All of the Lights

by K. Ryan

  All the blood drains from her face and I smile, relishing in this maliciousness, as Rae's mouth parts long enough to suck in a quick breath.

  "You have every right to feel that way," she whispers. "I get it. I'd hate me too—I do hate myself for what I did, but I want to make it right. Please...just listen."

  I guess I have to give her a little credit for trying.

  "Why should I believe a word you say?" I shoot back. "You're a documented liar. Daddy taught you well, didn't he?"

  Her eyes squeeze shut and when they snap open again, they've glazed over into a watery mess of a forest. Good.

  "I saw two people that night," she soldiers on and wipes at a stray tear with the back of her hand before I can get a good look at it. "I saw someone else first, right before I got hit. It was definitely a guy...someone with dark eyes. I didn't get a good look at him, but he wasn't Sean."

  "Lemme guess," I surmise as I prop my elbows on the bar. "Sean was the guy you saw after you got hit."

  She nods quickly and a shaking hand lifts up to sweep some of that vibrant, dark cherry-colored hair out of her eyes. The movement distracts me for just a second and it's a second too long. I'm not going to fall into her trap again, especially not when it comes to my brother.

  "I coulda told you that," I shrug. "Someone else did it. So what? Sean's the one in prison."

  "I told the cops right on the scene. Even when I was strapped to a gurney and they were loading me into an ambulance, all I can remember is that I kept saying there were two of them."

  Her eyes shut again like the memory is too much for her, but I don't care about that either. The problem now is she's finally told me something that's sparked my interest.

  "What happened after you told that to the cops?"

  A resigned expression crosses her face and she lifts a shoulder. "My dad happened."

  "And then you lied because that was what he told you to do."

  She shakes her head furiously. "I didn't mean to—"

  My breath pushes out in one angry huff. "You didn't mean to?"

  "You don't understand," she's still shaking her head in vain, desperate for me to understand something so nonsensical I don't even know where to start. "I was in so much pain. They were pumping me with all these painkillers and I wasn't even really awake long enough to even—"

  "Yah know what?" I cut in abruptly and gesture to the door. "I think your minute's just about up. You can show yourself out."

  "No, wait!" Rae holds her hands out again like that will somehow stop the inevitable. "Just listen. Please."

  I don't know why I'm still standing here. Maybe it's those green eyes. Maybe it's the fact that she hasn't left yet. I don't know. All I know is that I'm still as much an idiot now as I was Friday night.

  "When I got to the hospital," she tells me and this time, she can't hide the way her voice shakes on each syllable. "I was lucky I could even tell them my name, let alone anything else. Then I was in and out of surgery and somewhere along the line, my dad told me I was wrong. He told me there was no else. And I believed him. I shouldn't have."

  Silence floats between us now as I digest everything she's just told me and I backpedal until my calves hit the back counter. My eyes settle on a crack in the tile at my feet when she starts speaking again.

  "I'm not trying to make excuses because there's nothing I can ever say that will make it right. I'm just trying to...I guess I just needed to explain how it happened. My dad just sort of took over, like he always does, and suddenly the cops were telling me there was no record of my statement at the scene and that Sean had pled guilty. I just...I was 20 and stupid and in the worst pain I've ever been in my entire life. I thought I did the right thing by listening to my dad."

  It makes sense, but I'm not stupid enough to tell her that. Instead, I fold my arms tightly across my chest again and keep my eyes on the floor.

  "That's a nice story," I muse. "But that doesn't help Sean now. What do you think you're gonna do anyway? Show up at the precinct after seven years and go, 'Whoops. Sorry, guys. My mistake. Let's go get that guy from Southie out of prison'. Doesn't work like that, sweetheart."

