Chapter Eleven
I left Harper at the casino door, telling her to go inside while I made the long walk back to my place. The night air was bitter, slicing through my shirt and straight to my bones, but I welcomed it. The cold let me think, let me scrape some clarity out of the mess in my head.
But whatever conclusion I came to, whatever optimism I convinced myself I felt, vanished the moment I approached my studio door.
Two policemen were waiting to escort me down to the station, where I was held until now.
Turns out Dr. Hollister had been running a state-of-the-art CCTV system with integrated audio recording.
Brilliant on his part, catastrophic for me.
They had me on video, laying out the plan, stabbing myself with the scalpel, so I confessed to the whole thing.
Two days later and I’m reusing the smart gray trousers and shirt Rhys bought, sighing with the weight of stress I almost escaped.
The courthouse waiting room smells of stale coffee and old carpet cleaner, its retro pattern swirling beneath my shoes.
Rows of wooden chairs line the walls, their armrests too narrow for someone my size.
The scar under my shirt itches like hell, but I don’t scratch.
I let it fester, since it’s the reason I’m sitting here in the first place.
I check my phone for the millionth time since the casino, both glad and annoyed I haven’t heard from Harper. She’s giving me space, but all that does is give me time to overthink. To wonder what the pair of them are doing, where they’re going, if they’ve even left the hotel room at all.
When I was a kid, jealousy meant hiding in the school bathroom after Christmas break so I wouldn’t have to see the other kids’ new gadgets and sneakers.
It meant watching people stroll by with shopping bags I couldn’t afford, salivating over their lives from a distance.
Eventually I learned, if you look hard enough, there’s always someone worse off.
Someone who’d probably envy me for the family I had and the scraps of love I was given.
This jealousy is different. The image of Wavershit’s hands on Harper’s skin, the thought of his mouth on her.
It eats me alive. I keep my hands clamped in my lap, resisting the urge to fidget.
My hair falls into my face, shielding me from the fluorescent lights, the posters about rehabilitation, and the low murmur of felons and thugs scattered across the room.
Not that I’m any better, I’m a convicted criminal too.
“Mr. Michaels?” the receptionist calls.
I stand, keeping my spine rigid as I cross the hall to the door her bony finger points to. My heart is hammering, but my face is a mask of calm. I promised myself I’d never set foot in a courthouse again. At least my mother isn’t sitting in the back row whilst her heart is breaking this time.
The district courthouse is smaller than I expected, empty wooden benches spanning either side of the dreaded walkway.
I step through the gate in the center and take my seat at the left desk, utterly alone.
I was offered a state attorney but I have no defense.
I’m guilty, as my future is once again in the hands of the judge at the front of the room.
A man with thinning black hair, a wide nose under thin glasses, and a black robe draped over his shoulders, holding my file.
To my right sits Dr. Hollister, his own attorney at his side. Neither of them look my way, their faces resolute as they listen to what the judge has to say.
“You’re an extremely lucky young man, Mr. Michaels,” he announces.
I almost laugh out loud. I don’t think of myself as lucky in any sense of the word, but I keep my hands folded in front of me and my expression neutral.
“Against the advice of his counsel, Dr. Hollister has taken into consideration a new piece of evidence which was presented to us this morning. Your state scholarship to Waversea Academy has been reinstated, and as such, the plaintiff decided to drop the charges against you.”
For a second, the air locks in my lungs.
My head whips toward Hollister and his lawyer, but neither spares me a glance.
I’d been prepared to take the jail time they were sure to give me, finding the small blessings in a place to stay and meals provided.
I’m bigger now, more capable of holding my own in the prison yard.
“However,” the judge continues, “there is the cost of the medication taken and the damage to the building’s exterior to be considered. Since your accomplice could not be found, who by your own admission is a minor, we think it’s only fair you cover Dr. Hollister’s losses.”
I nod, relief loosening a knot I hadn’t realized was sitting in my chest. At least the kid got away, and maybe his mom can breathe easier for a while.
