CHAPTER 13 #2
It felt like hours before I was brought to a phone. It could have been minutes though, I have no way of knowing. Who are you supposed to call when you’ve been arrested? No one ever told me. Not that it mattered. I don’t have any numbers memorized. Not my mom’s. Not my dad’s. Not Liam’s.
Actually, that’s a lie. I do have one phone number memorized, but I can’t call that one. An officer stands behind my shoulder, staring at my back. They didn’t give me anything to cover up with, and my sports bra is not as conservative as I now wish it was. I take a breath and dial the number.
Sergeant Benson? Her voice is crisp on the line. Your payment isn’t due for two more weeks.
“No, it’s me.” I sniffle and wipe my nose. “Astrid.”
Why are you calling me from a police station? Sparks asks. I can almost hear her roll her eyes, annoyed at my voice.
“I’m in trouble.” My voice squeaks, and I hate how scared I sound. “I’ve been arrested. I don’t have anyone else to call.”
Am I really your emergency contact? She munches on something crunchy. Is she eating right now? Seriously? Girl, that needs to be updated.
“Can you please bail me out?” I beg. “I’ll pay you back.”
I can just bust you out, she offers. That’s free.
“Absolutely not!” I hiss, covering the phone with my hand. Hopefully the guard behind me didn’t catch that, although I don’t think he’s supposed to be listening. “Please, can you help me?”
Ugghh, Sparks groans. Fine. Were you arrested doing what I think you were doing?
“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” I say, more for the officer than for Sparks. “I was just out for a jog.”
That’s a yes. I hear a deep breath. Do yourself a favor. Don’t talk to the cops. I’ll take care of this.
“Okay.” My voice cracks, and I can feel my chin tremble. The officer taps his foot impatiently, gesturing for me to wrap up my call.
Keep your head up, Astrid. I’ve got you.
The officer reaches around and disconnects my call.
I am led to a cold holding cell with a few people inside.
Are they criminals? What did they do? I sit on a bench along the wall, keeping to myself.
A man glances my way, raising an eyebrow at my scant clothing.
I scooch further down the bench, and he thankfully leaves me alone.
More time passes. Minutes. Hours. Time has lost all meaning.
“Larson!” One of the guards calls.
I scamper to the door. This is it! I can go!
Amendment – I could not.
I was ushered back into the interrogation room, one way mirror and all.
My restraints are shackled to the center of the table.
The metal chair is cold against my skin.
Goosebumps line my arms and I shiver. Did they turn the air conditioning lower before I came in?
Two guards storm in and slam a file on the table.
“Lovely afternoon,” one says to the other. “Nothing like a nice, warm April day to lift my spirits.”
“I had a lobster roll on the pier during my lunch break,” the second officer responds. “Delicious.”
“What did you have for lunch?” The first guard asks, looking at me.
Sparks’s voice repeats in my ear. Don’t talk to the cops. I left my apartment this morning close to 5 a.m. Don’t talk to the cops. How is it past lunchtime already? I’m hungry, thirsty, and scared. Don’t talk to the cops.
“Hello?” The first officer waves his hand in front of my face. “Are you listening?”
I just start sobbing, shaking hard enough to rattle my chair. The cops look at each other awkwardly.
“We haven’t even started the bad cop bit yet,” the second one whispers to the first. The first doesn’t have a response. He slides a box of tissues to me, and I blow my nose.
“Good afternoon, officers.” A man in a flashy suit bursts through the door. “Chris Rimes of C. Rimes Law. We seem to have a slight problem.”
“... excuse me?” The first officer stares dumbstruck at the intrusion. I am just as startled.
“Yes, you are excused,” the lawyer responds. “If you feel so inclined, you may also kiss the rings.” He extends a hand with ostentatious rings on each finger. The policemen roll their eyes as the lawyer withdraws his hand. “Only kidding, only kidding. Now let’s get back to business, shall we?”
“Why are you interrupting our interrogation?” The second officer stands angrily.
