’d wiped down the upholstery. I’d even taken care of the rifts my footprints had left in the arid dirt, used a tree branch to erase them as they led away from the driver’s door. Garrett’s car was clean.

  The next day, Nerd and I had huddled around his monitor, watching Charlie work with the detectives. Steve’s boss looked healthier than I could ever remember, leaving me to think that pushing off retirement had probably been the best thing for him. He’d gathered the team into the large conference room to show the gathered evidence.

  “Oh shit,” Nerd said, touching the screen to point out the evidence bag Charlie had pinched between his thick fingers. The image was pixelated and blurred and I couldn’t make it out.

  “Hair,” someone in the room had said. Charlie nodded and explained they’d found a sample of short, light-colored hair on the floor of the passenger seat.

  “That yours?”

  “Might be,” I answered. Then I quickly added, “Easy enough to explain though, since Garrett’s been to our house.”

  Nerd sighed—a dry sound. He paced around his desk while Charlie went on about the case. I waited, eyes glued to the screen, to see what Charlie would hold up next.

  The meeting room soon erupted in a rumble of chatter, the back and forth of “what ifs” and other speculations as Charlie held up a partial fingerprint. He projected it on the room’s presentation screen, blew up the sketchy black-and-white lines, filling Nerd’s monitor.

  “That one yours too?” Nerd asked, circling his desk again, his glare bouncing from the monitor to my hand
s.

  “I honestly have no idea,” I answered, knowing there could have been a hundred partial prints in Garrett’s car. “It’s only a partial, can’t match up unless they already have a print on file.”

  They had nothing. That was the last time we had huddled over the case. Days turned into weeks, and while we tapped into our makeshift surveillance system for updates, we were already rebuilding our tiny empire and preparing to start over with a fresh set of cases.

  I’d begun to wonder if Garrett’s body might never be found. Some days, I’d even go hours without thinking of him. Eventually, his face would appear in my mind just once or twice.

  But the day came when Garrett was back in my life—so to speak. It was a week before Steve and I left for our beach getaway, and the body of a man matching Garrett’s description had been found.

  “It’s dead,” Nerd said that afternoon. “Sorry for the pun, but whatever they found, whoever they found, they’re not working it—not from the station, anyway.”

  It was Steve who told me the unidentified body was Garrett’s, the day we were due to leave. He said it coldly and distantly, like he was reading casually from a newspaper and was eager to move on to the next story. A thirteen-year-old boy riding his bike along back trails had come across a body. The grave I’d dug was too shallow, and the rains had been sparse, leaving the earth dry and dusty and easily picked up by the wind. It was Garrett’s hand the boy saw first—his fingers sprouting up like stumpy mushrooms.

  Steve said nothing more about the finding that morning, choosing instead to make pancakes for the kids before his mother arrived to take them for the weekend. He’d had one or two phone calls with the station—the kind I’d become used to, the kind with short words and his mouth beneath a cupped hand. In the corner of our kitchen, the small television set flashed Garrett’s face, recounting the findings. Then the screen flashed to Summer-red and Charlie. I gave it a cursory glance before Steve turned it off. He told the kids to give me extra hugs and kisses.

  I’d asked why.

  “Well, I deserved it,” was how he had put it.

  A wave crashed onto our feet, causing us to leap back.

  “I love you,” I told him, gently pressing my hand against his shooting wound. “And I love that you’ve done so much to change. You’re going to be the best damn district attorney this town has ever had.”

  He smiled, closing his eyes as I kissed him again.

  Garrett’s murder faded to that place where memories disappear. I decided that I’d search for Needle when we got home, though. Charlie and Summer-red had Garrett’s car, they had his body, and they even had some evidence, but I’d been sloppy. Maybe I’d find my ring atop a mound of earth, perched like a diamond in a jeweler’s showcase—but if she was lost forever then that would be okay too.

  A sound came then, but I barely registered it. The gulls trumpeted to one another, and the breaking waves collapsed against our legs. Steve tightened his embrace, encouraging me. I melted into him, dismissing what I’d heard. But then it came again, and Steve’s grip went stiff. Distant voices called across the beach and shoes clopped through wet sand. Steve’s body tensed again, holding me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, confused.

  I yanked my shoulder free and turned around in time to see a half dozen people dressed in dark suits and police uniforms.

  “Amy . . .” Steve said in a calm tone. But I didn’t hear my husband. “Amy, you’ve got to go with them.”

  “Steve! What’s going on?” I cried in a bleating voice.

  I spun in the other direction and found Detective Summer-red. I met her eyes and stayed on them as she approached me. The scene looked ridiculous—some of the officers stood in the sand, guarding us, while others waded into the water, blocking me from the ocean. I scanned the beach, looking as far up and down the breaking surf as I could. But the daylight was failing, and there was nowhere to go. Behind me was the ocean, vast and turning rough with the rising tide. There was an opening between the officers, and on it I saw a glimmer of sunlight carving a razor edge of red and orange.

  “Amy Sholes?” Detective Summer-red asked while the officers closed around us. I flinched when I heard my name.

