Witness

by Peaches the First

A/N: Sorry about not updating, but I've been trapped in hell for the last month! Typing time is scarce, but I tried. I mean, babysitting two evil Spawns of Satan and their cat (which I really don't like) for two weeks, right after a wedding of an aunt and a funeral of a friend in only 25 hours! Gimmi a break here! RIP Aaron.

Peaches the First

7. Moment of Weakness

Joey left on Wednesday. We all ate lunch at the bus depot. He'd given me a soft hug last, then boarded the bus back to Little Rock; away from the memories the rest of us had to endure. He hadn't been there for the initial shock. He simply didn't understand.

The reading of the will had been on Tuesday afternoon. Since Ryan, still evading the law, was automatically excluded from the last will and testament of my mother, the house, her accounts, and the insurance money, all went distributed equally between my brothers and I. Her belongings, at least the things we didn't want, went to charity. I kept her jewelry. Her clothing went to her sister, my aunt Angelica. She had it shipped to New York that afternoon. Vitto, Joey, dad and I were left with the choice: Move into the house, or sell it and buy a new one. Sell our childhood and the last remnants of Florence Gambini, or move into the memories. We decided to give it a month before deciding. Or, rather the three men decided, and I sat by quietly on the ride back to dad's, my mind somewhere else entirely.

It seemed so odd to me, yet so natural at the same time, that my thoughts should be consumed by Theodore Detwhieler after just settling the last business of my dead mother. Lifeline or not, my mind was simply spending too much time on the boy.

Not that it bothered me.

I'd last seen him on Monday night after the funeral. His mother had offered to make dinner for us all, on account of the "long day", as she'd so eloquently put a cushion on the reality of the matter. We sat around the Detwhieler's dining room table with them chewing on our bread rolls and words, swallowing the things we all needed to say along with the homemade soup. Truth went spilling down our throats while the masquerade of well-being surrounded us. William, Lauren and my father, all playing the parts of mature adult, reminisced, while Vitto and Joey struggled to impress them with their own false self-control. Only TJ and I sat, detached from their lie, in our own world, much like we did most of our lives, surviving on each other. Neither of us said a word, but I think we both understood each other. I know I understood him, even now when I didn't understand myself.

Finally, in the bustle of after dinner dish gathering, we escaped the mass of liars and made our way to sanity and sanctuary. His room had always been like a little cavern of refuge for me, where I could just lay and listen to him play guitar, or talk about nothing or everything, avoid parents and homework, and just generally let my guard down.

He seemed awkward. There was nothing to say; nothing that needed to be said, and I think that scared him. Someone as opinionated as myself having nothing to say must have come as both a relief, and as a surprise to him. It shocked me, after all.

So we sat there in the room, complete silence, except for the clock ticking through our heads. I looked everywhere but at him; his guitar, the door, the computer, the window, the clock. I knew it would break me down to see his eyes. Their warmth and compassion, the gentleness and strength. It would crack my own shell of delusive strength. I was screaming on the inside, and I know he knew it. He wanted to get through to me, and I could sense it in the way he rubbed my shoulder and tried to catch my eye. My stubbornness kept pushing away his accommodating kindness, and his stubbornness kept him pushing it forward. The harder I pushed, the more he'd try. He didn't mind me being hardheaded.

Finally, he put his finger under my chin and turned my face up to his. His eyes, those beautiful, soulful eyes, burrowed into my own smouldering black ones. I felt my throat grow sore as I tried to keep back my frail emotions and continue my stoic behaviour, but just another second of his gaze was all it took to break me.

And I cried. It was too much, and it all came boiling over in an extravagant display of my weakness. I buried my face into his shirt, the same one he'd looked so ridiculously formal in hours before. I didn't care anymore. I really didn't give a damn. Every fear and apprehension and concern I'd ever had about being weak, while still lingering, was just insignificant and unworthy of my attention.

He was hugging me when reality came back to me. Holding me just right; firmly enough to let me know he wasn't going to leave, but gently enough to give me breathing room. One arm was around my shoulder, that hand rubbing my back soothingly, his other hand cradling the back of my head. I thought I felt him kiss the top of my head, but I couldn't be sure. It was unfamiliar to me, being in contact with another human being. I'd gotten hugs from the mourners at the funeral, but they were stiff, formal, stolid embraces, devoid of feeling. As for Joey or Vitto having hugged me, it displayed the same sibling based love as a good fist fight with them when we were kids. TJ's hug was... pure. Not brought on by pity or obligation. Just pure... love? No, empathy. That was it. Love? Where had that come from?

God, there I'd been letting myself cry for the first time in I didn't know how long, and I had been analysing how the boy-next-door hugged me! What the hell had been wrong with me?

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Dad, Vitto and I got back from the bus depot around two. I wondered if Vitto wanted his room back. Dad, who seemed to read my mind, told me I could stay in his room until we decided where to move in a month or so. Around two thirty, I was laying on "my" bed, staring at the ceiling fan. No one bothered me. In fact, no one had bothered me much since I'd gotten out of the hospital. Did they think I was going to break? I highly doubted I'd snap at the sound of a voice, but being left alone was what I'd always wanted.