“Advocating for my client’s constitutional rights,” Chris speaks quickly, whipping his words at the officers. “You have heard of those, correct? And laws? I find those all to be very helpful for police officers to know.”
“We know laws.” The first officer stands as well, trying to be intimidating. It’s not effective.
“Your parents must be proud.”
Chris slides off his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders as he sits in the chair next to me.
I gladly accept the jacket, thankful for the small amount of modesty.
He gives me a cheeky wink, as if to say “enjoy the show.” Ever so slightly, the pit of dread in my stomach subsides. Maybe everything will be okay.
“My client has had several infringements on her rights in the several hours she has been in your custody.” Chris leans back, slamming his briefcase on the table and unclipping the latches.
“For starters, she has been given neither food nor water, has not been informed of her rights, and has not been kept in a holding facility separate from members of the opposite gender. Those are just the ones I have the paperwork ready for.”
Chris reaches into his briefcase and pulls out paper after paper after paper. He pats his shirt before remembering I was wearing his jacket.
“Dearie, would you mind pulling out the pen in the coat pocket?” He points to several lines denoted by sticky flags. “I need you to sign these.”
“Hold on now,” the first officer stammers. “Let’s talk, shall we? We can offer a plea deal.”
“Good for you, we decline,” Chris says, condescendingly.
“Because while Astrid Larson was in your custody, the Water Weaver – the very same person you allege my client to be – has been seen gallivanting around West Boston. I have witness statements and photographic evidence. Could you possibly explain to me how Miss Larson was both here and there?”
Chris pulls a stack of photos from his briefcase and flings them across the table.
I catch a glimpse of someone in blue. Wait, what?
The officers seem just as confused as I am.
The three of us examine the photos. These are pictures of the Water Weaver, or at least someone in the costume.
But I left that in the alley? I look closer and see Sparks having an absolute ball, wearing a blonde wig and running through the streets.
She has a squirt gun in each hand, and she sprays water at random bystanders while darting between cars.
In a different picture, she spins, laughing at how the fabric flows with her movements. This is so embarrassing.
“Stop looking so interested,” Chris chides under his breath. I drop the photo reluctantly, and he chuckles. “I’ll get you copies later.”
“This isn’t possible,” one of the policemen mutters. “We caught her.”
“That’s not the way the media will see this.
” Chris stands slowly, planting his hands on the table.
“The story they will run is that of the upstanding, moral citizen you dragged here. The fine, respectable woman, practically a child, who was crying alone in an interrogation room wearing nothing more than her undergarments, as two male police officers coerce her into false confessions for fear of her own safety.”
“But―” an officer tries to cut in, but Chris isn’t done.
“Now, I advise you to get on the phone and apologize to your bosses,” Chris threatens.
“Because after my client and I leave here, I am going to draft much, much more paperwork. I am going to rain hellfire down on this precinct until you can’t take a shit without getting a papercut.
I’m talking harassment, unlawful arrest, violation of constitutional rights, and whatever else my interns can think of. ”
“You don’t have the grounds!” The officer doesn’t look too confident in his rebuttal.
“I don’t care.” Chris shrugs. “You have to respond to them regardless. I get paid to waste your time. Unless… no, that’s crazy.”
“What?” The first officer probes. “Unless what?”
“No, I won’t even consider it.” Chris dramatically looks away.
“Spit it out.” The second guard is losing his patience, but Chris doesn’t let it disrupt his performance.
“Maybe if you would drop the charges and release my client…” He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I could be persuaded to waste my time in other precincts. Maybe.”
Within minutes, Chris and I are walking out of the police station. His jacket has been returned to him since the Boston PD so nicely provided me with a shirt, requested of course by Chris. The sun is high in the sky, and I squint at the unexpected light.
“Nice to meet you, kid.” Chris thumps my shoulder. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” I promise. “Thank you!”
He gives a pageant queen wave as he walks away, surely to hassle some other police officers in Boston.
I continue down the steps and spot Sparks parked on the street.
She’s laying on her bike, resting her head against the handlebars.
Her cropped tank shows off her toned stomach.
She sits up when she sees me, adjusting the brim of her baseball cap over her sunglasses.
