Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Everywhere I looked, I saw red. Not in a metaphorical way, but in a literal one. Some days, I was spared the haunting trail of my grievances. Today, I couldn’t escape it.
Red stained my pupils, turning everything a rosy hue I hated with a passion.
The empty bookshelf in my bedroom terrified me, because I could almost see Sarah’s lifeless body slumped against it, blood running down from her temple.
It was like having a nightmare while I was awake, and I knew I was awake, and none of it was real, but I couldn’t shake myself out of it.
Was this how Crescent felt when he had hallucinations?
It made me wonder just how similar it was, even if I didn’t actually see anything in front of me.
Was I going to ask him, though? Absolutely not.
He didn’t need my shit on his conscience on top of everything else.
He seemed to be doing really well with his new therapist and medication, but I still worried about him. All the time, actually.
Being the oldest of four came with three times the anxiety, since I constantly worried about all of my siblings, blood or not.
The moment Elio had started to come to our house more because his parents were worthless pieces of shits, I’d declared him my little brother, right alongside Crescent.
By the time he moved in, I’d have done anything for him.
And I did. I killed two people who were hurting him.
Terrorizing him. Elio may not share my blood, but he’s always been a Miller, and I’d shed as much blood as I needed to for him.
Even if it was my own.
Even if it wasn’t.
Fuck. My wrists ached, the phantom pain from the handcuffs digging into my skin damn near overtaking everything else.
I sat up in bed, scrubbing a hand over my face as I tried to get myself up and around.
What I should’ve been doing was searching for jobs, though the search had so far been fruitless.
After my little incident six months ago, I’d kind of gone off the deep end for a bit and had to quit the receptionist job I’d had.
It’d been boring, but it paid well enough to keep me going.
Now, I wasn’t sure I ever came back from the deep end, but the nest egg I’d built for myself was running out, and there was no way in hell I was going to ask Mom and Dad for financial help. I’d rather have peeled my skin off with a dull potato peeler than do that.
Coming out of my bedroom for the first time all day, I realized that it was nearing two o’clock in the afternoon and I hadn’t even gone to Muffin Haven yet.
God forbid I miss a day and let my mind take over every sense of logic possible, deciding that something absolutely horrible would happen if I wasn’t there for one day.
It was hot outside, but the scars on my neck burned into my skin, leaving a brand in their wake.
They may fade over time. They may get smoother or eventually go away entirely.
Their physical appearance may one day cease to exist, though I’d always know they were there.
I would always feel the desperation of a dying man’s grip on my neck as I took away his last breath, etched straight into my jugular.
I could’ve died with Jude that night. Sometimes, I wondered if it would’ve been easier if I did. Maybe then I wouldn’t be battling against every shade of red I saw, immediately remembering the sticky, crackled, and dry feeling of someone else’s blood seeping into my skin.
But what did I know? The only reason I kept going at this point was my family, who took for granted I was the oldest, and I had my shit together.
Crescent had struggled a lot when he was in high school.
Star was the youngest and studying to be a lawyer.
Elio had shitty, neglectful parents as a kid, and then he left our family for almost ten years during his teen years because, unbeknownst to us, he was being sucked into an abusive relationship. Where did my problems fit in?
They didn’t. I was Moon, the oldest, most dependable, most boring son and brother.
I was the one who didn’t have anything to talk about or complain about.
I never joined any sports, and I never had much of an interesting life.
I skated through school with a C or B-average, which made my parents happy, but I never got an award for it.
I always had a smile on my face, no matter what was going on with me.
I was always happy. I was always doing fine.
I never needed anyone before, because I never asked for it. I wasn’t going to start now.
So, even though I was looking through blood-tinted glasses my entire way, I biked to Muffin Haven with a scowl on my face, which changed the moment I walked in.
I inhaled the scent of freshly baked bread and wonderfully brewed coffee, standing in line for Stacy to take my order.
Though the rest of Heaton Springs seemed to be calm, the bakery was busier than usual.
There were two people in front of me and two employees behind the counter, working on different orders.
Stacy smiled at me, all big and cheerful, in front of the red backdrop I couldn’t stop imagining. “Hey, man. I already let Kendra know that you’re here. She’ll get Crescent in a moment.”
“Sounds good. If he’s busy, I’ll just wait for him like usual. Could I get a blueberry muffin and a caramel macchiato?”
“Sure! Have you had a macchiato yet?”
“Nah. I wanted to try something different today. Be a bit more adventurous, I guess.” Actually, I was hoping a bigger change in my already loose routine would shake the pressure and dread seeping into my bones as I talked.
The door swung open and closed as I gathered my muffin and drink from Stacy.
As always, I found a nice booth to sit in and pass the time until Crescent was able to come visit with me.
The macchiato was still too hot to drink, so I pulled the lid off to cool it down some and scrolled mindlessly on my phone.
I’d thought my life was boring back when I was a receptionist. I had to argue that my life was even more boring and lonely now, seeing as I was thirty years old and had no other friends, no job to occupy myself, and a constant, sinking unease that followed my every waking moment.
“Hey.”
I looked up from my phone, narrowing my eyes at none other than Officer Blake. “Why, hello, Officer. What can I do for you?”
One hand gripped his vest at the top while the other held onto his coffee. “Oh, nothing. I just saw you and wanted to say hello again. And, please, call me Emerson.”
“Well, okay, Emerson. We seem to keep meeting, don’t we?”
“That we do.” He moved forward, motioning to the booth in front of me. “This seat taken?”
I shrugged. “Once Crescent comes out, yes. For the moment, no. But aren’t you working?”
