18. The Aftermath
The police stationbuzzes with activity, the scent of stale coffee and nervous energy clinging to the air. I notice the clacking of keyboards and muffled conversations. Each step towards the elevator echoes in my head. My heart beats fast, as the elevator doors slide open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a sterile box filled.
I step inside the elevator, andthe hum of the machinery is a low drone. Tyler waits outside the elevator on the third floor. The awkwardness I anticipate is softened by comforting familiarity in his presence.
We embrace briefly, a fleeting connection before he leads me to a quiet corner table where two steaming mugs await.
“How are you holding up?” His voice is gentle.
“I’m okay,” I lie, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to articulate the fear I still feel. “Just processing everything.”
He nods. “It’s been a lot.”
Silence descends.
“I’m just so grateful you’re safe,” he finally says. “I don’t know what I would have done if you—”
“I’m here. And I’m okay. Your father– you and S-sarah—-” My voice cracks. “I can never repay you.”
A shadow crosses his face. “It’s also my best friend who tried to kill you—”
I turn away, gazing out the window at the cityscape below. The bustling streets seem a world away, disconnected from the raw emotions that hold me.
“It’s not your fault,” I murmur.
He finishes his coffee, his eyes fixed on the remnants at the bottom of the cup. “Ava—-I’m offered a job out west. A fresh start.” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “I think it’s time.”
Tears prick at my eyes, blurring the cityscape. “It sounds like a good opportunity,” I manage, my voice hoarse. The silence returns, heavier now. Memories flicker through my mind, snapshots of laughter and shared dreams.
“I think it’s best if we don’t keep in touch. Not as friends, not as—anything. I’d always want more, Ava. And you—” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. I understand.
I release my tears; they feel hot against my chilled skin. I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. The napkin beneath my mug is soon soaked.
I rise, gathering my things. A final hug, a lingering touch, and then I turn away, leaving behind a piece of my heart with him.
There’s one more thing I need to do at the police station.I gulp and head for the bathroom first.
* * *
In the restroom, I stare at my reflection: a stranger with tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. I splash water on my face, the coolness a shock that brings me back to the present. With each swipe of the paper towel, I wipe away not just the tears but the remnants of fear.
I need to do this. I want to do this.
I straighten my shoulders, meeting my own gaze strong. The woman staring back is a warrior, scarred but not broken. And with that newfound strength, I head towards Harvey’s office one floor up.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft whoosh, releasing me onto the fifth floor, the heart of the police station’s detective division. Unlike the bustling activity I just witnessed, a quiet hangs in the air here.
The walls are painted a sterile shade of pale gray and are bare except for the occasionally framed commendation or faded wanted poster. The industrial carpet underfoot muffles the sound of my footsteps as I walk. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and dust. As I pass a row of closed doors, I glimpse two detectives through a small window. Their heads bent over a desk littered with papers and coffee cups. Their brows are furrowed in concentration, carrying Port Haven’s burdens.
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and turn the knob at Harvey’s office door. It creaks open, revealing a spacious room. A large desk commands the center, its surface littered with files and folders. Several detectives in civilian clothes huddle around, their low murmurs barely audible above the hum of the air conditioner. The stale scent of cigarettes lingers.
Harvey rises from behind the desk, his face serious. “Ava,” he greets, pulling me into an unexpected hug. His embrace is comforting. “Let’s sit down. Coffee?”
“No, thank you. I just had one with your son,”I say, forcing a weak smile.
“Oh, yes.”
The walls seem to press in as we settle into the chairs. Harvey’s gaze holds mine, steady and serious. “Ava, as you know, Dexter’s agreed to confess.”
“Yes,”I manage, my hand instinctively going to my hair, twisting a strand around my finger. I already know this.
“But—”Harvey pauses, his words a hammer blow. “Only if he can talk to you first. Alone.”
My breath catches. My muscles lock, every nerve ending screaming in protest. Images flash – the cold concrete floor, the smell of his cologne, the terror in my own eyes reflected back at me from the darkness.
“How?”My voice is a dry rasp.
Harvey’s expression softens a fraction. “We’ll have officers right outside. He’ll be cuffed to the table. It’s just —”He hesitates, searching my face. “If there’s any chance of getting a full confession, it’s worth a shot. But only if you’re comfortable.”
Ice floods my veins. My stomach churns. The thought of being alone with him, even now, is unbearable. But what if he gets away? A voice whispers in my head. What if he hurts someone else?
Be strong, Ava. Your parents would have wanted you to be strong.
I force the words past the tightness in my throat. “Alright,”I say. “I’ll do it.”
A flicker of something crosses Harvey’s face – pride, maybe relief. He gets up and leads me down the hallway, his hand resting on my shoulder. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and Tyler,”he says quietly.
I nod, unable to speak. Tyler is a good man.
My stomach clenches with every step we take towards the interview room.
Be strong, Ava.A spark ignites within me. This is my chance. This is my chance to end this nightmare.