“How was life on the inside?” Sparks mocks, smiling lightheartedly. “Did you join a gang? Please tell me you got a tattoo.”
I don’t say anything, just sit next to her on the bike. She pulls me into a hug, and I nestle my face in her shoulder, exhausted, strung out, and emotional.
“There, there,” she soothes. “I’ve got you.”
“Thanks for your help, and for Chris.” I mumble into her neck, savoring the residual smell of the sandalwood and bergamot body wash Sparks always uses.
“Ah, Chris Rimes of C. Rimes Law,” Sparks chuckles. “For when you need a frosty motherfucker. He’s a total schmuck, but he knows his way around the courtroom. Love that guy.”
“Today really sucked.”
“Sorry we couldn’t get you out faster. Our legal defense took a bit to set up,” she whispers softly. “They were playing hardball, so we had to get creative. Your suit is back at your apartment.”
“I think it’s time to retire.” I kick at a rock with my foot. “They freaking shot at me.”
“Up to you.” She shrugs. “You hungry? Let’s go get you something to eat.”
“It’s fine.” I stand and wave her off. “I’m just going to go home.”
“Why do you think I’m here?” Sparks asks dryly. “You need a ride wherever you’re going.”
“You shouldn’t have,” I protest. “You’ve already done so much.”
Sparks stretches as she straddles her bike. The sun rays highlight the small of her back, her smooth skin, the gun in her waistband. Wait, gun?
“Get on the fucking bike, Astrid,” Sparks commands, stuffing her baseball cap into a saddlebag.
“You have a gun,” I state. “Why did you bring a gun to a police station?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she laughs. “Chris Rimes is my lawyer.”
My hands wrap around her waist as she peels away from the curb. It feels so familiar, yet so strange, like the hauntings of a memory. Neither of us are wearing a helmet, she used to insist I did. I tried to force her to as well but had less success.
Sparks rounds a curb quickly, and I instinctively squeeze her waist, flinching away from the hard concrete below. She slows the bike, adjusting to my discomfort. Despite my apprehension, Sparks pulls up to my apartment without incident. She cuts the engine as I get off.
“Thank you for everything,” I say awkwardly. “I know it was a lot to ask. I’ll pay you back.”
“It’s not a problem.” She looks sincere, but I don’t know. We aren’t friends. “Honestly, Chris is on retainer, and I probably had a bit too much fun taking those photos.”
She gets off the bike and walks toward the stairs.
“No!” I blurt out. “It’s okay. You can go home.”
“Astrid, I don’t think you should be alone right now.” She looks hurt.
“I’m fine,” I reply stubbornly. “Thank you.”
“Okay.” Sparks sits back on her bike, watching as I climb the stairs by myself.
“Astrid,” she calls as I unlock the door. I turn to face her as a small amount of water splashes on my arm.
“Pew pew!” She waves the squirt gun in her hand and drives away.
I step back into my apartment and lock my door.
It feels duller than it used to, like it’s missing something.
I know what it is, but I won’t admit it to myself.
The dishes have been done. The rugs are vacuumed.
A fresh tea bag sits on the counter next to a mug filled with water.
She’s so thoughtful, but I’m not in the mood for tea right now.
A small bag sits at the foot of my bed. I unzip it and my disguise is folded inside.
I used to wear this proudly, like a badge of honor, but it seems like I’m not wanted anymore.
I lift the fabric intending to set it back in its hiding place, but the subtle scents of sandalwood and bergamot tingle my nose. It smells like her.
I flop onto the bed, holding the suit to my chest. Burying my face in the clothes, I savor the lingering scent.
I can’t do this anymore, can’t keep lying to myself, refusing to face what I’ve known to be true for months now.
Distractions haven’t worked, every road leads back to here, to this moment.
The missing part of my life, the reason I toss and turn all night.
Anise. Sparks. Charlotte. The name doesn’t matter.
I still love her.
I cradle the bodysuit, pretending she’s in the bed next to me. For the first time in four months, I effortlessly drift asleep.