Libra Rising

by Stacy M Wray

  As I sit behind the wheel, gathering my wits, I know my kneejerk reaction may have stirred up a hornet’s nest. But if the guy knows what’s good for him, he’ll move on to some other pretty-but-down-on-her-luck female and leave Miranda alone.

  He’ll just have to get his rocks off elsewhere.

  Because I’ll be keeping a close eye on the house on Holden Street.

  Real close.

  *****

  I lean up and throw my coat on, not wanting to start my car for heat and attract any unwanted attention. I breathe out, testing the cold. Sure enough, a small cloud of vapor escapes my mouth, confirming that it’s colder than I thought.

  The glowing green digits on my dashboard just switched to one-twelve, and I think it’s safe to say things are fine. There’s a soft glow in the front of the house, but that’s always there – maybe some kind of nightlight. Miranda’s car is in the driveway, and it looks like she’s down for the night.

  It’s been over a week since my altercation with Miranda’s latest exploit, and all has been quiet. As I sit outside Jacob’s house, the guilt starts to fester knowing Harper has no idea about any of this. Sure, she’s met Jacob. I took her to meet him not long after I told her about him. She fell in love instantly, too. A longing stirred deep within me watching their interaction, the pure joy that fell across Harper’s face when he took her hand in his to show her this uber-cool praying mantis he had found while waiting for the bus to arrive. I never doubted for a second Jacob would take to her.

  Just when I’m about to call it quits, knowing there’s a sweet, warm body just waiting for me to curl up to when I get home, I notice a light turn on in the house, then quickly turn back off.

  It has my full attention.

  I watch the front door slowly swing open and see a woman slip through, heading towards Miranda’s car. But it’s not Miranda. No – wait. Her gait is that of Miranda, but as she passes the light of the street lamp, I notice she looks nothing like Miranda. This woman has long, black hair that hits the middle of her back – Miranda’s hair is blonde and sits at her shoulders. She appears frail, much thinner than I remember. Even her face looks different. But I know it’s her. Miranda has such a distinctive walk and there’s no mistaking it.

  As the car pulls away from the curb, I quickly start mine and follow, ignoring the voice in the back of my mind that wonders if Jacob is in that house alone.

  I need to see what she’s up to.

  Keeping enough distance between us, my car follows her, occasionally spraying the puddles that hug the edge of the street. Most retail businesses are closed at this hour, only bars and restaurants remaining open. Their neon signs glow in the shiny glare of the wet pavement, light fragments reflecting onto my windshield.

  After traveling a few more blocks, I watch her pull into the parking lot of a seedy dive bar. I score a parking space on the street, just across from the lot and the entrance to the bar.

  Sure enough, she rounds the corner and enters the bar, flipping her long hair over one shoulder. If I didn’t know better, it looks like she just took a deep breath before she entered. But that could have been my mind grasping at straws, reading more into this than I should.

  What the hell is she doing?

  Even as late as it is, there’s still quite a bit of activity. I watch a guy order tacos from a street vendor, barely able to stand, his body gently swaying, as if he could go down at any second. He must’ve come from one of the bars littered throughout the area. There seems to be one on every corner.

  After about twenty minutes have passed, I decide to get a closer look. Miranda doesn’t know me so I’m not the least bit concerned – I just want to keep an eye on her.

  I dart across the street, still wet from the earlier rain, and land on the sidewalk, the entrance to the bar about twenty feet ahead. A constant drizzle hangs in the heavy, cool air as unease sets in.

  Nothing good can come from this night. My head screams at me to turn around and go home, but my curiosity – no, need – wins out. I’m hoping it’s just a case of me jumping to conclusions, that everything is fine, and I need to mind my own business.

  If only that were true.

  As I pass the alley beside the bar, I hear a scuffle, strained voices. Stopping, I turn toward the sounds. At first, I think it’s just two people having sex. I don’t want to encroach upon that, hesitating. But when a man calls out in agony, I move quickly, just in time to watch him slide down the rough brick exterior of the building. I’m hardly able to miss the knife sticking out of his neck. I watch in horror as blood spurts profusely from his artery, and I can hardly believe this is happening. It’s as if time stands still, or at least, everything moves in slow motion.

