Chapter 6

Corrin

They lift me to my feet and I watch officers haul away the detective, her eyes cherry red and an unstoppable wave of blazing threats spilling from her mouth. All directed to me.

Another officer helps Sevina sit, asking if she’s all right. She nods rapidly, but her gaze peers into the distance, getting lost in the void. The moment she shook and then screamed it became clear to me the scuffle with Will reminded her of her accident two years ago and her sensitive head had troubles accepting it. Strangely a lot of troubles. Now she’s either out of it, or in a state of shock. Maybe a bit of both. But I hadn’t expected her to launch at that woman based on impulse and protect me for no other reason than the fact that I couldn’t do it myself. Even with an unhinged reaction like that she’s not as frail and withdrawn as she appeared. The girl has guts.

Two policemen guide me into the interrogation room where I’m seated in a rigid metal chair and left alone. A mirror in front of me reflects a dismal twin of myself, his chin and lips smudged with blood.

I stifle a ragged breath and rest my forehead on the frigid table, longing for the soft sheets of my bed with one of the shepherds by my side and a book in my hand. I never imagined I’d miss it, but this sleepless night feels like an entire month of torture.

What happened to me? I never was the one to surrender.

But I already did. I failed. I didn’t finish the job. Once I called 911, in my panic I spat on everything; on my trial, on what was happening. I simply waited for the cops to arrive and get me. I didn’t care, though I should’ve. But I didn’t reveal myself as the culprit either. I don’t know why.

What will Father say?

The door creaks and I straighten my spine. My arresting officer enters with a nurse dressed in white. He uncuffs my hands and the nurse hands me a napkin, bending in front of me and stretching out her finger. She orders me to follow it as she shines a light into my eyes. They checked me for any serious injuries back in the restaurant when I was discovered near the bodies—

The nurse snaps her fingers irritatingly and I give her a couple nods.

“He’s still in mild shock, but otherwise, he’s fine,” she tells the officer. “Go easy on him.” I must’ve been nodding too absent-mindedly.

“Sorry about our detective, it won’t happen again,” says the cop when the nurse leaves. He settles in the seat opposite to me and reads my rights once again. The first time was when he arrested me.

I have the right to remain silent. I have the right to ask for an attorney, which I rule out. I gulp subtly, deciding whether I’m good enough a liar to create a well-crafted fib. I could pretend to cooperate with zest, but I doubt my smile would appear genuine. Yet, remaining silent will augment suspicion.

“Corrin Kaynes, arrested on suspicion of murder.” The officer scrolls through my profile in his tablet before he puts it on the table and faces me. “So, Corrin, what were you doing yesterday morning?”

Yesterday morning? I know how interrogations work and all the principles behind them, but as I force my frayed head to recall and predict them I lose track of them all.

“I was...” I press the napkin to my nose. “I can’t remember.” My voice gives a quiver, but I handle it. I take a minute to think. “I was getting ready for work.”

The officer stays neutral, drilling me with his small eyes set deep under his brows. I shift my attention past his shoulder to the mirror. What if they find the stuff I ditched in the dumpster? Or the blood I washed off in the sink? They’ll definitely find it. Should I tell the truth? No. If I do it’ll create a plethora of new problems. Now that I’m here and my head begins to clear and I start to think, maybe, surrendering was a mistake.

With a labored sigh my head falls to my chest, my eyes locking on a few dark spots stain my shirt. With the napkin glued to my nose, I blink at the smeared blood. Rovy’s blood.

Rovy’s blood!

Almost tripping I leap from the chair. I grab my t-shirt and pull it over my head, throw it to the ground and begin rubbing off the remains of dried blood from my chest.

“Kid.” I freeze, noticing the officer standing next to me. “Take a breath.”

I steady myself, the weight of the cubicle pressing on my shoulders. “I…” My crushed reflection in the mirror gazes back, threatening not to give myself away. “I want my phone call.”

…

Five hours after I contact Dan the officer unlocks my custody cell. I rise from the bunk I was laying on and dress into a brown scruffy tee they brought me but I hadn’t touched. As I pass the barred doors the officer states that all charges against me are dropped. My family has worked their magic.

It's sort of nasty how easy I can circumvent the deeds I’ve done.

It’s not until Dan and I are in his silver car, skidding into the street, that my brother speaks. “You did what you had to do.”

I don’t dare, nor can force myself to mouth a word. Instead, I turn my head at my brother and try to study his unreadable expression. “But I... killed them… both of them.” I barely hear the sound of my own voice.