  "Why couldn't I?" she leans into the bar, her eyes filling with that familiar determination again. "Couldn't I tell them I remember seeing someone else there? I could get a lawyer and—"

  "I'm gonna stop yah right there," I narrow my eyes at her. "You really think you could just walk into the precinct, with or without a lawyer, and anyone will actually listen to you? Your good ol' dad's got at least half of those guys on his payroll and the other half not on his payroll report to the ones who are. You say one word about that night in the precinct and you'll be out on your ass faster than I can say I told yah so. Besides, even if someone actually does listen, if your so-called statement at the scene inexplicably disappeared, those cops aren't going to take too kindly to you showing up there and telling them they don't know how to do their jobs."

  I can practically see the wheels in her head turning as she mulls over the facts I already know are true. Any way you slice it, she doesn't have a leg to stand on, at least not where the PD's concerned.

  "I see your point," she pushes out a rough sigh and tugs a hand through her hair. I don't like the way the edge of that hair curls around her collarbone. It's distracting. "So, basically, I need to figure out who the other guy was first before I can do anything else."

  "Good luck with that," I huff out bitterly.

  Her eyes fall to the bar top for a short moment and then snap back up to me. "I want to make it right. He's in prison because of me and I don't care what I have to do—I want to clear his name and I want to get him out of there. And I thought...I don't know, I thought maybe you could help me."

  Now my eyebrows practically skyrocket into my hairline in disbelief. Help her? All of a sudden she's on a martyr trip and I'm supposed to just bend to her will?

  "I don't know what I'm going to find, where this is going to go, and I thought you'd be able to help—that you'd want to help. You might be able to help me talk to people I wouldn't be able to otherwise and get information about things I have no idea where to even start with..."

  Well, she's right about that. But unlike her, I don't have a death wish and unfortunately, the chances of us stumbling into some dark, shady shit that will probably get us killed are pretty high. And I still don't see how this helps Sean.

  "Look," I tell her in as even a voice as I can muster. "I understand why yah came down here. You wanted to tell somebody you were sorry and I was the obvious choice since I'm the only one you've actually met. I get that. But what I don't understand is how you expect me to believe a damn word that comes out of your mouth. Not after the way you destroyed my brother and my family. And definitely not after the way you played me on Friday."

  Her eyes just about pop out of her head. "Wha...? No, I didn't—"

  "Cut the bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing. And you knew exactly who I was."

  Her head shakes from side to side and now, she backs up from the bar, like that little bit of space will somehow save her from what we both know is true.

  "I had no idea," she whispers, staring at me like she's never seen me before. Maybe she's finally seeing me for the first time. "I swear...if I'd known it was you, I would've turned around and run the other way the second you came out of that door. Besides, you expect me to believe you really didn't know who I was either?"

  "You haven't lived in this city for years," I toss back and at this point, my feet are already carrying me around the side of the bar so I can stride right up to her. "It was dark. I was distracted. So sue me. Don't turn this around on me because you're treadin' on real thin ice here. Besides, all yah are is an ex-junkie who's been to rehab so many times I've lost count. The fact that anyone believed your story in the first place is proof your dad was pulling strings from the very beginning. There's no way around that."

  Her lips part. Then she thinks better of it, squeezes her eyes shut, and sna
ps her mouth closed again. Smart move.

  "I think it's time for you to go now."

  Still, she doesn't move. Instead, those lips part again. "I just want to help. I just want to do the right thing for once and I need your help to do that. I mean, it had to be someone connected to my dad, right? Someone he pissed off? That's the only thing that makes sense."

  My eyebrows lift and I roll my eyes up to the ceiling. "Wow. So it took you seven years to figure out something everyone in Southie has known from the beginning, huh? That doesn't bode too well for your future detective work—just sayin'."

  "Will you just...stop? Please? I'm trying to help. What part of that is so hard to understand?"

  I just grin. "The part where I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. That part."

  She huffs and part of me is waiting for her to stomp her feet until she gets what she wants. Somehow, she seems more like the type to shoot daggers at me until I finally give in than whine and complain.