  Miranda steps back, her wig cock-eyed. I think she must be in shock, because she doesn’t even seem to notice me. Taking two steps back, she turns and runs to her car.

  I kneel in front of a dying Jim Rutker. My heart races as I determine what I should do. My hands fly in the air, ready to do something. I can hardly think due to the horrific gurgling sounds coming from this man. Do I pull the knife out? Won’t that only do more damage? Fuck! I don’t know.

  The whole time, he’s grabbing at me with one hand while reaching for the knife with the other, his eyes pleading for my help. I feel so helpless and scared, sweat pouring off my head when it’s got to be thirty-some degrees out.

  Almost in tears because I’m failing him, I reach for my phone in my pocket, cursing when I find it empty, knowing it’s in the cup holder of my car. As luck would have it, a man leaves the bar, passing by the alley. I call out, my voice shaky, demanding he call 911. He walks closer to get a better look, then dials his phone. I can hear him gagging as he gives the address to the dispatcher on the other end.

  I sit back on my heels and watch Jim Rutker take his last breath. There’s so much blood. It’s pooled all around him, thick and sticky, clinging to the asphalt like glue. I hang my head, knowing his last thought was that I had something to do with it. His eyes locked on mine as he gasped unspoken words, his thick, swollen tongue getting in the way. Even though I thought he was a monster, I’ll never be able to shake the look in his eyes. I know it will haunt me for nights to come.

  His blood travels beyond the pool now, inching towards me, causing me to move back.

  I can’t stand the thought of him leaving this earth believing I wanted him dead. I never wanted that. I just wanted him to stop hurting Jacob. I don’t know this man – just know what he’s capable of.

  Then, scaring the living shit out of me, his body slumps over. I stand and jump back, clutching my hair. Fuck! I need out of here.

  Feeling like I could puke, I back away from his body as I hear sirens approaching. Part of me wants to book – I don’t need this shit. My girl is waiting for me at home. She’s going to be so worried if she wakes up. But then, I remember the man who called 911 and know how suspicious it would look if I took off. There are probably cameras mounted everywhere. It would be a stupid move – something I’m quite familiar with.

  So, I wait for the police to arrive, already knowing I can’t implicate Miranda. If she’s arrested for murder, what will happen to Jacob? He’ll be thrown into the system and won’t have even a smidge of a chance at a decent life. I know how it is for kids in the system - it’s futile.

  No, I can’t let that happen.

  Walking toward the sidewalk, away from Rutker, I try to sort out the details, still unable to shake the image of his eyes staring at me. I notice the police have just arrived and wave them on, pointing into the alley. I’m thankful I can finally be of some help. “He’s in there.” Shaking my head, I add, “He didn’t make it.”

  One of the cops eyes me suspiciously. He begins to question me, while the other one heads into the dark shadows of the two buildings that overlook the alley.

  The cop identifies himself as Detective Shutt and opens a small notepad. “Need to ask you a few questions.” I nod. His eyes scan my face. “You alright?”
I nod again, but know I’m lying. No, I’m not alright. None of this is alright. “Name?”

  “Reed Faulkner.”

  “Tell me what happened, Mr. Faulkner.”

  I go into my story, telling the truth about everything except that I was just exiting the bar when I heard him. That I saw no one – just the victim. Until the guy who called 911 walked out of the bar.

  “Where do you live, Mr. Faulkner?”

  I rattle off my address without even thinking.

  “They don’t have bars on the south side?”

  Still trying to calm myself down, I miss his sarcasm, at first.

  When I don’t respond, he tries again. “Kind of a long way from home just to have a drink, wouldn’t you say?”

  His beady eyes look for a lie. But what he doesn’t know is that I’m a damn good liar – a skill I acquired growing up. I finally get it together and slide into survival mode.

