Chapter 2 #2
That’ll confirm whether Lionel’s out of custody.
Barry said they’re not posting their weekly updates, but once a prisoner is released, the system automatically updates within twenty-four hours. So, if someone looks him up on the site, it will still show if he’s in custody or not.
I scramble for my phone tucked in my coat pocket. My hands tremble violently from the overflow of adrenaline in my system, making my movements erratic and uncoordinated, and it slips from my fingers and hits the floor.
“Fuck!” I shout, growing frustrated with myself. “Fucking shit, motherfucker, fucking fuck.” I mutter the insults as I angrily snatch up the stupid fucking phone, my chest aching from how hard my heart beats.
It takes a second for the biometrics to recognize my thumbprint, only amping up my impatience. I smash my thumb on the internet app, but the tremors cause me to hit the wrong one, opening my contact list instead.
“Oh, my fucking GOD,” I bark, vowing to punch myself in the face later.
I get the browser open and quickly type in the web address to the CDCR, frustrated tears building in my eyes from repeatedly tapping the wrong letters. Finally, I get the site open and search Lionel’s name, and the moment the page loads, my eyes drop to Lionel’s location.
Scarlett Bay Correctional Facility
He's still in custody, like he should be.
So, then who—?
Realization dawns, and every ounce of blood drains from my face.
The copycat.
Of fucking course, it’s the copycat. Lionel wouldn’t be stupid enough to plant a murder victim in his daughter’s dorm after being released from prison. That would implicate him in a heartbeat.
However, Barry said it’s possible the copycat and Lionel are working together, which means if they’re here, leaving a fucking chopped-up body in my dorm, then this is a very clear message from Lionel.
He knows I know he’s getting out, and I didn’t keep my promise, so he’s showing me my fate while keeping his own hands clean.
My palm slaps over my mouth, my vision blurring as tears spill over the ridge of my bottom lashes. It feels like my world is crashing down around me at my feet, and all I can do is just watch it happen, helpless to stop it from shattering into dust.
Obviously, I need to call the police and report it, but I’m paralyzed from the onslaught of emotions. They’re flooding my system with a force powerful enough to scatter my bones, rendering them completely useless.
The first sob breaks free right when an abrupt, violent bang rattles the door against my back. My heart lurches, and a startled scream tears from my throat. I flinch just as violently, sending my phone tumbling from my hand yet again.
Hand over my heaving chest, I stare at the door with rounded eyes as whoever they are pounds on the door a second time, causing me to flinch yet again.
“Police! Open up, or we’re coming in!” Another vicious knock accompanies the angry, deep voice, and it finally snaps me out of my shock.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, my hands flying to cover my mouth as tears rush to my eyes. I glance between the door and the body, my panic intensifying. My heart hammers against my rib cage so hard, it physically aches, vomit teasing the back of my tongue.
Who the fuck even called them?
When the door rattles a fourth time, I blurt out, “Okay, okay! I’m coming!”
Hopefully, they let me explain first before deciding I’m guilty.
I attempt to inhale before opening the door, but I can’t get a breath in.
The door busts open, knocking into my shoulder and sending me flying back onto my ass.
Lightning dashes across my vision, and a breathtaking pain shoots up my tailbone and down my arm as two police officers storm the room.
They stop short when they notice me on the floor, my face twisted in agony while I cradle my throbbing shoulder.
I can't get a good look at them through my blurred vision and hysteria, only that they briefly turn their heads to one another then immediately direct their attention to the chopped-up woman behind me.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” one of them bellows.
“It wasn’t me,” I say quickly, the words breathless and garbled on my heavy tongue. I can barely manage a coherent thought beyond the pain and panic scrambling my brain.
“You’re under arrest,” the second officer barks, stomping toward me. “Get up.”
“Wait, no!” I gasp. “I didn’t—” A yelp interrupts my plea when he grabs my bicep and hauls me to my feet. The world around me spins, and vomit teases the back of my throat again.
“Charlotte D’Amour, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” The rest of his words get lost in my adrenaline and confusion.
“W-what? No, that's not even my name anymore! I-I didn't do this!”
“Then why is she in your room?” one retorts snidely, but I flounder, not having an answer.