  "Look, I wrote to Sean and asked him if I could visit—"

  "Whoa. What the hell did you just say?"

  I blink a few times just to make sure this is real. This sorry excuse for a human being actually had the nerve to write to him? After what she did? After the way she completely obliterated any chance he had at a normal life?

  "I need to look him in the eye and tell him I'm sorry. I need to tell him that I'm going to try—"

  "You're not doing shit."

  Her eyes flash and she takes a dangerous step forward, so I match her move. "Stop interrupting me. I can barely get a word in long enough to really explain this to you."

  "I honestly don't care. There isn't a snowball's chance in hell that he's actually going to agree to see you. And even if he does, you don't deserve to even be in the same room as him. You don't deserve the right to apologize."

  She rears back like I've just slapped her and I guess I might as well have. So now I take this opportunity to deliver my last blow and grab her elbow to haul her ass out the door. She doesn't fight me and it's nice to see she's at least smart enough to know she doesn't stand a chance. I yank her all the way to the door, open it with my free hand, and shove her outside. She yelps a little when the night air hits her face and I just ignore it, resting both palms on the entryway to loom in front of her.

  "Yah wanna know why I'm not gonna help you?"

  To her credit, she doesn't move. Her eyes are glassy with tears, but I bet she's holding them in until I slam the door in her face.

  I lean in to make sure she can hear me.

  "I'm not gonna help you because I don't believe you. I don't know why you thought you could show up here and why you thought any of your lies would matter, but they don't. Even if you're actually telling me the truth, you're a coward for waiting this long. I don't help liars and I don't help cowards. And if I ever see your face in my neighborhood again, I won't be so friendly next time."

  Then I slam the door in her face.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rae

  On Tuesday, my answer arrives the old fashioned way. My fingertips tremble the second they brush the Department of Corrections insignia and I can't rip the envelope open fast enough.

  His response is short, but to the point: "Raena, I put your name on my visitor list. Please visit on Sundays. See you soon. Sean."

  I have to reread it twice just to digest everything he's told me in a few sentences. He'll see me. There's no animosity in his words, at least not that I can tell. See you soon...does that mean he actually wants to see me? And if he does, what does that mean? Maybe he wants to punish me or berate me for what I've done to him. Maybe he just wants to sit across from me one time and hear me apologize.

  Whatever the reason, I'm not going to let it stop me.

  Sunday. Alright. I can do that. I'll just have to tell Lucy she has to open the store until I can get there. Of course, that'll mean she'll actually have to take it easy on Saturday night so she can get up earlier in the morning, but I guess she has to learn how to be an adult sometime. Might as well start now.

  And then the implication of Sunday slowly curls around me and squeezes tight. That's just four days away. That hardly seems like enough time to mentally prepare myself for coming face to face with the man whose life I ruined. Like mentally preparing for something like that is even really possible...and Sunday also means that's the day Jack will be visiting too.

  Since the visiting hours are from one to four, there's a chance I could miss him, but with my luck, we'll probably show up within minutes of each other.

  I push that thought away and jump to work: there's a visitor application attached with Sean's letter, so I fill it out and get it back in the mail. Even though I've done everything as quickly as possible, I don't hear back from the DoC until almost a week later. That's fine. I've already been waiting this long, another week is just a drop in the hat.

  Sunday arrives and I make the trip up to Concord by myself. Nobody knows my plans, not even Bennett, and I guess it has more to do with me needing to do this on my own than anything. Not to mention the fact that anyone I do tell will just try to talk me out of it and then check me into a mental institution.

  And now, once I've cleared through security and sit in the waiting room for my turn with destiny, the inevitable happens. Just when I'd almost gotten a handle on my emotions—my hands had stilled and my eyes had finally stopped stinging—he shows up.

  Jack strides through the metal detector leading to the waiting room easily like he's done this a million times before and I guess he has. Luckily enough, he hasn't spotted me yet and that gives me plenty of time to dig my book out of my bag and flip it open as if his appearance hasn't transformed me into a shaky mess.

