Chapter Twenty-Five
Vanessa
After Vil and Sheila departed at the grunted orders of my friendly neighborhood guard, I was taken out of the interrogation room and to a new part of the station I hadn’t been to yet.
“Don’t worry,” the guard chuckled as we went through a door that had to be buzzed open from elsewhere, and the noise of the jail part of the headquarters reached me.
“We’ll start you out slow. You’re a gorgeous little thing, so you’re going to have it rough.
We wouldn’t want you to get too roughed up on the first night. ”
My stomach roiled, both at the tone of his voice and his words. I made a mental vow that if I did vomit, it would be all over him. It would probably earn me the butt end of a nightstick, but it would be worth it. I could all but hear the lecherous desire.
Pig.
“This is your cell for the night. Meet your cellmate. Candy.”
I saw a form lying on the bottom bunk, but they didn’t even lift a hand to greet me.
The door clanked open as my guard raised his hand to signal a camera, and he shoved me inside.
“Put your hands through here,” he said, tapping an opening in the bars after they shut behind me.
I did as I was told, and he removed the cuffs. Immediately, I rubbed my wrists where the cold steel had sat for several hours. I wasn’t free, but it was an improvement.
“Have fun,” the guard said as he made his way out of the cell block, chuckling.
I stared at his back, trying to fight down nausea.
“Ignore Wilson,” came a voice from behind me. “He’s an absolute pig, and we all know it.”
I turned to see the other person, my cellmate, had sat up. She was somewhere between thirty and fifty but had seen heavy drug use. Smoking, too, if the rasp of her voice was anything to go by. Yet she flashed me a smile, working to put me at ease.
“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you. Nothing to prove in here. You’re safe.”
I eyed her suspiciously, and Candy laughed. “Good. Don’t let down your guard. That’s the first step to surviving.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, lifting a chin toward the bunks along one side. “Top is mine, I take it?”
Candy waved a hand. “Sure. Have at it. I don’t care. Won’t be here for long anyway.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked, leaning against a wall, keeping one eye on the door and one eye on Candy. I didn’t know the rules of the jail and had no idea what would come next, but I was told to survive the night, and I intended to do my best.
After that, once I was sent to more than an overnight holding cell, I’m sure it would be different.
I’d seen all sorts of documentaries on TV, read the news to know what went down.
While some of the stories were exaggerated, I was sure, I could also only assume that much of it went unseen. I would have to prepare myself.
“They only keep people here for up to thirty-day stints,” Candy explained. “Anyone sentenced for more than that gets shipped off to a prison, or, if you’re a real badass, state or federal pen.”
“Can’t wait,” I muttered.
Candy’s scraggly eyebrows rose. “You going there?”
“Probably what I deserve,” I said, already losing faith in Sheila and Vil. How were they going to save me from something I’d done? I wasn’t wrongly accused. I had killed a man.
“That’s heavy,” Candy said as she leaned back against the cinderblock wall, arms crossed over her chest. “What’d they get you for?”
I didn’t see any point in holding back. Maybe if I got a rep as being a hard case, people wouldn’t be as quick to try and take advantage of me. “Probably murder.”
Candy’s whistle filled the cell. “Damn. You do it?”
I looked at her hard. “What kinda question is that?”
She snorted. “Girl. We’re in a fuckin’ jail cell.
What the fuck else we gonna talk about? You think I give a shit what you had for breakfast?
Probably did brunch, what with them fancy nails and attitude.
You fancy white bitches always talking about brunch like it’s some sorta country club la-tee-da-better-than-an-orgasm shit. ”
“Not even close. Getting off is way better,” I said before realizing it.
I didn’t bother pointing out that Candy was white, too.
“At least you got some sense.” Candy smiled, still shaking her head. “So, you do it?”
“Yes. I did. I fucking killed someone, okay?” I snapped. “There, you happy?”
“You actin’ like this some sort of heavy shit. You aren’t the first killer I’ve talked to,” Candy said. “You can relax.”
“How am I supposed to relax? I killed someone. I’m a murderer.”
“Did they deserve it?”
“What?”
Candy sighed. “Did. They. Deserve it? What happened?”
I stared at her. What the hell? What could it hurt? “He carjacked me at knifepoint, was taking me to his home to …”
“To rape you,” Candy said bluntly. “That what you mean?”
I nodded. “At least, I assume. He inferred but never outright said.”
“They always mean it. Especially a pretty thing like you. So, you shot him?”
“Yeah,” I said dully. “I did. I killed him.”
“Fuck that. You ain’t going nowhere. That’s self-defense. You’re gonna walk,” Candy said. “Why you got your panties all up in a knot over it? That motherfucker deserved the bullet.”
“I killed him, though,” I said hoarsely, leaning harder against the wall, trying not to let Candy see that my legs were shaking. “I did it. I …”
“Please. You saved yourself. That’s different. Why are you acting like it’s a big deal?”