Dan’s attention stays on the road and I cease waiting for his response as exhaustion absorbs me, pulling my head to lean against the window, the streets of the financial district blurring by…Wait a second… This is not the route home. “Dan?” I straighten for a better view. “Where’re we going?”

“Hospital,” Dan says remotely.

Panic rises in my chest. “Hospital? Mom? Is she okay?”

Dan tightens his lips. “She’s dying.”

I pivot in my seat to face him. “What? Dan, what do you mean?”

“What can I mean, Corrin.”

“How? She wasn’t—“

“She is, Corrin,” he cuts off and leaves it at that. I stress restlessly while we roll through the more centered business and stock market district, which separates Coats and Downtown Havason.

Before Dan finds a spot in a huge hospital parking lot I leap out, leaving the door ajar and hurry to a white sky-scraper— Downtown Havason hospital— one of the best hospitals in the city. I was born here, or so Mom told me.

Through the vast sliding doors I run into the reception hall and weave around the people to the far end of the foyer where elevators are located. I hop inside, shouldering other visitors and receiving a myriad of slurry glances. “Excuse me.” I push the fifteenth-floor button and totter in place, my hand grabbing my elbow.

The doors open with a short buzz. The nurse at the reception calls me to sign in, but I give her no reply as I dash forward through endless corridors until I reach a frosted-blue, tinted glass door. A digital panel hangs to the left of it, my mother’s name shining in big blue letters. I pull my shoulders back and rub my eyes, even comb my hair with my fingers before entering.

The sterility of the room draws awareness to myself, blemished with dirt on all levels—physical and mental.

My mother lays in her bed, her bright hair fanned out across the pillow. Her lashes lift up, revealing her once emerald green eyes, now dull and worn. She takes her cell from the end table and taps it. “I have to go, my son’s here.”

“Okay,” a thick female voice answers through the speaker. “Get well soon. Thank you for letting me know.”

Know what?

“No, thank you for taking your time to listen,” Mom says and ends the call. She must’ve been chatting with a friend or something, or a helpline therapist. Why? She’s never done it before. Not that I’m aware.

Her gaunt hands lift up, welcoming me, and my thoughts scatter as I notice her face look thinner than a week ago when I last saw her. “Corrin.” Unconsciously, I step back. Her eyes— as eerie as Mrs. Brice’s…

She smiles. “You all right, dear?” Despite myself I near the stool in the corner of the room, take it and sit by her bed. Her hand lands on my hair. “You’re all filthy.” Her cracked lips stay curved, unconditional love radiating toward her child, toward a murderer.

“I know.” I rest my elbows on the bed and take her palm into mine. With my gaze I follow the IV tube hooked into her arm to her heart monitor, its soft monotonous beeping easing my mind. Her hand is warm and lively like it’s always been. Dan has no idea what he’s talking about. She’s not dying. Or that’s what I tell myself.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

As if reaching a conclusion from observing me she says, “you are better.”

“Better?” I want to tell her I craved to commit a crime, did commit a crime worse than anything. “I failed.” I’m as bad and dishonest as the rest of us, that’s all the ‘better’ there is. And I’m even bad at being bad. I’m too weak as Dan said. “I failed to make Father proud. To follow him.”

“What is it with you guys and following?” A scowl crosses her face. “Corrin, you don’t have to follow.”

But she agreed with Father all the time! How was she not following him? But I suppress those thoughts. They used to argue, after all. Maybe Mom wasn’t a follower.

“You’re better by being you.” Her hand slides to my cheek. “For not following.”

I clutch her comforting palm in my hands, warming it, because its getting colder. “But I want to… follow.”

“Do you?” She keeps my intent gaze on her. I gape, but no ideas form a suitable response. My mother’s eyes slide close. “Will you sing for me this time, please?”

“Of course.” I’ll do at least one good thing. “Which one do you want to hear?”

She chuckles. “The one you can remember.”

“I remember them all,” I proudly lie as I piece together bits of words in my head, then take a bit to recall the only song I know— the one she created.

I falter starting, unsure. When I was little I would trill in my kid voice, scooting all the birds from the mansion’s backyard. This is my first time singing in a few years and if I had gotten some sleep in the last two days I might’ve sounded better.

Mom corrects a word or two and encourages me to continue. The croon spills from my lips, it’s wavering melody reverberating deep in my chest. I vaguely hit the notes, the mismatch of sounds making it sorrowful. It never sounded sad when Mom sang it, yet it pulls my head to the white sheets of her bed.

…

Clatter gradually stirs me awake. Two nurses swarm around the room and a static high-pitched buzz vexes my ears. My hands still caresses her palm, only it’s leeched of warmth. My heart leaps.