  Only my breath is a dead giveaway and there isn't much I can do about that right now.

  I don't know the exact moment he sees me because I'm too busy pretending The Age of Innocence is the most spell-binding book I've ever read. The story, with its scandalous love triangle, isn't so bad, but it's one of those books you feel like you should read and then have zero fun doing it. Still, this is the only real defense I have, so I run with it.

  At some point, though, Jack drops down into the squeaky plastic chair next to me and turns his head toward me. My eyes stay trained on the worn pages in my hands, defiantly stubborn. I can't let myself look at him. I just can't.

  He's a dick, I remind myself. He's a judgmental, mean dick.

  It doesn't help that he was right about pretty much everything that night I stupidly sought him out. What was I thinking...going there and expecting him to be anything but hostile? If I'm being completely honest with myself, which is slowly becoming a habit these days, I think I wanted his help just as much as I wanted to see him again.

  One opportunity and I'm right back where I started, stupid and reckless. Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I really haven't learned anything. Months of therapy and rehab clearly weren't enough to right this ship, but I like to think I'm better off now than I was when I was 16 and so far off the rails I'm lucky my brain still functions.

  It was a low blow, him bringing up my past like he had any idea what I'd been through or why I'd even done it in the first place. His phrasing was particularly telling—he clearly believes the rumors that have been spread about me through the years. I can't really blame him though. My past is as good a reason as any not to trust me.

  But that doesn't mean I'm going to let him see how much his animosity burned and blistered me. How much his well-placed hate battered me. I deserved it—I still deserve it—but that doesn't mean I have to sit and take it anymore.

  "What part of leave my brother alone did you not understand?" Jack mutters, but the malice in his voice is unmistakable.

  Without a word, I slip my hand in my purse, pull out Sean's letter, and pass it to him with my eyes still focused on my page. I might not be prepared to see Sean today, but I did come prepared for this.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jack skim the short lette
r. He blows out a heavy breath and then thrusts it back at me like he just can't bear to look at it any longer.

  "I just don't get it," he murmurs.

  I shift uncomfortably in my chair and it creaks underneath my weight. Do not engage, I tell myself. He's not worth it. Talking to him isn't going to do me any favors, especially since he's not even the one I'm here to see. He can sit there and pout for the rest of visiting hours for all I care.

  With my focus still firmly on the book in my hands, maybe now's a good time to actually turn the page. Might as well keep this pretense going for as long as possible.

  Jack's soft, rough voice calls out to me. "So this is how it's gonna be then?"

  I turn another page just for good measure. What did he expect me to do? Jump for joy at the sight of him and throw my arms around him? Part of me is chomping at the bit to tell him off for treating me like a second-class citizen, but the other part of me knows he isn't wrong to feel the way he does. This push and pull between us is exhausting and he's only been sitting here for less than two minutes.

  "What the hell are you reading anyway?" he tries again, gesturing toward me. "Is that a library book?"

  My lips dip into a frown before I can stop them and I have to bite down on my bottom lip to keep from engaging, but unfortunately for me, it doesn't last.

  "Some people still like to read actual books, you know," I mutter through gritted teeth.

  You insult my library book and the claws come out. So much for best laid plans.

  He just shrugs, seemingly satisfied with the little he's gotten from me. There's no point in even attempting to explain that holding the book in my hands just feels more real. More authentic. And turning the pages, instead of just swiping my fingers across a screen, feels like I'm actually accomplishing something. I'm also not going to bother explaining what it's like wandering the aisles of the Boston Public Library or lounging on one of the marble blocks surrounding the courtyard in the library or killing time in the first bookstore I can find just because I can. There's something about surrounding myself with books and the stories inside them that frees me—it's the escape I love. The ability to live in some other person's world for a little while so I don't have to face my own.