I’ve bore witness to two prime examples that there are good men left in the world. Loyal men. Faithful men. Though thieves they may be because they’ve stolen my heart.—Cecelia, Flock
Two days later, I stare up at my ceiling in the same position I’ve been in since Denny dropped me off hours ago—boots crossed, back on my mattress, palms on my stomach. The heavy repeat of his Nova jars me from the backdoors of my mind, and not a minute later, Sean’s silhouette appears at my door—partially lit by the streetlights. He stands in wait, none of his typical ‘little spoon’ quips coming while the aftermath of the last forty-eight hours emanates from him.
“You’ve been busy,” I say, knowing Tyler proceeded with our plans—along with improvisations—in an effort to sweep up after me. While I was on lockdown at Denny’s, Layla paced next to me as reports flooded their TV screen of the statewide manhunt for the second suspected gunman, me, who’s still at large. Hours after I fled, Tyler utilized the birds he trusted to divide and conquer. They made good use of the guns we lifted from the warehouse in a free for all of victimless gunfire—shooting up abandoned buildings and closed businesses. Starting in Charlotte, they webbed out in all directions—from the edge of the Tennessee border all the way to Nags Head Beach, leading those investigating on a wild-goose chase.
Sean palms my doorframe. “Stroke of genius to put those prints on some of the bullets.”
We’d already devised the plan to put partial and full prints that we extracted from Spencer and the dirty military on his payroll on some of the shell casings so the guns would be traced back to them. The tactic is meant to keep all government alphabet agencies and military investigators as far as possible from our county line while searching for the guns now in our possession. After the evidence was not so subtly planted, Tyler flagged one of our feather feds as to which locations to look for those prints to get them all investigated and possibly indicted. Convicted is another story. In that, I have zero faith.
“They’ll get off,” I state, toeing my boots off before nudging them off my bed.
“Worth trying, right?”
“Where is he?” My question regarding Tyler’s whereabouts and the status of the grudge he may still be harboring against me.
“Not coming back tonight,” Sean relays, “but he has his ringer on.”
For me.
I don’t ask about Cecelia, but I can sense what’s coming as he takes a seat at the edge of my bed. “She’s wondering where you are.”
“Let her,” I snap in warning, looking over to him as he casts his gaze my way and swallows.
“You know she asked me not too long ago who my hero was—”
“Don’t,” I warn, throat burning.
“That answer changed two days ago,” he relays without hesitation.
“I killed a twenty-year-old kid,” the confession feels ripped from me as I say it out loud for the first time.
“You stopped an imminent mass murder,” he insists, tone unwavering. “Denny unloaded his backpack, and it was fucking horrifying . . . he was going to open fire on families watching fireworks. There’s no telling how many lives you saved. Your hands were tied. Tyler knows that—we all do. I know you couldn’t or wouldn’t have done it if you thought there was any other way, and you didn’t take him down until you were sure.”
Quiet seconds pass as the burn circulating through my chest keeps me silent.
“Please don’t torture yourself,” he says on a long exhale. “I can guarantee that you need something or someone right about now, and maybe you can’t put your finger on it. Or maybe you can—”
“She doesn’t need to be anywhere near us, Sean. It’s only going to get more fucking dangerous for all of us.”
“I tried,” he cups the back of his neck. “That night, I tried to break it off with her . . . and I failed. I couldn’t do it. But I heard you,” he hangs his head. “I heard you, Dom, and I’ll respect whatever decision you make. But,” he swallows, “please know I’m sorry, truly, for everything,” He runs a hand through his matted hair, no doubt due to the ski mask he’s been wearing for days to help cover my tracks. “I’ll never bring this secret up again, but I wish you could have trusted me.”
“I did . . . I do.”
“Only when I forced your hand,” he stands and looks over at me, eyes glazing. “I might have lost your trust, but I would hand you my firstborn, Dom, no questions asked. From here on out, I’m done asking about shit you don’t want to answer, but I hope you don’t have to make me because I want that trust back if you’ll give it to me . . . and heads up, from now until France comes home, I’m not going to let you out of my goddamn sight.”
It’s no big surprise my sentence has been lengthened, no doubt one Sean and Tyler came to while en route to plant red herrings.
“Truth is, I want this time with you ‘cause I miss you, man.” I don’t have to see his tears to know they’re there. “And you know I’m not above playing fucking dirty to get it, so don’t make me.”
“I won’t.” My reply has him pausing for any sort of dishonesty.
“But just so you know,” he says, contempt for Tobias clear in his voice, “or need a reminder. You’re a living, breathing fucking human being and allowed to behave as one.”
I don’t bother to tell him I was granted that clarity by the one person in the world I shouldn’t have gotten it from.
“And you might think I’m ignorant to it,” he rasps out, “but the night of the Meetup,” his Adam’s apple bobs, “if he had reached me. If you hadn’t stopped him, I wouldn’t be standing here,” his voice cracks. “I will never sell you out to France,” he slaps at his tears, “he doesn’t have to know. You don’t have to cop to it. I’ll—”
“I didn’t mean it,” my whisper is just as guttural, and he exhales harshly in relief, fingers twitching at his side. He wants a cigarette, but I already know what’s coming before he puts a voice to it. “I’m in love with her.”
“I know.”
“So, if you’re going to break her heart, you’re going to have to do it alone.” His voice is raw when he speaks again. “I’m just so fucking sorry I messed us up in the process.” He stares down at his boots, running his forearm along his jaw. “I love you, brother.”
He leaves the door open as my vision blurs, and I move to sit at the edge of my bed, staring after him before catching my half-lit reflection in my bathroom mirror.
Part human, part monster, and stuck in limbo for the foreseeable future.
I’ve always labeled the other side “monsters” because at least then I could justify slaying them. The truth is, those monsters are human beings capable of doing unspeakable acts outside of moral lines—where I dwell to stop them—but pulling the trigger was different for me this time, and we all know it.
Tyler knows it, Sean knows it, and even though I knew that kid’s future was only cut short by an hour at most—that he would die by his own hand or someone else’s—I was the one who saw him draw his last breath because I made it so.