“Sorry for your loss.” I raise my head from my forearm and glance at the doctor beside me. “She did not suffer.” His words fall on deaf ears. I can’t comprehend what he’s saying as all I register are popping cables as nurses keep unplugging the equipment while the doctor just stands there.

I swallow as I look at Mom’s peaceful face, asleep underneath the bright ICU lights.

“Corrin.” Dan’s voice originates from behind my back, along with his restless presence. “Get up.” I let her lifeless fingers slide to the sheets. “You can cover her,” Dan says to the doctor.

A white cloth conceals Mom’s face, forming a ghostly shape which I know will haunt me for a lifetime.

Upon leaving we’re not presented any documents, nor asked any questions. Not that I’d care to see, or hear anyway. All must’ve been arranged already.

The sky outside is dark and I judge I must’ve napped for at least a couple of hours, but even now city’s fluorescent gleam stings my eyes and lamenting street noises pound my ears.

Dan’s car is still in the lot, but next to it stands a sleek, black sedan with tinted windows and a longer body. I recognize it. Father’s half- limo.

Dan juts his chin towards the door before he heads to his car. I climb into the backseat.

Father sits in front of me, his form intimidating against the black leather. As per usual, he’s donning a dark suit. It’s unlike him to go anywhere without looking presentable. The tablet in his hands casts a mare blue light against his firm jaw and blank expression. Not a hint of sorrow for his deceased wife, in fact, not a speckle of anything.

“Drive.” His order drums against my ears and the car jostles from its place. Father lifts his head and looks at me for a long moment. “You disappointed me, son,” he spits.

My fingers grip the seat. “She died and you weren’t there.” Quiet rage in my voice surprises me. “Did you even care for her?”

“It’s because I was busy cleaning up your mess!” His voice erupts, suppressing mine with its guttural blow.

I waft a breath and shrink into the seat, my heart riling with despondency. “You made me kill innocent people,” I whisper. “Mom would never approve of—”

“Never speak of her again.” His words are fast and jittery. He jerks his head to the window and back to me. “She was weak. She had no idea what it’s like.”

Is this his grief? Emphasizing her weakness? “Then why did you marry her?”

His eyes glimpse sharply before he leans in and throws his hand out, backhanding me across the face with his tablet. I almost hit the window but stop myself with one hand.

“Never speak of her again,” he repeats, menace all around him. “You’re not to question who is innocent and who is not. Who’s weak and who can hold his own.”

My nose aches again, blood dripping onto the leather seat, but I wait till the buzz in my head settles to whisper, “why? I always tried my best. But you never noticed, never cared.”

Silence. He doesn’t bother.

It has never been like this with us. With me. He shouted at his men, but he was always calm with Dan and I. Was Dan right? Am I that naive? That short-sighted? I hoped to follow this path without getting to know its and my father’s dark side, and now I realize that everything was an illusion; the light side in this life, it never existed. It is not exciting to kill people.

Father throws me a napkin from the glove compartment. “Wipe the seat.”

I do.

“I thought I could make something out of you.” My father tightens his lips as if remorseful.

“Why didn’t you?” I snap. “Why was it Dan who was praised? Why was I led away, when he stayed?”

Father clenches his tablet. “Not, another, word.” With a swipe across the control panel near his seat he dims the windows to complete black. The streets disappear and the interior lights brighten. Father goes back to typing.

What am I to make of this?

During the rest of our long ride I try my best not to fall asleep and just as my eyes flutter close the tires crunch against the gravel, stopping, and the door swings open. It takes a fraction of a second for me to note three men in dark suits standing right outside— Father’s security men; one of them Marty, in his casual gray suit. “Get out,” he says blandly. I comply.

We’re in the understreets, an underground roads weaving beneath the cluster of bridges. The only source of illumination belongs to three cars, casting bold rays of halogen light. Dan exits his silver vehicle right behind us. He leans against it and retrieves a candy from his right pocket, his eyes focused on the glittery wrap.

The three men step closer, flanking me.

This isn’t right, the thought tingles in the corner of my brain. Slowly, I assemble the reason for this congregation.

My father climbs out and I look at him for his reaction and when I’m met with nothing my muscles tense. I will receive what I deserve— a walk down that execution platform. I should’ve reasoned. I should’ve bargained!

I kick one of the men in the groin with all the remaining strength I have, then swerve from Marty’s arms and break into a sprint.

My breaths thin as I run, arduous for my exhausted body. Heaving, I try to focus on the darkness and turn into a tiny alley ahead. I have to make it—

A muffled shot rings from behind and burning pain explodes in my leg. My feet tangle and I crash onto the damp ground, a scream erupting from my lips. Four shadows come my way, one of them my father. Two men grab my arms and lift me to my knees.