Someone obviously called them, but did they already know the woman was in here? Maybe they finally caught my father, and he told them where to find the body. Fucking hell, did he tell them I did it?
It wouldn’t surprise me if my father framed me to avoid blame. I’ve ignored his letters since I walked out on him in that damn prison, and his penciled words have long since grown angry for turning my back on him when he ‘needed me most.’
Typical fucking narcissist, somehow making himself the victim and me the bad guy.
The officer forces my wrists to my back, clipping metal handcuffs around them before grabbing my bicep and roughly jerking me after him, sending another jolt of pain through my shoulder.
I stumble, struggling to stay in step as he drags me down the hallway.
Several girls already have their heads peeking out of their rooms, likely having heard them practically kicking my door down, while others swing theirs open as I pass, brow furrowed and eyes wide.
Whispers circulate around me, already tossing around misinformation and rumors.
“What did she do?”
“I dunno. Was anyone recording at least?”
“No, fuck! I forgot my damn phone.”
“Wait, I thought I heard them say something about a warrant for her arrest?”
“Oh my God, she’s a criminal, too?”
“I thought everyone knew she has a record.”
“Did one of them say something about a murder? Or am I insane?”
“What? She killed someone?”
“I don't know, maybe! Go check her dorm or something.”
“No, you! I don’t want to see that shit if she did.”
“You guys are such pussies. I’ll go look.”
I close my eyes in defeat, tears slipping through my eyelashes as I’m dragged down the stairs to the main floor. Someone yelps from down the hallway, presumably having seen the carnage in my room, followed by various people asking what she sees, only for them to gasp in horror.
“Why are you letting people in there?” I snap, glaring between the two men on either side of me. “That’s literally a crime scene!”
The one holding on to me jerks my arm, and barks, “Just keep walking.”
What the fuck?
They shouldn’t allow anyone to fucking see that.
I don’t understand why there aren’t more officers flooding the dorms and taping off the room.
At the very least, why haven’t they called anyone?
Just as the questions tease my tongue, the second officer pushes open the exit, inviting a rush of freezing air to smack me in the face.
It’s cold enough to turn the tears on my cheeks to ice if I stand out here long enough.
It’s the middle of January, and several inches of snow coat the ground. Fresh flurries dance through the air, stirred by an invasive breeze that worms beneath my winter coat.
“Can you at least listen to me for a fucking second?” I try again, hysteria heightening my voice as my head swivels back and forth, desperate for one of them to just listen to me. “It—it wasn’t me who did that!”
They promptly ignore me, leading me off the sidewalk directly into the courtyard ahead of the building. I frown and attempt to slow my steps as I process what exactly I’m seeing.
Which is nothing.
They jerk me forward, snapping at me to keep up, but I barely hear them.
Cars fill the parking lot ahead of the courtyard, but there isn’t a single police vehicle in sight. No flashing lights, just darkness, save for the tiny lights lining either side of the sidewalk to my dorm and a few fixtures in the lot.
As I glance around and take in the utter stillness of the night, a slimy foreboding feeling penetrates the anxiety, settling heavily in the pit of my stomach.
Once again, the officer jerks my arm and snaps at me to keep walking.
But now, I’m really not listening. Narrowing my eyes, I focus on the officers, scrutinizing their side profiles.
Now that the tears are drying and clarity is setting in, I can get a better look at them.
They’re both young. However, it’s not their ages that set me off, but their familiarity.
The officer walking beside me is incredibly tall with a lankier build, though he certainly isn’t lacking in muscle.
His short, dark strands peek out from the hat at his nape, and though it’s too dark to see the exact shade, I have the sinking feeling it’s a deep auburn.
The officer dragging me through the yard is the same height, with a slightly bulkier build, his hair shaved close to the scalp.
But what confirms my fears is the tattoos covering his hands and the barbel in his left eyebrow glinting in the moonlight.
A horrifying realization overcomes me, and my mouth drops.
Fuck.
Me.
“Keep up,” the officer with shaved hair snaps again, keeping his eyes pointed forward.
Except he's not really a fucking officer. Far from it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I screech, digging my heels into the ground. I gain no traction, though, sliding across the snowcapped grass.