Harvey explains the protocol, his voice a low drone that barely registers. He opens the door, and I step inside. Dexter sits at a small steel table, his hands already cuffed, his eyes cold and calculating. His hair is a mess, andhis jaw is clenched tight.
Harvey secures the cuffs to the table, his movements practiced and efficient. “Just knock if you need anything, Ava,”he says, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him. “We’ll be right outside, watching.”
I nod, turning to face Dexter. He looks up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ava,”he drawls. “Good to see you again.”
My voice, to my surprise, is steady. “Cut the crap, Dexter,”I say. “Why did you want to talk to me?”
He leans forward, his eyes boring into mine like twin ice picks. “I wanted to see the look on your face when I tell you the truth.”
Hot coal ignites in the pit of my stomach. “What truth?”I step closer. My heart hammers against my ribs. “Why did you do it, Dexter?”
He leans forward, his lips twist into a grotesque parody of amusement. “I did it for the thrill,”he purrs. “For the power. I never thought I’d get caught; it’s a pity, really. But I’ll manage. I always do.”
I shake my head, my fists clench, nails digging into my palms. “That’s not good enough,”I spit, my voice rising defiantly. “There has to be more to it than that.”
He’s not telling the truth; something is off, but I don’t know what.
A low chuckle escapes his lips, devoid of humor. “There’s always more, darling. You just have to dig deep enough to find it.”He leans back, a smug expression settling on his face, a predator satisfied with its prey’s discomfort.
Be strong, Ava, just walk out.
I turn on my heel, desperate to leave the room.
“Ava,”his voice, low and urgent, stops me in my tracks. I freeze, my back stiffening.
“Wait— I’ll tell you the truth, but you have to promise me one thing.”
“What?”I whirl around, my fists clenched at my side. My eyes narrow.
“Make sure she’s safe,”he pleads, his voice suddenly stripped bare, revealing a vulnerability I hadn’t expected. The change is jarring, so different from the arrogance he’d displayed just moments before.
What’s going on? Another game?
“Who?”
“Michelle.”
Michelle Bourne?What has she got to do with it?
He leans forward, pleading as if his very life depends on my answer. “You want to know why I did it? Why I become the monster behind all this?”His voice hardens, venomous. “It’s because of your precious Alexander. He ruined my life, ruined everything.”
My mind reels, struggling to grasp the implications. “Ruined? What do you mean?”
“I fell in love with Michelle, his sister.”He pauses, his voice cracking. “And he tore her away from me. She was, she is everything to me, and he took her away.”
The words hitme like a physical blow. Michelle? Dexter? The pieces of the puzzle scatter before me, a jumbled mess I can’t make sense of. Can this be true? My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a gasp. I sink back into the chair, my body heavy. “Michelle? You were in love with Michelle?”
“Yes,”he spits. “And Alexander couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle his precious sister being with someone like me. So he sent her away, destroyed her life and mine. She loved me, Ava. I swear, she still loves me.”
“But the drugs, Dexter? She was an addict.”I counter, struggling to reconcile this new information with the monster I know him to be. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “I know she had a problem or had one. Alexander told me she’s in rehab.”
“It wasn’t supposed to go that far. We were just playing around, a little weed, and then it escalated. She wanted more, heroin—I couldn’t stop her.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I thought I could control it, keep up with her needs, but I was wrong.”His voice cracks, a tremor of remorse breaking through his facade.
“You gave her the drugs?”The words leave behind a bitter flavor. My fingers tighten around the table’s edge, my knuckles turning white.
“It’s what she wanted, Ava. And you don’t say no to Michelle. You would understand if you met her. Beautiful, wild, free. We were incredible together. We were on top of the world. The greatest love story ever told.”He strains against his restraints, his eyes burning with a manic intensity.
“The greatest falls are the hardest, Dexter,”I mutter.
“Whatever, fuck.”
“Sure–”
“Alexander destroyed her, and I couldn’t let him get away with it. So, I built Veles Network from the ashes of the Europeans and made it into what it is today. All to get back at him, to make him pay. And the money isn’t bad either.”He laughs, a hollow, chilling sound.
“How?”Ava stutters. “You’re a photographer—”
“It was easy, beautiful,”he shrugs. Everything was handed to me on a silver platter—perfect family, perfect life. My father was always working, so I was left alone a lot. Veles Network was the perfect way to get Alexander involved, to drag him down into the dirt. Kovacs had the connections, and from there, it was all too easy.”
I sink into the chair opposite him, my mind reeling. Michelle, Alexander’s sister, the love of Dexter’s life, turned into an addict by his hand? Bile rises in my throat, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with sickening clarity.
I push myself away from the table, my legs heavy as stone. With a deep breath, I look down at Dexter, his head still buried in his hands.
“I hope you find a way to deal with your time in prison, Dexter,”I say. “What you felt doesn’t justify what you did. You hurt so many people, including the one you claimed to love. I hope one day you’ll understand the consequences of your choices.”
