by S. E. Green
Women lead with their hearts. I never once have. But if that’s true, then the D.A. is definitely not letting Scott’s death go.
19
“I DON’T KNOW what’s going on,” Adam whispers into the phone later that night. “People are calling in that they’ve seen Teddy.”
Internally, I smile. “Huh, that’s weird.”
“And every time a new one comes in, Mom gets even more riled up.”
“Yeah, I did overhear a conversation between her and my dad.”
“What did you overhear?”
I decide to embellish. “‘Expansion of the task force. All hands on deck. If it’s the last thing she does.’ Those type of things.”
Adam blows out a long and frustrated breath.
“I’m sure it’ll die down,” I lie. “She’ll eventually accept the loss and move on.”
“Nobody’s moving on,” Adam mumbles. “I keep trying to make some sort of connection with her over Scott’s death, but everything I say seems to upset her more.” Through the phone, I hear him shift and think he must be putting me to the other ear. “Ya know, I used to think people were either good or bad, but now I think there are good people that do bad things.”
Maybe he’s talking about the fact that his brother had sex with teenage girls. I wonder if I should tell Adam I dry humped Dr. Issa to give him some perspective on the age thing. Or perhaps he’s talking about the fact that he killed Teddy.
“Everyone does have a dark side,” I assure him.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I really do think Mom will be okay if I just come clean to her. I hate liars, and now I am one.”
I don’t know why he keeps trying to cast his mom in this understanding role. The D.A. will not be okay with this information. “Adam, you need to promise me that you’ll keep your mouth shut. This isn’t just you that we’re talking about. This is me, too.”
“I know,” he sighs. “I know. I promise.”
Now would be a good time to remind him of some well-placed sex tapes, and his mom will divert this whole thing for good.
“It’s just…she’s never been proud of me,” he quietly admits. “I used to tell myself I didn’t care because I always had Scott. But now he’s gone, he’s left me alone, and like it or not Mom is the only thing I have left. She’s my only connection.”
I get the whole connection thing, the whole loneliness thing. It’s hard to find someone, and it can be cumbersome keeping secrets. I get that. “Well, you’ve now got me,” I say, surprised to truly mean it.
Though I can’t see his face, I feel his smile through the phone. “Thanks.”
This isn’t playing out as I thought. I riled things up with the anonymous tips, thinking it would convince Adam to deliver the sex tapes, but it’s only making him want to come clean to his mom even more than before.
Yes, I was hoping to get his go-ahead with the tapes, trying to be a good friend and all, but now I see that’s not going to happen.
Emotional intelligence leads to more success than anything measured on a standard IQ. I read that somewhere, and I need to remember that because I’m definitely lacking in emotional intelligence and my new friend, Adam, seems to have it in abundance.
For that matter, so did my mom. That’s why she was so successful at being the evil that she was and getting away with it for so long. She had a lot of tools in her box—Mom, wife, FBI, community leader—and a fabulous poker face. Yes, Mom knew how to roleplay, just like Daisy.
Damn, I don’t like thinking like that.
Going with the role-playing, I decide to switch roles with Adam. “Maybe you’re right…maybe we should tell your mom.”
Through the phone, his voice brightens. “Really?”
I don’t like that I’ve made him so excited, but it is what it is. “Really.”
“This is good. Mom’s in a lot of pain, and this will end it.”
He thinks he’s going to be her golden child now.
“Plus, she’d never jeopardize her career by prosecuting me, or rather us.”
Sadly, she probably would. If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about the D.A., she’s hard, but she also loves a good spotlight. Imagine the press she’d get over prosecuting her own son for the murder of the murderer of her other son. That’s a mouth full, but it would make the national spotlight.
However, those sex tapes of her murdered son with minors? Oh, hell no. She’ll go to the ends of the earth to cover that one up and anything linked to it. That would put her in a spotlight for sure, and not the type of spotlight she wants.
I like Adam and I take no pleasure in manipulating him this way. Still, I say, “Okay, but we do it together.”
First, though, I plan on sending the D.A. a little package.
20
THE NEXT EVENING I ring the bell on the Butler’s McMansion, ready to play this thing out, and the door swings open before the gong has completed.
Adam spares me one slight glance as he slips outside, closing the door behind him. I take a step back, sensing something’s off. I’m curious to see how he’s going to respond to the recent delivery.
With a sigh, he steps down the porch and idly wanders off into the side yard. Silently, I follow.
He comes to a stop in the grassy side yard and takes a moment to look across the wide expanse of their property. On the distant horizon, the sun dips, almost ready to set and cast us into darkness. If there’s one thing I have, it is patience, and I use it while I wait for him to speak.
He nods to the bordering woods. “Scott and I used to play G. I. Joe in those woods.” He points to a hill in the distance. “We used to sled that in the winter and set up a water slide in the summer. Me and Scott, we always had each other. We knew each other inside and out.” Adam huffs an unamused laugh. “Or at least I thought I did.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Scott was obviously the favorite of their mom and just as obvious, Adam holds resentment over that. Adam may love Scott, but he can still be envious of him.