  Did Steve do this?

  I shoved his hands away from mine. He let go. And as he dropped away from me, my heart ripped open. In his face, I saw a man who was torn between protecting me and running from me. His head shook slowly, but not in apology. Instead, his face was mournful and filled with the angst. It reminded me of the way John’s wife had looked at her husband’s funeral. He raised his hands to show he was removing himself from the chain of custody, was passing me off to the arresting officer. I was crushed.

  “Amy Sholes, you are being arrested for the murder of Garrett Williams.”

  Run! I entertained the idea in a glimmering thought. Chase down the last of the dying sunlight. I was a good swimmer—an excellent swimmer—and could tread the ocean for hours. But even in the dimming light, I could see the officers standing at the ready, their hands on their belts, waiting for a signal to drag me from the surf. I knew what was going on. I just didn’t understand how.

  I searched Steve’s face again, and my spirit died. My shoulders quaked with a cry when I saw that he had known they were coming. My legs turned weak as I began to understand the truth behind the reason for our weekend away. He’d told them I’d be here. He’d set this up, orchestrated my arrest.

  “Yes,” I answered. “My name is Amy Sholes.”

  Steve braced himself, favoring his good leg as he took another step away from me. I was alone. Instinct took over. I lunged for him. The officers jumped forward, my sudden motion triggering them like wild dogs on prey. Detective Summer-red raised her hands. The officers stopped. Two of them cradled the butts of their guns while a third held on to my arm.

  “Stand down!” Steve screamed, his voice shaking with emotion.

  Detective Summer-red nodded, agreeing with him.

  “Babe?” I asked, pleading, begging a thousand questions with one word. “Why?” I was blubbering now and hated that I was crying. I stuck out my chest, forcing myself to stand up straight. But my heart was broken and my insides collapsed like a tidal wave.

  “Amy, you have to go with them,” Steve said. His voice deepened as he forced himself to empty it of feeling. He cast his eyes to the sand and turned back toward the ocean. I followed his stare, searching for the man I loved. It was almost completely dark, and the sun had set in the west, leaving us in a fuzzy twilight.

  Could I make it to the ocean? Could I drown myself? Disappear?

  But there was only a graying light that would soon become black.

  Like our future. My future.

  “Amy Sholes.” I heard Detective Summer-red’s voice again.

  When images of Snacks and Michael came to me, I shuddered and sobbed and dropped to me knees, too weak to stand. I saw my children’s faces in the ocean’s blank canvas. I saw them alone, and the idea of dying, drowning, was suddenly very appealing. The ocean’s salty kiss broke against my chest.

  A little more, I thought, and dipped my head into the surf. A baptism and then death.

  But the suited men came to my sides and wrenched my arms back, lifted me to my feet.

  “Amy Sholes, you are under the arrest for the murder of Garrett Williams.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  EVIDENCE. AS THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY explained it, tapping the table with the end of his pen, the evidence against me was apparently overwhelming. A short man with a mop of wiry hair and a heavy pair of glasses, he slipped a curled sheet of paper across the metal table and waited.

  Silence.

  The interview room was a nearly perfect cube, smelling of stale cigarettes and old coffee. It was empty, save for the metal table and chairs and the one-way mirror that had been framed like a window. I glanced into the glass and saw a woman who’d aged years in a matter of days and who’d begun to look a lot like my mother. I needed a trip to Mr
. C’s. I needed Carlos. But there was no sexy where I was going.

  My arms had already warmed to the table’s cold touch, and I was in no hurry to sign the next twenty years of my life away. I flicked my cuffed wrist, stretched my fingers until the paper was within reach. The district attorney pushed up on his glasses, the lenses narrowing his eyes into colorless beads. He inched the paper toward me, encouraging me, and placed his pen on top of it.

  “It’s the best deal you’re going to get,” the man sitting next to me said. He was my court-appointed lawyer—a lanky man with thinning hair and a face shaped like a skull. His chair creaked as he whispered legal jargon into my ear. I shuddered at the feel of his breath and moved away from him, annoyed. His face reddened, and he donned a sheepish grin.

  I could have hired someone better, perhaps should have hired someone better, but I had plans for the Team Two money. Maybe Nerd could have found a decent defense attorney, one who could have worked a deal to plead my case down to a few years for accidental death or something. Any deal would have been expensive, though. Too expensive. Images of Michael and Snacks flashed in my mind like the burning afterglow of the sun. That’s where my money had to go. Nerd would make sure that my share of Team Two—the e-book royalties—would go to them. There was enough for Steve to take care of the house, the kids, and even finish law school. I hoped he would.

  Thinking of Steve made my heart ache, and I tried to push him out of my mind. He’d become a ghost since my arrest, wandering the halls of the station, standing outside the interview rooms, talking to the DA and Charlie. I’d seen him from time to time, passing by to ask questions. Once he slowed and nearly peered in. I held my breath and raised my hand to catch his attention, but at the last minute he veered away, closing the door. Closing the door on us. I’d lost him forever. I couldn’t blame him. I’m sure the guilt of turning me in was tearing him up.