Chapter 19 Harper
HARPER
The first time I see Marcus Chen again, he’s being dragged down a fluorescent-lit hallway in handcuffs.
He’s shouting. Not coherent sentences, not anything that resembles reason, a stream of rage and accusation that echoes off the tiled walls.
His black hair is greasy and matted, his clothes rumpled like he’s been sleeping in them for days.
There’s a wildness in his eyes that makes my stomach turn, a manic intensity that has nothing left to anchor it to reality.
“This is her fault!” he yells, twisting against the grip of the officer holding his arm. “She did this to me. She ruined everything!”
I flinch despite myself.
Aiden’s hand closes around mine instantly, his thumb pressing gently into my palm like a reminder that I’m not alone and I’m not in danger. He doesn’t step in front of me or block my view. He lets me see, lets me process, but he stays close enough that I feel his presence in every breath.
The officers push Marcus through a door at the end of the hall, and the sound of it slamming shut echoes louder than it should. The station feels sterile and over-bright, all white walls and humming lights. A detective gestures for us to sit, his expression calm but serious.
“He’s agitated but contained. We’re going to need a full statement from you, Ms. Lane.”
I nod, even though my chest feels tight. “That’s why I’m here.” It’s not entirely true. I needed to see him here. Locked up.
Seeing is believing, and last night, even though I slept next to Aiden, I couldn’t calm my brain down. Not after seeing my livelihood go up in smoke.
“There’s also a possibility,” the detective continues carefully, “that you may need to be present while we document his reaction to certain evidence. You won’t be alone. And you don’t have to engage with him directly unless you choose to.”
Aiden’s grip on my hand tightens slightly. “I’m coming with her.”
The detective nods. “Of course.”
We’re led to an observation room, the air cooler here, quieter.
Through the one-way glass, I watch as Marcus sit at a metal table in the interrogation room.
He’s hunched forward, hands cuffed to a ring bolted into the surface, leg bouncing violently.
His mouth is still moving, though I can’t hear what he’s saying now.
He looks smaller like this. I like it.
The detective stands beside me and lowers his voice.
“He’d been stalking the bar for weeks. Watching repair crews.
Tracking schedules. Planning the arson methodically.
We caught him on camera at the bank on the corner of your street, the jewelry store next door, a few others.
Plenty of evidence to put him away for a very long time. ”
The words sink in slowly, like cold water seeping through fabric. Weeks. All that time, I’d been living my life, believing the danger was past, while he was planning. Studying. Stalking.
I picture myself locking up after meetings with contractors, laughing with Roz about how annoying insurance paperwork is, and going home tired but relieved that things were moving forward. All that time, he was watching. Calculating.
“He blames you for everything,” the detective continues. “Being fired. His girlfriend leaving. Not being able to find another job.”
I let out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped in my lungs for days. Of course he does. Accountability has never been his strong suit. Hell, even I tried to make it all my fault, too.
We are both wrong on that score.
I watch Marcus through the glass as he slams his cuffed hands against the table, his face twisting with fury and grievance.
Despite that, for the first time since the fire, something inside me steadies. He’s a caged animal. Nothing more. A beast of a man who can no longer hurt me.
I nod once. “I’m ready. Whatever you need, detective.”
They give me water I don’t drink and a chair that’s bolted to the floor.
The detective explains the process again, slower this time, as if repetition might make it okay.
I’ll give a formal statement first. Then, if I’m willing, they’ll bring Marcus back into the room so they can document his reactions and statements with me present.
I won’t be required to engage. I can stop at any time.
Aiden will be right outside the door the entire time.
Which he hates.
“Seriously? You want me to leave her alone in a room with that maniac? Are you out of your mind?”
The detective sighs. “I will be in there—”
“That’s not enough!”
“—armed and eager to show him my marksman skills,” he finishes. His eyes narrow on Marcus through the one-way glass. “That piece of shit has a hell of a kick, and I’d like an excuse for payback.”
I smile at Aiden. “I’ll be fine. He can’t hurt me here. Or anywhere else now.”
His jaw tightens. “If he looks at you the wrong way, I’m coming in.”
“Deal.”
