Chapter 30 #2
I stay quiet, unable to be mad at Shirley and wanting to call Blue and warn her. Yet I know that anything I do from now on will be added to my list of violations.
The knock comes exactly eleven minutes later. It isn't loud or dramatic. It's precise, measured, the kind of knock that already knows it will be answered.
My spine straightens, my shoulders arch back, and my breath comes through my nose.
Shirley pats my arm, then opens the door.
Two uniformed officers stand in the hallway, their presence immediately changing the air in the room. One is older, eyes sharp and practiced. The other looks younger and alert, with his hand resting close to his belt without touching it.
"Dr. Mercer?" the older one asks.
"Yes."
He steps inside, glancing once at Shirley, then back to me. "You called to self-report."
"I did."
He nods, as if checking off an item on a list only he can see. "We're going to need to ask you some questions."
"Of course."
They don't sit. The younger officer positions himself closer to the door, blocking it without making a show. The older one pulls out a small notebook. He starts, "You understand your rights? You're not under arrest at this moment, but anything you say can be used in an investigation."
"I understand."
"Are there any weapons in the office?"
"No."
"Anyone else involved?"
"No."
The questions continue to come methodically, stripped of judgment and emotion. Dates. Titles. Professional relationship. Termination of care. All of it gets unwrapped until my entire relationship with Blue is no longer protected.
I answer each one carefully, choosing language that places the weight squarely on my shoulders.
Shirley stays silent behind her desk, hands clasped tightly.
The older officer watches my face as I speak, not interrupting, letting the details accumulate. When I finish, he closes the notebook. He says, "You've been cooperative. That matters."
I don't respond.
He shifts his stance. "At this point, we're going to ask you to accompany us downtown to provide a formal statement."
Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down and nod.
The younger officer glances at his partner, then back at me. "For everyone's safety, we're going to place you in cuffs during transport."
Panic tightens in my chest. I choke out, "I understand."
Shirley inhales sharply. "Is that necessary?"
The older officer looks at her. "Procedure."
I turn slightly, offering my wrists without being asked. Cold metal closes around them, heavy and restricting. They click into place, and my stomach spins faster.
The younger officer steps forward. "You can gather personal items if you need to."
"I don't. My wallet is in my pocket."
They guide me toward the door, and I catch my reflection in the glass wall of the office. The man staring back looks intact. Professional. Unbroken. I wonder how long that illusion will last, and all the years I thought I'd never lose my ethical high ground mock me.
We move through the hallway. Doors crack open. Faces appear, then vanish. Whispers trail behind us, too soft to decipher, and sharp enough to cut anyway.
The elevator ride is silent.
When the doors open to the lobby, my heart drops.
Blue stands near the reception desk, a small paper bag clutched to her chest, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She's smiling, already stepping toward me. Her gaze drops to my wrists, and her beautiful smile collapses.
"Red?" she says, confusion snapping into panic.
The officers tighten their grip, steering me forward.
"Go home," I order.
"Red? What's going on? Why do you have him in cuffs?" she shrieks.
"Ma'am, step away," the younger officer advises.
The security officer swings the door open to the street, and sunlight floods in, cruel and indifferent. I step outside, and Blue follows as the moment fractures into something none of us can put back together.
She drops the bag. The sound shouldn't be loud, but it lands in my chest like an impact, with paper tearing, and cookies scattering across the concrete.
And I see it all in fragments—the way one rolls and bumps into my shoe, the absurdity of it, the normalcy of something baked with care breaking apart on the ground of my ruined life.
"Red?" Her sob slices straight through me.
I turn my head before I can stop myself.
Her bright, fearful gaze locks on my wrists. The color drains from her face so fast, it's like watching something die. She screams. "No. No, no, no!"
My chest tightens.
Blue moves toward me, fast, reckless, hands already reaching. Someone steps in front of her, and she collides with the barrier of a uniformed chest.
"What's going on?" she shouts, spinning, wild now. "Why are there cops here? Why is he—" Her gaze snaps back to the cuffs. Her breath fractures. "Take those off him. Take them off right now."
"Ma'am, step back," the younger officer orders.
She doesn't hear him. She never does when she's locked onto something. Her eyes stay on me, pleading, demanding, searching my face for the explanation I'm not allowed to give.
"Red! Tell them to let you go!"
My insides shake. "I can't. Go home. Please."
Her expression twists, disbelief flashing hot and fast. "What?"
"Go home," I repeat, sharper this time, because if I don't anchor it, she'll drown us both.
She laughs, high and fractured, tears already spilling. "I baked for you. I came here for you. You said tonight." She ducks under the cop's arm and reaches for me.
The older officer turns on her, holding her back.
Her voice pitches upward, spiraling. "Let me go! You don't get to take him away from me!"
"Ma'am, you need to calm down."
"Blue, go home!" I try again.
She lunges at the cop, her arms wildly flailing against his chest.
The younger officer grabs her arms, putting her in a choke hold.
"Let her go," I roar, moving toward them.
She fights them instantly, feral, nails scraping, heels digging into the pavement. "Let go of me! That's my—he's mine!"
The older cop kicks the back of my knee, and I fall to the ground on my side, unable to use my hands to stop the crash and trying to avoid my face being broken. I crash hard on my shoulder and hip, crying out in pain.
"Red!" she screeches.
The officer pins me. "Stay down." He draws his gun over me.
My heart races faster. I snap, "Let her go!"
They tighten their grip on her, voices overlapping, commands stacking. She screams my name like it's a weapon, like it might break whatever invisible wall they've put between us.
"Red! Look at me!"
I do. God help me, I do from the corner of my eye.
And then the cuffs go on her.
She freezes for half a second, staring at her wrists as if they belong to someone else. Then she loses it completely.
"What are you doing? I didn't do anything! I didn't do anything wrong!"
"You're being detained," the older officer says.
The word hits her like a slap. She thrashes again, sobbing now, rage and terror bleeding together. "Red! Make them stop! Please!"
I growl, "Don't touch her."
It only accelerates everything.
They pull her away from me, dragging her backward while she fights, cries, begs, and curses. My name rips out of her over and over, each time weaker, more broken, until it sounds like a wound.
"Red, you promised me!" she screams as they turn her toward another car. "You promised you wouldn't leave me!"
Our eyes lock across the space they've forced between us.
I'm helpless, unable to move, with the gun still pointing at me.
The door slams. Her scream carries through the air, echoing long after the car begins to move.
I don't move, cuffed, hollowed out, watching the last thing I love disappear down the road, knowing this is the moment she'll replay forever.
And knowing I'll deserve every second of her hatred.
A note from Maggie Cole
Thank you for reading Resisting Blue.