I was clearly the favorite of my mom, and it never occurred to me until just now, but Daisy may have been jealous of that. “I’ve never had that,” I tell Adam. “Someone who knew me inside and out.” Well, except for Mom, but she doesn’t count. Nothing about her counts.
“Then I guess you’re lucky because you don’t know what it’s like to lose it. I lost my dad a long time ago to alcohol. I lost my mom to her career. And now I’ve lost Scott. I have to figure out a way to fill those holes.” Adam shifts away from looking at the setting sun to looking at me. “I’ve been fooling myself. I can’t trust Mom with my secret. Our secret.”
This is what I wanted, but I’m confused. Does he not know about the package I anonymously sent his mom?
“Really right now there’s only one person I can trust, and it’s you. Except… I get the impression our secret isn’t your only secret.”
Wow, um, okay, Adam really is observant, and I’m both comforted by that and uneasy with it. “Everyone’s got secrets.”
“Sure I get that.” His expression becomes somber. “But it’s a burden to keep those secrets, yeah?”
I don’t respond, because he’s right, it is a burden.
“Maybe we can share each other’s load.” Adam turns back to the house. “Just think about it.” He paces away and turns to gaze at me over his shoulder. “I get why you sent the sex tapes to my mom. It really was the best way to get her to drop the search for Ted Lowman. But let’s make that the last secret we keep.”
I came here ready to play dumb. Ready to lie, to weave a tale about someone else knowing about those videos and sending them in, but as I stand here looking at Adam, I know without a doubt he’ll see right through me, and I’m not sure why, but that matters. “So I take it the delivery worked?”
“Yes, Mom has completely diverted the whole thing. She’s putting all of her energy and resources into The Strangler.”
“That’s good,” I assure him.
He nods. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
Adam walks off, and I stand in his side yard watching him the whole way, weighted with our conversation and my deceitful actions. I tell myself everything I’ve done is justified, but somewhere deep in my gut I know I’m lying.
Remorse—it’s a foreign feeling, and for the first time in my life, I want to make it up to him. I want to be deserving of Adam’s trust.
Plus, now is probably not the best time to ask him about The Strangler information he was going to get me.
21
FROM ADAM’S I go straight to Tommy’s place, spy his bike in the usual spot, and park my Jeep and climb out.
Friends, family, boyfriend. If you roleplay long enough, does the whole thing become real? Does Daisy roleplay because she thinks it will make her real? It’s an interesting thought, and one I want to explore. If Tommy will let me.
His door swings open, and I note his wet hair and shirtless tattooed body. I’ve never seen his bare upper body and my eyes widen appreciatively. I mean, I’ve obviously felt it through his T-shirt, and I know he’s tone, but to see said toneness? Not bad.
Not bad at all.
I don’t bother disguising my hungry gaze as it travels over his curved biceps, his pecs dusted with a bit of blonde hair, and down to his defined stomach. The waistband of his jeans rides low on his hips and I want to put my lips right there where those dips are in his hips.
Tommy laughs. “Lane?”
I take a step forward. “Holy shit, you’re hot.”
He grabs my forearm and tugs me in, and I land solidly against his equally solid chest. His soapy shower smell surrounds me as he goes in for a kiss, not shy about grabbing my ass and squeezing.
I kick the door closed, not breaking lip contact, and he unsnaps and unzips my jeans. Then they’re down my legs. Then they’re off. Then he’s hoisting me up onto the kitchen island. Then his mouth travels down my body and he “returns the favor” he promised the last time I was here.
Afterward, he grabs me another lime Jell-O, and we park it side-by-side on his couch. Several long minutes go by as we slurp our Jell-O, and I conjure up every position I want to try with this guy.
After my mind combs through them all, it starts backtracking through all the conversations Tommy and I have had. I think of that time he broke down on the Parkway and called me for a ride. We talked about connecting with someone, being real with someone. That conversation closely parallels the one I had earlier with Adam.
I think there are a lot of people out there looking for that connection. That one person you can trust with your secrets. That one person who won’t judge. The question is, how do you know who that one person is?
If I ever told Tommy the real identity of the Decapitator, that my mom was the actual person who killed his sister, he’d throw me out. There’s no way he could handle that truth. Just like there’s no way Adam could handle the truth that I am the real person who killed his brother. Albeit accidentally, but still it happened.
Maybe I could share some things with Tommy and other things with Adam. Perhaps that’s more what connecting is about. You share certain things with certain friends and other things with other friends. Who knows?
It probably is easier to keep things to myself.
My copycat, Catalina, insisted Tommy was hiding something. She could’ve been playing me by saying that. I don’t know. But as I turn and look at Tommy, I can’t help wondering if he has these same thoughts. Does he want to share his secrets with me?
Grabbing the remote, he flips on the T.V. before grasping my legs and swinging them over his lap. I go with the gesture, relaxing back on his couch, falling into the sensation of him stroking my bare ankle.
I take a second to look more closely at his tattoos, remembering that he said they are from his sister’s paintings. I don’t know anything about art, but from the forms and colors, I think she must have dabbled in abstract pieces.