The doorbell rang around 3. I expected more sympathy bearers bringing food or flowers, but no. It was Police Chief Lawson and Detective Rudd. Rudd, skin as rubbery looking as ever, looked exhausted, and his business suit was wrinkled with what looked like a mustard stain on his cheap, beige clip-on tie. Chief Lawson had a coffee for dad, and was drinking a grande himself. Ah, the caffeine dependant life of a cop.

"Robert, Vitto, Ashley," he nodded. Rudd grunted his salutations. "I thought we could discuss where to go and what to do concerning safety precautions, that is, if you're up to it. I realize it's been a trying time for your family."

"No, now's as good a time as ever," dad said. He waved the men into the small living room. Rudd and Chief Lawson sat on the large couch, Dad and Vitto on the two-seater, and I claimed the armchair, curling up into a ball on the soft, treated leather. "What can you tell me about the case?"

"As near as we can tell, Florence was killed around 10 pm. We've determined the weapon was a hammer we found in the garage. Mr Wood's fingerprints were all over it, as well as some blood. DNA tests showed it was Florence's. The official cause of death was loss of blood due to blunt force trauma to the cranium."

Blunt force trauma to the cranium. They spoke about her like she was a statistic.

"And Ryan?" dad asked. Rudd shook his head.

"We're looking at a few leads," he sighed. "But nothing significant has turned up yet. We believe he may still be in and around Concord."

"Which brings me to the point of safety," Chief Lawson said. "If he's seen the news, he knows it was Ashley who found the body..." He paused as he looked at me, like he expected me to take a fit right then and there. When I didn't react, he continued. "We'd like to put your apartment and the crime scene under 24 hour surveillance until we get a reasonable lead as to Mr Woods whereabouts."

"That's fine," dad said. "Should I be concerned about him turning up?"

"We don't know his state of mind or what his reaction would be to seeing Ms Spinelli," Rudd continued on Chief Lawson's behalf. "Until we get a psychological analysis done on him, we can't be sure of his motive for attacking his wife, or if he in any way blames Ashley for any of this. The mind of a criminal is a curious place."

"In fact, we would like your permission to track your daughter for 72 hours," Chief Lawson said. "For security reasons."

"You wanna follow me?" I blurted. I knew it was only precautionary, but I still felt rather violated.

"Only for three days," Chief Lawson said. "And it's not because we have any suspicion in you, Ashley."

"I think it's the best thing, Ashley," my dad said. "I'd feel better knowing you weren't alone."

I knew I had no choice in the matter. My privacy and opinion made no difference to my father in the wake of my mother's death.

"Fine," I muttered. "Just give me time to clear out all the illegal immigrants in my closet."

"I'll send some of my men over to meet you tomorrow," Chief Lawson concluded, ignoring my comment. "Now, I need to ask you a few more questions about your mother's relationship with Ryan, Ashley. We need to narrow down the type of behaviour he displayed to see if we can determine what his state of mind was when he killed Florence, among other things."

"I told you at the station, he used her for a punching bag," I snapped. How many times did I have to listen to the same inane questions? I'd gone into the station on Sunday afternoon to answer them and give a statement, what else was there?

"What is the nature of your relationship with Ryan Wood?" Rudd asked.

"He was my mother's husband," I sighed. "I'm guessing that makes him my step-father."

"I mean your personal relationship, Miss Spinelli. Emotionally?"

"Emotionally? We argued a lot. He didn't want me around. He acted fine when people were over, like mom's family and his. He'd make a big show of spoiling me when anyone was there."

"Physically?"

"Excuse me?"

"Physically, Miss. Abusive or... otherwise."

"You sick shit!" Vitto snapped suddenly at Rudd. "What the hell do you mean by 'otherwise'!?"

"Vitto!" Dad scolded him. Rudd didn't even flinch. His hard, cold eyes showed no sign of having taken offence to the comment. Of course, being in law enforcement, I was sure he'd heard worse.

"Whatever you take 'otherwise' to be," I said glaring at Rudd proudly, "It never happened. He only hit me once in a while, if mom was out, or if we got into a big argument. I hated the sick bastard and I never 'did' anything with him."

"Alright," Rudd said, "If you're positive..."

"I think that's all, Mr Spinelli," Chief Lawson said quickly. "I have to file some reports back at the station. My men will be over within a day to set up surveillance on the house and apartment."

"Thank you, Lawson." The men all shook hands, excluding Vitto to Rudd. Just about to leave, Chief Lawson turned and gave his sympathies about mom. Dad nodded. Vitto was quiet. I turned and left the room to go back into dad's/my room.

I immediately picked up the phone and dialled TJ's number. It rang twice before someone answered.

"Hello?" Lauren said. "Detwhieler residence."

"Is TJ there, please?"

"I'm sorry, Ashley, honey, he's gone out with Bill."

"Oh, okay, well, can you tell him I called?"

"Sure thing, bye."

I hung up, and I remember thinking of how surprised I was. TJ was out with William Detwhieler? His adoptive father whom he swore he hated and would never trust again?

It's funny how things change in only a few days. I almost laughed out loud at the thought 'what don't I know about TJ?'

I had know way of knowing it then, but what I didn't know about TJ was nothing compared to what I didn't know about my own family...

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