  “A buddy of mine used to bring me here. He’s since moved away, but I like it. So, I still come every once in a while.”

  He buys my answer, for now.

  His partner walks out of the alley, talking into the device on his shoulder, saying something about a DOA. When he’s finished, he looks at me, directing his head back into the darkness. “You know the victim?”

  His question rattles me, but I keep it to myself. My street smarts come into play – this isn’t my first rodeo. “No. Like I said, I was just here for a quick drink. Heard him as I was leaving.”

  The two cops exchange looks, then one says, “You got anyone you need to call? We need you to come down to the station to make a statement. It’s gonna be a long night.” He breathes out an exasperated sigh. I bet all his nights are like this. I just can’t imagine.

  Knowing I’m going to have to call Harper, I tell him, “My phone’s in my car.” I point to my car right across the street, illuminated by a street lamp directly above, the light bouncing off the hood of my car.

  Detective Shutt juts his chin up. “Yeah, go ahead.”

  I can feel their eyes on me as I walk toward the car. How do I get myself in these situations? My life had turned around. I was living the dream. I snagged the girl and carried out Mr. H’s wishes. When will it fucking end?

  I grab my phone from the car, thankful I’m out of earshot. Leaning against the door, I dial Harper’s cell, praying she hears it. Of all nights, I need her to be a light sleeper. It rings until it goes into voicemail. I hang up and dial again. Same thing.

  “Fuck.”

  I dial again. This time, she picks up on the fifth ring, sounding very far away. “Reed?”

  I sigh heavily. “Yeah, baby, it’s me. I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But right now, you’ve got to trust me, okay?”

  There’s complete silence until she says, “Reed, you’re scaring me.”

  Her sweet voice brings tears to my eyes, suddenly visualizing a life without her. Pushing the thought aside, I know I’ve got to be strong right now. It’s my job to take care of her. She can’t know I’m about to crack on the inside. “Nothing to be scared of, Harper. I was out on one of my drives and witnessed a murder. I need to go to the police station to make a statement and it could take a while. Everything’s fine.”

  “What? Did you say a murder? Where are you?” She sounds wide awake now, and I’m picturing her in my bed, gathering the sheets up to her neck.

  “Like I said, I’ll explain everything when I get home, okay? Everything’s fine, Harper. They just need me to tell them what I saw.” I take a cleansing breath, moving the phone away from my mouth. I won’t give her a reason to think it’s nothing more. Protocol. That’s all.

  She hesitates but finally says, “Okay. I hope you get here before I need to leave for class, though. This is all so weird.”

  I hate that I had to make this call in the middle of the night. What a fucking mess. “I know. I love you and, hopefully, I’ll see you soon.”

  I hear her practically whisper, “I love you.”

  I can tell the cops are getting antsy, so I make my way across the street once again and follow them to their car, climbing in the back seat. My mouth suddenly feels like it’s filled with cotton, reminding me of a time years ago.

  I swore to myself I’d never see the back of a cop car again.

  Horrible, unwanted memories assault my mind as I take in the scene. The same fear that I felt that night assaults me unexpectedly. My hand unconsciously rubs the wrist of the opposite hand, almost expecting to find steel, cold cuffs binding them together.

  Relief sweeps over me as I look down and see my wrists bare of any steel.

  As the two cops climb in the seats in front of me, I look out the window. The rain starts to fall again, leaving rivulets that race down my window, chasing each other as if they were in a maze.

  I don’t take my eyes off the fascinating liquid trails the whole trip to the station, finding it the only way to cope inside my mind.

  Being in the back seat of this squad car is really fucking with my head.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Reed

  March 2018

  I walk in the door at dawn just as the sun starts inching its way up. As soon as the latch catches, Harper’s head appears from the end of the couch.

  “Thank God, you’re home,” she says, rounding the couch as she takes in my appearance. “You okay?”

  Tossing my keys on the table, I nod. “It’s been a helluva night.” I lean in, giving her a chaste kiss. I feel dirty, like I took a bath in the sins of this city.

