Disclaimer: I do not own any copyrighted material.

Also, please be advised that there are some parts in this chapter that describe violent acts.


~Chapter Three~


Bring some change up to the bridge
Bring some alcohol
There we'll make a final wish
Just before the fall

~Foo Fighters, Still~


"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

I look Jeremy in the eyes. They are watering, filling with tears he is too scared to shed. He's drumming his fingers against the gray table, his left leg shaking uncontrollably. The singular hanging light over his head makes it feel like I am looking into a microscope, his every facial twitch magnified.

If he's not careful, his nerves will get the best of him.

"Just follow my lead, Jer. Okay?" I place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It's damp with sweat. "Take off the hoodie."

"Why?"

"You'll get overheated. It will be uncomfortable. We want to minimize that. Tie it around your waist."

"Good idea."

He's in the middle of knotting the sleeves for the third time when Detective St. John walks into the room.

The first thing I notice about Enzo is the way he carries himself. Confidently. He looks so self-assured. His dark hair is short, gelled. He has a predatory expression on his face. Dark eyes narrowed. Enzo is a shark and he's about to close in on his next meal.

Which is a pity. I might have found him attractive if he wasn't accusing Jeremy of such a heinous act. One that, if he were convicted, would give him a one-way ticket to Death Row. I wonder if he and Damon got along or if their combined ego was too much for a single police car.

The smile he flashes me confirms that he is leagues above Salvatore, which grinds my gears.

This is going to be a very long (very frustrating) interview.

"Hello Jeremy, I told you we'd be seeing each other again."

God, he sounds worse than Damon, too. "You can stop trying to intimidate my client. Forced confessions don't look good to juries—especially when a minor is involved."

"Noted Miss…" that smile expands. Enzo reminds me of a clown. Pennywise, to be more specific. Feeding off the fear oozing from Jeremy's pores. He offers his hand. I refuse it.

"Bennett."

"Yes—I've heard of you. You're a big deal in North Carolina. I don't think you'll be such a shoo-in for district attorney when they realize you chose to defend a murderer."

"My reputation is irrelevant, officer. I'm assuming we are here for a reason. If not, then my client can leave because you have no right to hold him here."

Enzo St. John makes a big show of pulling his chair from underneath the table, spinning it around, and sitting down with his torso toward the back. Like this is a conversation being held at a party.

As if he's already made his point.

The slate gray walls look like a giant shadow. The light surrounding his body resembles a halo. I wouldn't be surprised if he set the room up for that exact purpose. To make himself look like an angel, to cast this innocent kid in the role of a monster.

I look past him, straight into the one-way mirror. I know Damon is on the other side, watching my every move. Probably to point out my weaknesses later on. If he still wanted to contact me after the way I acted. Not that he should, because that would be unethical, legally speaking. But Damon loves bending the rules, dragging me along on some salacious adventure.

And I loved following, pointing out half-hearted excuses as to why we shouldn't.

"We have DNA evidence that says differently," he nods toward the file he threw on the table when he approached us. "Oh, and a very suspicious-looking text message, right Gilbert?"

He appraises Jeremy carefully, undoubtedly taking note of the sweat dripping from his forehead. The way his eyes dart to the left, before settling on the officer.

"Don't answer that," I order, holding my hand up. "That file doesn't look very thick, Officer St. John. You must have had to dig deep for that single sheet of paper."

"On the contrary, this was the first message he sent after the news of Anna Zhu's death was made public." He opens the folder, revealing phone records dated the morning after her body had been discovered.

Under the paper, several photographs are visible. Just the corners at first, but Enzo arranges them slowly, placing each picture on the table with a flourish. He lines them up above the text messages, so Jer is forced to look at them first.

The first picture isn't too horrifying—just a snapshot of Anna's sandal caked with mud.

However, each picture after that just gets progressively worse.

Her hand. Cuts covering her palm, some shallow, others gaping. I could see pieces of skin hanging by a thread in some places. Defensive wounds.

Her dress, which is only more awful than the previous photograph because of the implication it poses. It appeared torn and tattered. It had been found three feet from her body.

And then her fatal wounds. The holes her killer poked into her chest. The knife had been driven through her upper body in a few spots, and in others, the knife had simply been used to cut into her. Long gashes, skin flayed open.