Still, the guilt lingers. For the second time, Hollister has shown me kindness unlike I’ve ever known.
A stranger who has offered me a future, even after I deceived him.
With a flourish of his pen, the judge signs the paperwork and hands it to a security guard, who promptly ushers me out so the next case can begin.
I hear murmurs behind me as I leave, but I keep walking, a fire under my ass to not hang around long enough for anyone to change their minds.
The receptionist at the front desk holds me up whilst she prepares the paperwork, outlining what has been decided here today and the fine I must pay.
Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I notice Dr. Hollister by the door, shaking hands with his lawyer and pulling on his coat.
I tell myself to keep away, but my feet ignore me.
“Dr Hollister,” I say quietly, my head dipped.
Pausing with his fingers over his coat button, he turns slowly, agreeing to hear what I have to say.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry I let you down.
” Noting the sincerity in my gaze, the doc nods, finishing the buttoning with the deft fingers of a medical professional.
“I grew up in a similar neighborhood to you, and I know all too well the desire to help everyone. But you simply can’t.
There will always be suffering and heartache.
We can only do so much before it consumes us, and we deserve to live too.
It’s not selfish, it’s necessary,” he pauses, his expression softening.
“You’re not a bad person, Clayton. Get your education, gain some life experience, and one day you’ll be in a position to help others. ”
The next inhale I take comes a little easier.
The doc’s tone is even, lacking all traces of the disdain I’m owed.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone I can look up to, an example of what a decent man looks like.
He may not know it, but Dr Hollister just became that example for me.
Pulling his collar higher, he braces himself for the wind howling against the doors.
“Come pay me a visit sometime. I want to see the man you become.” Pushing the door open, he disappears as the ache in my chest eases.
My name is called, the paperwork ready, and I’m soon slipping outside too, tugging a beanie over my hair.
It’s out of place with the rest of my outfit but I instantly feel better, like a piece of home comfort is with me.
Heading for my truck, the cold air is biting but no longer cutting quite as deep.
Somehow, I’ve walked out of here without cuffs or community service.
I’m starting to think my luck has turned around, until I see the tattooed cocky bastard leaning against my driver side door.
His smile grows wide, as if he’s greeting an old pal.
“Well, did it work?!” he holds out his arms, the brand new parka jacket on his torso stretching wide. I slam the papers into his chest, moving past to unlock my trunk.
“Let me guess, you submitted the new evidence?” Peering over my shoulder, Rhys chuckles, reading the conditions of my release.
“Six thousand dollars,” he whistles, invested in the papers as if they’re the evening news.
Ignoring him, I hop into the driver’s seat and almost flinch when Rhys pops the passenger door and climbs in.
“I’ve got to say, I’m impressed, Scum. Robbery and property damage. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I don’t. I helped a kid steal meds for his dying mom,” I grumble, turning over the engine. Rhys goes still, his hands dropping into his lap. Thankfully, for one merciless moment, the stupid smile is wiped clean off his face.
“Why do you have to suck the fun out of everything? The next time I have to bail you out, there had better be at least one guy on a ventilator because you bashed his head in with a pipe.” He folds the paper and shoves it into his parka pocket, seemingly resolving the next dilemma I needed to face.
How to pay the fine. I don’t argue, I just drive since Rhys seems intent on tagging along.
“There won’t be a next time,” I grit through my teeth.
His laughter is low but I hear it over the roar of my exhaust, the billowing black smoke trailing behind suggesting I’ve got other problems to fix.
Clenching my jaw, I focus on my hatred for the asshole daring to reach forward and mess about with my radio stations.
This is the last time I’ll accept his money.
Being indebted to Wavershit is a prison sentence in its own right.
Pulling up outside the apartment building, I head inside, stopping short when a pair of footsteps follow. Rhys crashes into my back and I whirl around to glare at him.
“What are you doing? Where is Harper?” He shrugs like the question barely grazes him.
“She’s fine. Her time of the month arrived so I left her in the hotel room to mope around.” I grind my teeth.
“You didn’t think to stay and comfort her?”