My eyes travel over his still bare chest and what I really want to do is get completely naked, but I push that down and concentrate on making a connection instead.
I clear my throat. Here it goes. “My whole life has always seemed like a bunch of questions that needed to be answered. Like I’ve always been waiting for something to happen to make sense. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the word connection and thinking I need to make one. A real one with someone. I mean, not just someone, you.” I clear my throat again. “That is if you’d be open to that.”
Tommy mutes the already quiet T.V. and shifts a little, so his body points toward mine. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”
I think about that a second. “I don’t know. Am I?”
His lips tilt up a bit on one corner. “Yes, I think you are.”
I keep going, figuring why stop now? “The thing is, you make me feel real. And while I love the lime Jell-O and the fooling around, I also would love to, I don’t know, maybe go on an actual date?”
I try to imagine me and Tommy sitting across from each other at a romantic restaurant and no, that doesn’t seem right. I think we’re more of a pizza here at his apartment kind of couple. “I think I’m botching this up. I’ve only been on one other date and that was hockey and hotdogs with Zach.” And, wow, that’s a name I haven’t thought of in a while. “Zach and I had sex in my bedroom. I also dry-humped his older brother, Dr. Issa.” I cock my head. “I don’t think I’m supposed to say all of that to you, am I?”
Tommy starts laughing, and he doesn’t stop.
“What?” I ask.
He rubs his eyes, shaking his head, still laughing. “God, Lane, you are the weirdest girl.”
“Thank you?”
Tommy glances at me, laughter dancing across his face. “Yeah, you’re weird, but seeing you is always the highlight of my week. Whether you know it or not, I’d already decided to hang on to you for a bit. I figured you’d come to that conclusion eventually.”
“So are you saying yes to the dating thing?” I clarify.
He grabs the front of my shirt and tugs me forward. “Yes, I can get into the boyfriend-girlfriend thing. Let’s do this.”
I give him a solid kiss, my way of saying yes, too. Role-playing, acting, the arts. Most creative people toil with their talents, perhaps never stepping into the spotlight. But if you focus and study your craft, you might just get that big break.
I’d like to think I just made a steady effort in fine-tuning my role-playing craft.
22
HOW MANY TIMES have I sat here in Judge Penn’s court? The smell of cleaning products lingering. My favorite vent directly above me always blowing cold air. The sound of his gavel determining the direction of a person’s life.
My sanctuary.
But are these times almost gone? How can I just pick up and move to UVA? This is my home. It’s going to be hard to find another Judge Penn.
Innocent until proven guilty. It’s a holistic approach and one I don’t subscribe to. I’ve been hanging out in Judge Penn’s courtroom for years, and though I’ve never personally met him, I think he and I might be friends. He seems like he would enjoy handing out tough sentences if only the law would let him.
Jurisdiction issues, fancy lawyers, evidence mishandling…there are too many people who skirt by, which is where I come in.
I’ve met many a friend in Penn’s courtroom. Like The Weasel, the rapist; Aisha, the drug dealer; Ted Lowman; and now Mr. Oily Nose, the pedophile. That’s right, me and Oily Nose meet again. Last I saw him he wore a baseball hat and now I discover he’s got an oily balding head to match his nose.
Judge Penn points his fist. “You listen to me you piece of trash, if I ever see you in here again, I don’t care what evidence is or is not admissible, I will take you down. Do you understand me?”
And that right there is why I think Penn and I would be friends.
Mr. Pedophile Oily Nose drops his head, all submissive, and nods his acquiescence. The gavel bangs and Oily Nose exch
anges a handshake with his lawyer before turning and walking down the middle aisle that leads out of the fairly empty courtroom.
Usually, I keep a low profile but something drives me to stand, to draw attention to myself. It works because Oily Nose glances up and his eyes widen when he sees and recognizes me. The shock in his expression has me smirking.
That’s right, you ass wipe, I’m coming after you.
“Lane?”
I turn a full one-eighty to see Adam standing in the back corner of the courtroom. Pushing his glasses up, he glances at Oily Nose as he exits the back double door, before bringing his curious light brown eyes back to mine. “What are you doing here?”
“Give me a couple of minutes,” Judge Penn calls from his bench, before leaving through the side door to where I assume his chambers are.
I turn back to Adam. “How do you know the Judge?”
Adam starts walking toward me. “He’s my uncle. We meet for dinner every so often.”
Interesting. A mom that’s the D.A. and a judge for an uncle. But not just any judge, Judge Penn. The man whose courtroom I have frequented more times than I can count. Because of this, I know I have to tell as close to the truth as possible. Penn saw me and Adam talking. Penn knows I hang out in his courtroom. Penn’s staff believes I’m here because I’m interested in law.
“I come here a lot,” I tell Adam. “I’ve never seen you before.”
Adam shrugs. “Guess our paths never crossed. What do you mean you come here a lot?”
I shrug, too, all nonchalant. “I’m really curious about the law. I’ve been in an out of numerous courtrooms, but I like Judge Penn and the way he handles his room.”
“I thought you wanted to be a Vet.”
Another shrug. “I don’t know. I like both. Maybe I’ll be an animal rights activist.”