Her face. It was clear from any attack. No scratches, cuts, or bruises. Her lips a cyanotic blue, hair fanned out around her. Eyes open, staring straight into the camera lens.

Blank.

A branch—mangled. Devoid of leaves. Twigs and jagged bits of wood had splintered off. Jeremy seems the most horrified by this picture. I know exactly what the perp used it for. He looks like he's trying to piece each event together and is struggling to make sense of it.

"Looks awful, doesn't it?" Enzo taunts. "Imagine how her mother felt when she had to confirm the identity of the body… she broke down, Jeremy. People could hear her screams from two streets over. She fell to the floor and punched it over—" his fist slams into the table, causing Jeremy to recoil. "and over again. Her father couldn't speak. It was heartbreaking."

"Oh my God…"

"Enough theatrics. My client is obviously trying to process what you're showing him because he wasn't at the scene of the crime. He didn't do it, so you should quit while you are ahead." I tap my pointer finger on the table. "So far, you haven't said anything about the DNA you claim to have. Everything I hear you say is purely circumstantial."

"Oh, we can put him at the scene of the crime. The coroner told us she had been sexually assaulted, and his semen is the only bodily fluid on her that isn't hers."

"So," I very deliberately stare at the snapshot of the tree branch. "They had intercourse before her death, only hours before. And clearly, the killer used several techniques to inflict damage."

I feel disgusted just saying those words That poor girl… the torment she must have gone through… I can't let that get to me, though. Officer St. John is just waiting for me to misspeak. He wouldn't even need that to throw me off track. All it takes is one moment of hesitation.

"His fingerprints are all over her. The forensics specialist found traces of her blood in his car. On the carpet, and both seats in front. The trunk had been cleaned out. He had a pair of her underwear in his backpack."

I don't dare look at Jeremy. I can't act surprised, though I am. This doesn't look good. But it's not an open-and-shut investigation. These tidbits don't necessarily prove anything. It just stacks the deck in Enzo's favor.

"Doesn't matter. Any number of things could have happened that don't lead to murder."

"And that doesn't matter either, Miss Bennett, because he also says some incriminating things to his friend Kai." He picks up the phone log and reads. "Kai says at 8:15 am on the 5th of June: What happened with Anna? What's going on? Jeremy writes back at 8:17: We fought. It was dumb. Honestly, I got what I wanted from her. With the way she acted last night, I don't think it's worth it. Kai at 8:20: No, man. Her body was found in the graveyard. She's dead. RIP. Jeremy at 8:40: Shut up, asshole. Kai at 8:42: I'm not lying. Jeremy at 9:00: FUCK. And that's in all caps."

The paper is thrust in front of my face. Indeed, it is. "That's not proof."

"But it's enough for an indictment," Enzo looks smug. "Looks like you're spending the night here with me, kiddo."

Jeremy turns to me, stricken. "Is he serious?"

"Dead serious," the officer sneers.

"Yes, Jeremy," I answer. My voice is flat, betraying nothing. I feel terrible. But this evidence will look damning to a jury and I must start interviewing peers, determining timelines. If I can poke enough holes in the prosecution's case, then they won't want to convict. Juries tend to take death penalty cases very seriously, even more so when children are involved.

"But… I didn't kill her!" he shouts, tears streaming down his face. "I loved her!" his voice cracks.

"I know. It's not over, Jeremy. I promise." Even saying that may have crossed a line, but I couldn't stay silent. Jer looks like he's about to shit a brick.

"Let's go," Enzo orders, and I watch helplessly as my little brother (Elena's little brother) is carted off to a tiny jail cell, where he will stay until his arraignment tomorrow morning.

I feel like I'm taking the dreaded walk of shame as I exit the interrogation room. Enzo won the battle, not the war, but the Gilberts won't view it that way. Fuck, I don't view it that way. I'm clutching my leather briefcase so tightly that my hand aches. I feel like I'm going to puke.

Elena bursts into tears as soon as she sees me. She jumps up from the bench she had been waiting on and sobs. Isobel and John grip each other's hands, unsure of how to react. I haven't delivered the news yet, but Elena and I have always been able to look at each other and just know what the other is going to say.

Like when she called me the night Matt proposed or when she correctly deduced that I had lost my virginity and refused to speak about it during school hours. I walked in and her eyes lit up and she could tell. I had shouted he finally asked you when I picked up the phone and all she did was say hi.

