Chapter Nineteen #2
I blanch, but he’s got a point. “I just want to see him,” I say, which is 100 percent the truth.
A large black Cadillac Escalade rolls into the grassy area where people are starting to park and gather. The SUV sits idling with exhaust clouds escaping behind it, keeping its passengers warm.
Is Johnny Adair one of those passengers? My hands start to tremble, so I shove them in my pockets.
More media has also shown up, and so have more townspeople.
They are all milling around, a low hum of chatter hovering in the air.
There are a lot more cameras and press present than at the news conference in Natchitoches.
And if one of those cameras swings in this direction and spots me, things could get tricky.
Carl follows my gaze. “You shouldn’t have come, Rita. You could have watched this online.”
“Not a chance,” I say. “But I’ll stay out of the way. Don’t worry.”
He trots back to Erin’s side, and I watch them set up by the podium. I’m expecting that pull again, the need to be the one front and center in the scrum. And I do feel something, but it’s not as strong as it was when I watched Erin talking to the detective. I’m right where I need to be.
Chief Duplantis makes his way to the podium.
“All right, folks. Let’s get started,” he says, his voice booming since there is no microphone on the podium.
No electrical outlets in the forest. There are, however, several news microphones attached to the podium so the outlets represented here won’t miss a word.
I pull my cap down a little farther over my face. The crowd moves in.
“My name is William Duplantis, chief of police at the Natchitoches Police Department,” Duplantis says, and I steady my breath. “Today Mr. Johnny Adair will be making a brief statement. Please give us a few minutes, and we’ll be bringing him up. Mr. Adair will not be taking questions today.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd. Erin is in front of the semicircle around the podium. She’s in the same nondescript look as the other day, beige pants, white button-up. Unlike me, she completely blends in. Nothing about her stands out, and I wonder if that is part of her strategy.
“Afterward,” Duplantis says, “I’ll take a few questions. Also,” he adds, “we ask that everyone stay clear of this building. It’s dangerous inside. We are currently looking into ways to secure it. Until then, we ask everyone to please stay away.”
I glance over my shoulder as a white luxury SUV pulls in behind the Escalade.
But unlike the Escalade, the occupants of this car don’t stay hidden.
Both front doors open, and Katrina and Summer step out.
Something electric zigs through my veins.
Being on this land, at this school, with them again feels .
. . wrong. They meet in front of the car and walk together to the far side of the crowd, opposite me.
If they’ve seen me, they haven’t let on.
Katrina is in a different pair of $300 jeans, these dark blue and ripped, and a sweater and coat as black as her hair.
Summer is in a flowy floral dress and long pink coat, and of course she looks gorgeous.
Blond tendrils fall from her messy bun. Several people stop to watch her.
I know Katrina would love to believe they are watching her, but it’s Summer people always stop to stare at.
A woman in a police uniform walks to the Escalade and taps on the window.
The door opens. I catch Summer taking Katrina’s hand, and an odd emotion creeps over me.
I want to label it annoyance, but that’s not it.
What I’m feeling is more visceral, like envy.
They’ve still got each other. They get to stand side by side as whatever is about to happen develops.
But I remind myself that’s leftover shit from our tripod of a friendship.
I know three is the number nature loves, but it’s not the number a friend group loves.
One of us was always left out. And that one was usually me.
I refocus on the SUV and the man getting out of it. Johnny Adair steps out first, and the dulled headache from earlier transforms into shards of pain between my ears. He unfolds from the car, and I understand why they needed an SUV to get him here.
“Jesus Christ,” a man in front of me says.
Johnny Adair is huge, even taller than Carl.
Much taller than I remember him being. Each arm is bigger than one of my legs.
A tight long-sleeve shirt shows every muscle, and over that sits a bulletproof vest that looks as if it were made for a child compared to his broad chest. His neck looks like the trunk of one of the pines out here. His head and his face are clean shaven.
The bulletproof vest is interesting. I wonder if it’s a gimmick his lawyer came up with or if he’s received actual threats.
I wish I could convince myself that Johnny was no longer a threat.
But any chance I had of doing that evaporated as soon as he stepped out of that car.
I was expecting a shriveled-up man defeated by prison. Nothing about this man looks defeated.
I swallow and catch myself backing up a step on legs that now feel made of liquid, my heart pounding so hard I’ve probably fooled my fitness watch into thinking I’m running.
Then Johnny’s advocate from the Innocence Project steps out, and the spike in my heart rate hits a new level.
My jaw tightens to the point I may chip a tooth.
The man is wearing a modest suit similar to the one he was wearing at the lobby bar of the Kingston Hotel last night. The one I helped him take off in his hotel room.
Mother—