He slid into the booth, setting his coffee down on the table. “I’ve got a moment for coffee and chatting if you do. If something needs my immediate attention, I’ll hear it from here.” He patted the radio attached to his vest.
“Hm.” It was weird talking to him like this when I could still feel the way he’d clasped the handcuffs around my wrist and helped me stand up when I was just feet away from the man I’d murdered. Justifiable homicide, they’d said.
Sure, it was justifiable, but was it really justice? That night stayed with me everywhere I went, and Elio had harbored years of horrific memories. Was that justice, or was it freezing the current problem, only to create another?
I set my phone down and looked up at Emerson. “Why did you become a cop?”
The way he stared at me, I began to wonder if he’d even answer. He seemed taken aback by the question, which I couldn’t blame him for. “Do you want the honest answer, or the socially accepted one?”
“Honest. Don’t bullshit me. You’ve seen me at my worst. I can’t imagine you could come up with anything lower than that.”
He tilted his head in agreement. “True. Honestly, I first decided it because my dad was one. I was maybe seven years old, completely enamored by his uniform, and the car, and all the fun parts I got to see as a kid.”
I played with the rim of my coffee, the steam billowing out and warming the tips of my fingers. It felt like fall and leaves of all different colors falling. I loved the fall. “What’s your socially accepted answer?”
“That I’d always had a strong sense of justice. I’ve always wanted to help people, which is true by itself, but it wasn’t the deciding factor. My dad was just a really cool dude, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps because of it.”
Was. His dad was a pretty cool dude. The distinction made me a little sad, realizing just how lost I’d be without both of my parents. “I think both answers are good ones, and I bet your dad really was cool. Do you still like what you do?”
“I love it, actually. Depending on the town, the majority of what I do is conflict resolution between people. Sometimes, people just need someone to help them understand a different side of things. They need someone to step in when things are too overwhelming, or a disagreement is steadily going to shit, and they can’t bring it down themselves.
” He took a sip from his drink, taking a moment to appreciate it.
“I think humans in general are cool. We all experience the world differently, and no thought is the exact same between two people. Right and wrong aren’t the same for people, either. ”
I leaned my elbows onto the table, slumping forward. “What do you mean?”
He swirled his cup around, letting the bottom of it scrape against the table.
“I mean, we have laws, right? They’re from a collective group of people who decided the baseline moral values.
Not everyone shares those same values, no matter how obviously ethical or unethical they are.
Every person holds their own moral compass, and sometimes that moral compass doesn’t align with what’s written in the law books.
My job includes upholding the law, but it also includes navigating those moral differences.
There’s a lot of gray area when it comes to these things, whether people admit it or not.
I’m not afraid to admit it, and I like helping people get through those disagreements.
My rule of thumb is to work out a solution before bringing the very black and white pages of the law into things. ”
Leaning back against the chair, I stared at him for a moment.
The deep, almost rich black of his hair mixed with small patches of gray.
His beard followed the same pattern, the majority of it dark, whereas the parts around his cheekbones had a heavier mix of gray in them. I liked it. I liked it a lot, actually.
When he talked about morals and humans and right and wrong, his eyes sparkled with an intense interest. I’d recognize it anywhere, having seen it in Crescent’s eyes when he baked, Elio’s when he painted, and my parents when they did yoga in the front yard or living room.
It was pure, undoubted passion for what he was talking about.
He believed what he was saying, and he said it with knowledge and conviction, though all of it was introspective. He’d pulled it from his soul.
“That makes sense. I mean, there’s all these things we’re meant to align with, and most compassionate and ethical humans do, but not everyone. Not every person sees eye to eye.”
He nodded. “Exactly. That’s why morally gray exists, too. It isn’t just this or that, and the law takes a lot of that into account in a lot of areas. Others, not so much.”
“Like me killing someone in self-defense and in the defense of someone else.”
That got him. He stared at me for a moment, his facial features freezing before finally relaxing.
His eyebrows fell, his mouth turned down, and I could’ve sworn the sea opened in his eyes.
He looked genuinely sad when he nodded. “Yeah, exactly like that. You defended and protected during a life-threatening situation. That’s hardly something to be punished for. ”
Shrugging, I looked down at the table, avoiding the way his eyes made me feel.
“I’m not so sure about that. That moral compass or whatever you called it really kicks me in the ass sometimes.
” Like right now, while I tried to think past the intense, red streaks of blood that kept resurfacing over and over in my mind.
“I don’t think that’s the moral compass talking, per se. I think that’s guilt and grief, which would make sense to feel after something like that.”
“Yeah? And how would you know?”
Emerson shook his head slowly. “I don’t. Not personally. But imagining myself going through it, I think that’s what I’d be feeling, too. I can’t say that I understand, because I don’t. But I can say I see where that would be coming from.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Crescent walking up from the back. “Well, thanks, I guess.”
He stood from the booth, taking his coffee with him. “Anytime. Seriously, give me a call if you want to talk more. I’ll just keep offering.”
Maybe he shouldn’t be. I didn’t deserve someone like that—someone I could bear all of my innermost thoughts about this to. There were too many, and they were so heavy, I didn’t think I wanted to give all of them to someone else like that.
Crescent took Emerson’s spot in the booth with a smile on his face. “Who was that?”
I shook my head, waving the question off.
He was nobody I needed to get involved with, even if we did keep running into each other.
Even if he did keep offering the same type of support.
Even if he was being genuine, there was no reason to take him up on it.
Emerson’s kind words and gorgeous eyes might’ve followed me in my thoughts each time we spoke, but I knew deep down that I was far beyond hope.