  Taking my hand, she leads me to the couch, never taking her eyes off me. “I want to hear everything.”

  After sitting, I lean my head back and close my eyes. I’m so fucking tired, but I need to come clean with Harper. She needs to hear it all, not the version I told the cops. She deserves the truth.

  I look over at her and take her in. On one side of her head, her hair is frizzy and puffy, while the other is as straight as can be. She’s got unwashed makeup smudged beneath her eyes, and she’s wearing one of my hooded sweatshirts, about three sizes too big. And she’s fucking beautiful.

  Before I get the first word out, she stops me. “Hold that thought for just a second – I’m going to put some coffee on. You look like you could use it.”

  She jumps up and walks to the kitchen, and I hear cabinets clatter and drawers being pulled open. It gives me time to go over in my head all the things I need to say. Harper’s a law student and won’t be very understanding about my withholding information from the authorities. I just hope she’ll understand why.

  In just a few minutes, she carries in two steaming mugs. She hands me mine as she sits beside me, careful not to spill any on herself. “Okay. Now, tell me everything. I’ve been dying here, waiting on you.”

  I rub the back of my neck with my free hand, trying like hell to rid it of the tension that’s settled there overnight. Being at the station was unnerving, watching all the activity that takes place during a normal night of crime in Chicago. That place never sleeps.

  After being placed in a cold, sterile interrogation room, I told my story just as I had rehearsed it in my head. It took them a couple of hours to even get to me, so I had plenty of time to go over everything.

  Even though I had nothing to do with the death of Jim Rutker, those cops sure have a way of making you feel like you did. Every leer of the eye, scratch of the chin, cough under the breath is designed to make people question themselves – even when there’s absolutely no reason to.

  I begin by filling Harper in on Jacob’s backstory. About Miranda and how I had her investigated. About how she plays men and extorts money from them, then doesn’t spend the money. I tell her about watching Jacob’s house when I go for drives just to make myself think that he’s safe. I then tell her about his bruises and my meeting with Jim Rutker. And then, I tell her every detail about last night, from the minute I walked out the door until the moment I walked back in.

  She remains eerily
quiet through the whole thing, taking my words in and filing them away. She only gets up once, to refill our coffee mugs.

  I didn’t miss the horror on her face when I admitted to lying to the cops, yet she still said nothing.

  Until now.

  “Reed, you’ve got to tell them the truth – about Miranda. She took someone’s life – someone who had a wife, kids. She can’t get away with that.”

  I knew this would be a battle, and I can barely keep my eyes open. And I know she’s right. I know what I should do, but I can’t. Jacob loves his mom more than anything on this earth – she’s all he has in this world. I can’t have a hand in taking her away from him. I know from Doug’s investigation that Miranda has no living relatives and his dad doesn’t give two fucks about him – not like anyone would contact him. I’ve looked into his birth certificate – the dad’s name is blank. Jacob would go into foster care. He’d be a product of the system. And this is Chicago. I’ve heard the stories. No. I just can’t.

  Looking directly into Harper’s eyes, I see concern and fear. Thank fuck, I don’t see disappointment. I don’t know if I could handle that. For now, I stick to my gut and hope this plays out in Jacob’s favor.

  “I’m not saying anything yet. Harper, don’t you get it? She’ll be sent to prison. You know what’s going to happen to Jacob, right? I can’t live with myself if I do that to him.”

  She sighs. “Oh, Reed. I can’t believe you’re in the middle of this.” She gathers me in her arms and holds me. I sink into her, the faint smell of sweet oranges a balm to the night I’ve had. “I hope you know what you’re doing, because I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Pulling back, my eyes roam her face. “You’re behind me?”

  She kisses me softly before saying, “I’m always behind you. I may not agree with you, but I’ll always have your back. I love you.”

  She has no idea what her words mean to me. No idea. But I shouldn’t be surprised. Hell, loyalty is one of the reasons I fell in love with her. “Thank you.”