“Because,” I whispered. “I always told myself I was no different than he was. And here I am. Doing the same thing. He said it was self-defense, too.”
“He?”
I couldn’t stand any longer and went and sat at the foot of the bed, bent over, arms clutching my stomach.
“My father,” I said.
“Your old man kill someone, too?”
I nodded, the words just pouring out. “He was at a bar. Got drunk. He said he was attacked on his way out. That the other guy jumped him, tried to rob him.”
“So, maybe he did?”
“The guy had four bullet holes,” I said quietly. “All in the back. My dad killed him. There was no knife. Witnesses say the two got into a verbal fight. And my dad just … shot him. In the back. Murdered him.”
Candy snorted. “That’s rough, but that don’t sound like anything close to you. This guy pulled a knife on you and stole your car and tried to fuck you up. That man deserved it. You need to accept that. You and your old man, you’re nothing alike. Did he go to jail?”
I nodded. “Security camera footage showed the whole thing. Some yelling. Then the guy turned and walked off, still yelling. My dad pulled a gun—I didn’t even know he owned one!—and just shot the guy in the back.”
“I ain’t no life counselor or whatever, but you ain’t like him. You were right to kill that fucker. He was gonna probably kill you at some point. If you had let him get away with it, no way he ever can let you go. So he gonna have to kill ya. You just did it first. To save your own life.”
“Maybe,” I said, considering her words. I’d talked with several therapists after my dad’s trial, confessing to them that I feared I was just like him. And even telling Vil what had happened and having him tell me the same thing, none of them had been quite able to put it into words like Candy.
What she said actually made sense.
I was different. I hoped.
“So, what are you in for?” I asked, changing the topic.
“Some bullshit,” Candy said, pulling her legs up onto the bed and telling me about how she was innocent.
But the cops had planted the drugs on her, and then, ‘cause she couldn’t remember where she was or what day it was, that automatically meant she was high and that she had enough pills to be classified as a dealer or whatever.
I listened, eager to talk about something else, even if it sounded like she was more than guilty, despite her attempts to convince me otherwise. I didn’t tell her that, of course.
Eventually, the lights went out, and I climbed onto the top bunk, lying back and impatiently waiting for the morning to come. Then I would learn my fate and what would happen next.
At some point, I finally managed to sleep because the next thing I knew the guard was slamming his baton on the bars, barking at me to get my lazy ass down and ready.
“Wilson, you’re a piece of shit,” Candy said. “Would it kill you not to be an asshole?”
“Probably,” the guard said. “Would it kill you not to be a meth-head hooker?”
“Probably,” Candy fired back. “But at least I’m not a cunt about it.”
I listened to the interaction as I climbed down and put my wrists through the bars, deciding it was probably better to stay neutral.
“Best of luck out there,” Candy said. “Don’t let Wilson grope your ass on the way out.”
Wilson snarled angrily at Candy, then gestured harshly for the doors to open and pulled me out.
“He’s just mad he got called out for it,” Candy told me with a wink. “See ya, kid.”
“Bye,” I said meekly and let myself be escorted out of the cell block and up to a courtroom where Sheila and Vil both waited.
Vil enveloped me in a hug, his low growl cutting off Wilson’s protest. The guard swallowed audibly and took a step back.
“How are you?” Vil asked, stroking the back of my head while he kissed my forehead.
“Um. Tired,” I said. “But other than that? Strangely better, oddly enough. I had a good talk with my cellmate. She helped me to see things differently.”
“Good,” Vil said. “I think.”
“Yeah.”
We were interrupted by the arrival of the judge. I sat down, speaking only when ordered by Sheila, who did most of the talking. My answers consisted mostly of no or yes, your honor. It was over in twenty minutes.
“What happened?” I asked, dazed at the rapidity of it.
“You’re free to go,” Sheila said with a smile. “But you have to stay nearby. No more running away.”
“She’ll be with me,” Vil said. “We won’t go far.”
“I would hope so,” Sheila said. “At half a million dollars bail, if she runs, it’s on you.”
“Do I have to do anything else?” I asked.
“Usually, you have to give up your passport, but the police already have that and your license in evidence,” Sheila said, “so nope. Just don’t break any more laws, and I’ll keep working on this from my end. You’ll be fine.”
“Thank you,” I said, shaking her hand. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me until you get the bill,” she said, directing that at Vil.
“Money is nothing compared to Vanessa’s freedom,” he growled.
“As long as you pay, I don’t care what your thoughts on it are,” Sheila said lightly, smiling. “I’ll be in touch.”
She departed, and we followed, me all but clinging to Vil’s arm.
“What now?” I asked him outside the station. “Can I go home?”
“Not yet,” he said. “It’s a crime scene still, apparently. But come, I have a place for you to stay.”
“You do? Does it have a bed? I could really go for a nap.”
“I rented a hotel room,” he said, then broke out into a knowing smile. “With two beds.”