There were some things I kept private because I needed that. Certain things made me feel uneasy and I knew she just wouldn't understand. There is only one person that can read me better than Elena and I have only been able to keep one secret from him.

"I'm sorry," I say gently, stopping in front of Elena. I want to hug her, cry with her. But I can't. I'm just the attorney. I have no emotions tangled up in this situation. Elena is aware of this, as I told her so two days ago, but I still feel like a coldhearted bitch. "He's stuck here for the night—their argument is… solid, but not iron-clad. He'll be released to you without much resistance. I imagine bail will be low." I give Elena's hand a quick squeeze.

I'll do what I can, money-wise, it says. I still have student loans to pay off, however, that suddenly seems unimportant.

She nods once, curling into her husband. Understood. Thank you.

Matt's quiet, stone-faced. He says nothing as he leads his wife and in-laws into the parking lot.

I hang back. I don't want to appear too friendly with them, can't jeopardize Jeremy's fate because I don't want to feel alone. Because I want to help his sister feel a little less devastated.

I shove my hand in my pocket, hoping to find my car keys. It's empty. They must have fallen out when I stood to leave the interrogation room. I head back down the corridor, prepared to go ask the first officer I see if they could check for me, but I stop dead in my tracks. The two people I encounter aren't ideal for the simple search I need.

One is Enzo, and I'd rather cut my tongue out than ask for a favor from him.

The other Damon, who I'd have no problem approaching if it weren't for the current company.

They are standing off to the side, clearly having a private conversation. I don't intend on paying them any attention, but my name comes up and I can't help myself. I want to know what Damon has to say, it might be useful for information later. At least, that's how I justify pressing my back up against the wall, so my body is concealed by a tall potted plant.

"Man, that lawyer is a fucking bitch," Enzo.

"She's good at her job, man." Damon. "She won't make things easy for you."

"You know I like a challenge," the way Enzo's tone changes surprises me, but I'm off-put by the sexual undertones in his voice. Worse than Damon, for sure.

"You've mentioned that—fifty times now." Damon sounds bored.

St. John whistles. "Do you think she'd be up for something casual… after all this." Something tells me he doesn't really mean afterward. I wish I could smack him.

"No," Damon answers coldly. "She hates this place. She won't hang around—especially for your pathetic ass. Don't touch her."

"How the fuck do you know that?"

"… they announced her scholarship at graduation—she went to Yale. It was a big deal to the school." He speaks the lie so easily I almost believe it. There's some truth in his story—I did attend Yale, but I had told him in person before I had decided to attend.

"I'm very persistent. Hayley Marshall still calls me at least once a week to hook up."

"I think Bonnie's one of those girls who wants to wait until marriage. That was what everyone said in high school."

I roll my eyes. I wonder how much grief his blatant lie will cause. This prick will probably show up on my dad's doorstep with a bible under his arm.

"A challenge," he repeats as if Damon didn't understand when he said it moments ago.

"I told you—don't touch her. It's pointless. You'll get your heart ripped out." Damon sounds threatening and it is unclear which one of us he thinks will hurt Enzo.

Me. Definitely me.

"You'll see man—just you wait, she'll be begging to have my babies after one night."

"You are a fucking idiot."

And then a female officer calls Enzo over and Damon walks straight toward me. I try to scramble away from my hiding space, but as Damon passes me, he looks straight into my eyes. He beckons for me to follow him, which I do reluctantly, but only because I need my keys to go back to Dad's place.

"Are you looking for these?" he says, displaying my keys when we are a safe distance away from his co-workers. My Yale keychain hangs from his fingertips, swinging back and forth.

I reach up to snatch them, but he holds them up over my head. "Yes, you… imbecile. Fork them over!"

"Only if you promise to meet up with me tonight."

"Fine. I will—now gimme!"

His blue eyes flash triumphantly, and I feel backed into a corner, unwilling to concede that a walk down memory lane sounds like the perfect end to a shitty day.

"Good choice," he says with a smugness that infuriates me. "I believe it's your turn to bring the booze."

"And everything else?"

"Leave it up to me," he replies confidently. "Meet me at my house at midnight. Throw a rock at my window so I know you're there. Saint Steffy's bedtime is nine sharp. Don't wake him."

"Can't I text you?"

"Now, Bon Bon, where's the fun in that?"