He lifts his head, his eyes narrowed. “It was all for love, Ava. You, of all people, should understand that. Toying with men, discarding them when you’re done, a puppet master pulling their strings.”He pauses. “I loved her, Ava. More than anything. And Alexander took her from me. But I will get my revenge.”
“Revenge won’t bring Michelle back,”I counter. “It won’t bring you happiness, you know? Only more pain and suffering.”
His shoulders slump. “I beg to differ.”
Tears prick my eyes, a mixture of pity and lingering anger. “I hope you find peace, maybe even redemption. Because you’re going to need it.”
With that, I turn and walk away, leaving him to the darkness he has created. I relax my shoulders as I leave the interrogation room.
But as I walk down the hallway, a tightness constricts my chest, making breathing difficult. The walls seem to close in, the fluorescent lights blurring, intensifying my nausea.
My legs give way, and I slump against the wall, gasping for air.
Harvey’s concerned face swims into view, his voice distant as the officer beside him grips my arm. The world spins and sounds distort.
The next thing I know, I’m seated in a chair, a kind woman offering me a steaming cup of tea. Harvey sits beside me, his salt-and-pepper hair falling into his eyes, his expression etched with worry. My body feels drained, as if I’ve run a marathon.
Harvey’s brow furrowed, his lips twisting into a grimace as his gaze dropped to the floor. “Ava, I’m so sorry. Are you— are you alright?”
“I’m okay— now,”I manage, my voice hoarse. “What happened?”
“You had a reaction. It’s understandable, given everything you’ve been through. Have you talked to anyone about it? A therapist, perhaps?”
I shake my head, tears threatening to spill again. He hands me a piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. Psychologist. Trauma. Everything crashes down on me, and sobs wrack my body.
“Call her,”he urges as he puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “She’s good. She’s helped a lot of victims coming through here over the years.”His eyes hold a haunted look.
I’m not the first, am I?
“Harvey– Do you know Michelle Bourne?”
Harvey stops in his tracks, his eyes flicker, the corners of his mouth vibrating. Then he answers, “No—”
He’s lying. But I don’t know what to say. My gaze drifts to the coffee cup, the brown liquid swirling, suddenly repulsive. My stomach churns. The smell of stale cigarettes hangs in the air, mingled with something else, something metallic, and my mind conjures images of those women, their faces etched with fear and pain. I can’t breathe.
“T-thank you, Harvey,”I choke out, wiping away tears with a tissue. Gathering my composure, I take a shaky breath. “So, was that enough to get his confession? To put him away? For a long time?”
He nods, his expression grim but with a hint of satisfaction. “It should be. And it’s not just Dexter going down. We got another one.”
My brow furrows. “Who?”
“Anton Volkov.”He pauses, his eyes hardening. “Turns out he was feeding information to Dexter, helping him orchestrate those robberies. Thought he was just getting a leg up on the competition, but now he’s facing some serious charges of his own.”
I feel dizzy but relieved that Volkov wasn’t the mastermind I’d feared. “What about Alexander?”I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
Harvey’s expression softens a fraction. “He’ll get community service, no prison time. He gave us everything he had on Veles. He’s being released today.”
A shaky breath escapes my lips. Alexander is okay.
Harvey pulls me into a hug. “There, there,”he murmurs, his voice gruff.
* * *
As I step out of the police station and into the blinding sunlight, the world feels off-kilter, like a spinning carousel threatening to toss me off. This isn’t over. The scars run deep, and the healing will be a long journey.
A sense of relief does manage to peek through the cracks of my fractured spirit as I walk. The past few days have been a relentless assault on my sanity and my body.
But before I can escape into the anonymity of the crowd, a familiar voice slices through the noise. Mendel stands before me, a silent sentinel in a black suit.
“Good afternoon, Miss Ava,”he greets with a respectful nod.
A weak smile tugs at my lips. “Hi, Mendel. How are you?”
“I am well, thank you for asking,”he replies. “May I offer you a ride home?”
I hesitate, torn between my need for solitude and the pull of something stronger, something primal that draws me towards Alexander.
“I understand,”Mendel interrupts my internal struggle, “but Alexander insisted I bring you directly to him. He is quite concerned for your well-being.”
Concern. Or possession?The lines blur in my mind, still, I find myself succumbing to the inevitable, stepping into the leather seated car that awaits me. As we drive, I imagine Alexander, waiting, a spider anticipating its prey. I know what awaits me at his home – a world of desire, a dance. And yet, I crave it, crave him, with a hunger that defies reason and logic.
Stepping out of the car, my heart beats fast. He meets me at the door, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips as he pulls me into his arms, his embrace a possessive claim that both comforts and ignites a spark of passion within me.
His scent, a heady mix of expensive cologne and raw masculinity, draws me in.
The air is charged with a raw, animalistic energy.
We move towards each other as if drawn by an invisible force, our lips meeting in a searing kiss. His hands roam my body, igniting a fire that spreads through me like wildfire down between my legs.
There is only Alexander, his touch, his taste, his dominance that both frightens and thrills me.