They lead me down another hallway, quieter than the first, the air cooler here.
I’m acutely aware of every step I take, every echo of my shoes against the tile.
Aiden walks with me until we reach the door to the interview room.
He stops there, his hand brushing mine one last time. “I’ll be right here.”
I look up at him, taking in his steady expression, the calm confidence that’s been holding me upright since last night. “I know. But I really am okay.”
He kisses my forehead. “Well, I’m not. I don’t like this.”
I beam up at him. “I’ll make it quick.”
Inside, the room is precisely what I expect. A metal table. Two chairs. A camera mounted in the corner. The hum of electricity beneath the silence. They seat me on one side and adjust the recorder on the table, making sure everything is in frame.
When Marcus is brought in, the air changes.
He looks worse up close. Unshaven. Dark circles under his eyes.
There’s a twitchiness to him, an energy that feels coiled too tight, ready to snap.
He drops into the chair across from me with a sneer that twists his face into something ugly and familiar.
I’ve known street junkies with less frisson in their aura.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he smiles. “You think you’re so perfect,” he says, his voice low and venomous. “So successful.”
I remind myself of the rules. I don’t have to engage. I can look at the table. I can focus on my breathing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
“I took that from you,” he continues, leaning forward as far as the cuffs will allow. “How does it feel?”
Something unexpected happens. The fear I’ve been carrying doesn’t spike. It drains like an infected wound that got lanced. The pressure, the pain, it all slides away like it was nothing.
I look at him, really look at him, and I don’t see power or control or inevitability. I see a man who made choices and is now desperate to make someone else responsible for them.
He’s pathetic. And I’m still standing.
The revelation earns a weird, dry laugh from me. “You took a building, Marcus,” I say calmly. My voice surprises even me. “You didn’t take me.”
His smile falters.
“I’m still standing. And I’ll rebuild. You took nothing that actually matters. Nothing you do matters.” My smile grows. “So, I ask you, how does it feel to be utterly impotent?”
His face flushes red, rage flashing in his eyes as he slams his cuffed hands against the table. He spits, “You ruined everything!”
“No,” I say, steady now. “You ruined your own life, and you tried to blame that on me, because you’re a pathetic loser.”
Rage fills his eyes, twists his face. “You bitch! You’ll pay for this! You’ll—”
“No, actually, I won’t. You’re the one behind bars, and you’re going to stay there for a very long time.” I sit back in my chair, my hands resting calmly in my lap.
The detective nods once at the mirrored wall. “We’re done here.”
As they lead him away, still shouting, I catch a glimpse of Aiden through the glass. He’s watching me with something like awe on his face.
And for the first time since this began, I feel something close to free.
We finish more paperwork, but I can’t shake that feeling. Marcus is no longer my problem. Sure, I have to rebuild my business, but Aiden’s right about that—it was a building. My people are alive and well, and I will take care of them.
Of all the ways this could have gone, this one isn’t the worst. The other shoe didn’t fall this time.
The police explain the charges in plain language, so I can’t misunderstand them.
Arson. Stalking. Breaking and entering. Attempted murder, because Roz could have died when she walked into the bar that morning.
Then a collective charge of attempted murder for all the people who could have died in the first fire.
Hearing that part makes my stomach flip, the weight of what almost happened settling more heavily than anything Marcus said to my face.
He could have won. He didn’t. Fuck him.
“He’s not getting out anytime soon,” the detective assures me. “There will be court dates. We’ll keep you informed. You’ll be notified before any movement or hearings.”
I nod, absorbing it all in a way that feels oddly distant, like my body is still catching up to the fact that the immediate danger has passed. I thank them, sign what needs signing, and finally stand when they tell me I’m free to go.
Aiden steps close enough that his presence fills my peripheral vision. “You okay?”
I nod. “I am.”
He studies me for a moment. “You really are, aren’t you?”
It feels truer, knowing he can see what I feel. As we walk out of the station, the fluorescent lights give way to softer ones, the night air cooler and less oppressive than it was hours ago. The building feels like it’s exhaling behind us, the worst of it contained inside its walls.
Outside, I pause for a moment before heading toward the parking lot. Something feels different. Lighter.