“I-I know I screwed up, but I will make it right,” I spew between clenched teeth. “I will do whatever you ask!”

“You can’t even accept your failures like a man.” I can swear my Father sounds sympathetic. Dan nears him and whispers something into his ear. Father nods and replies a couple lines I’m unable to identify, then motions for the men with his palm, indicating the cars, and strides away.

I groan in agony as my wrists are zip-tied behind my back. Was it my father who shot me?

Somewhere from within me, a last piece of hopeless yet furious resistance reaches my throat. “You son of a bitch!” I kick one of the men in the knee and almost collapse myself. “Son of a—” A punch to the head knocks me senseless. My knees buckle and everything around me darkens.

My back lands hard against something solid and I’m knocked into awareness. I notice my leg is tied with a rag and distinguish Marty above me, his hand on a lid of the trunk. “No, please! Ple—“ The lid shuts, trapping me in the tiny trunk compartment. “Help!” I tear my throat in a blind panic as I try to kick around me, panting for the stale air. I halt, taking a deeper whiff. Blood. It sends my heart into my heels and my body into a struggle fit. “Somebody! Help!”

I stop when it dawns on me that instead of gagging me the men must be taking a smoke break and waiting until I run out of air, which I eventually will in this airtight trunk. All our cars are bullet and water proof.

I shut my eyes and pull on the zip-ties. It’s hopeless. I only graze my arm against some metal part in the dark.

The car dips and the engine roars, jolting us forward. I start to shiver, maybe from the tension, or pain, radiating within my injured leg. They probably didn’t want the blood to stain the car.

I gulp some air and still, listening. We should be moving out into the street soon.

“Help!” I erupt again with hopes my cry will be distinguished from the street noise as the car proceeds at a steady pace and scream for what feels like an hour until my lungs start giving out under the pressure of the stuffy trunk. Inhaling, I push the lid with my shoulder and kick it with my knees, but my body grows heavier, and air, reaching my brain, scarcer. What little space there is closes in on me, wrapping around my sides. No one would care if I suffocated here. For all I know, that might be their intention…

At some point during the long ride, my panic diminishes into a quiet haze and leaves me somewhere between awake and unconscious.

My mother’s hand lands in my hair.

How could you fall in love with someone like him and stay so kind and loving?

The trunk springs open. Shadowy figures grab my shoulders and legs and throw me to the ground. My face lands against soft grass and fresh air expands my lungs. I gag, coughing. If there was a single morsel of food in my stomach, I’m certain I’d be hacking it up.

Unfamiliar screams echo inside my ears. I shift my head and my foggy vision clears, revealing shapes of trees and two people, both being dragged from another car and thrown to their knees; one a blond woman in a short skirt, another, a man, his face painted red with blood. One of the men nearby retrieves a gun from the hemline of his pants.

What are you doing? Don’t kill them!

I twitch with two shots as if the bullet hit me instead of them. A hand wraps around my bicep and jerks me into a sit. Dan— I think it’s him— jabs something into my shoulder. An injection? Maybe poison of some kind?

I try to squirm away. “Dan, please…don’t…”

Dan pulls me close and shakes me. “Listen. I’m going to get you out of here, but you have to come with me. Now.” With a grunt he heaves me to my feet and half drags, half guides me away from the cars.

By the time I comprehend his last statement, he lowers me to my knees, hiding me in the shadows of the trees. My awareness sharpens from the fresh air, but only for a moment as numbness begins spreading from the tips of my fingers to my hands.

“You better be thankful for having a brother like me.” Dan brandishes his gun. His face blurs, but I think he grins. He steps back and scans the area, probably for the rest of my captors.

He’ll get me out of here? How?

Dan points the weapon at my head. It’ll be quick, I know it. I shouldn’t be scared. Mom will greet me somewhere in the clouds and that’s a good thing. Nothing else will matter.

I jolt as Dan shoots, and jerk again with the second shot, shutting my eyes. My ears ring and I can’t help but tremble until I realize the pain stems from a wound I already have— the shot in my leg. When, with muddled terror, I peek I realize the bullets embedded the tree behind me.

You’re alive, Corrin!

My shoulders and knees turn numb and the ground below my feet tilts at an unnatural angle. I sway and collapse on my side.

“Once you wake you have to leave!” Dan squats beside me. “Do you hear me? Go on, live your life and read your books.” A smile overtakes his lips, an expression I know well, but so rarely see. A smile of a big brother who protected me once again.

My heart thuds in my ears as I lie. A mist of indifference absorbs me and the world fades to black.