Chapter 7 #2
Should I look forward to spending time with Tyler as much as I am? Maybe not. Maybe it’s only a recipe for disappointment. He’s going to leave eventually, after all, and what kind of friendship can we have when he’s on the other side of the country?
But spending time with Tyler makes me happy. And I’m not willing to give that up.
“We can wait,” Tyler offers in the absence of my response. “It’s okay. Let’s just see how you feel tomorrow, instead.”
I’m so tempted to take him up on his offer.
But it wouldn’t be right. I know I’m more than capable of answering Tyler’s questions.
Yes, I still have a dull headache and slight light sensitivity.
I’m still sore thanks to all my bruises, and my wrist throbs whenever I move.
But all things considering, I’m not doing too badly.
And it’s not fair to let this case drag on any longer than it needs to just because I don’t want to talk about all the people who don’t like me.
With that in mind, I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. Let’s just do it now.” Glancing at the bedroom doorway, I ask, “Where do you want to go? The dining room, so we can sit at the table? Will it be just you, or everyone?”
“Just me,” Tyler replies. “I’ll record everything you say, so I can go over it with the guys later. I thought that would make it easier for you. Unless you’d rather—”
“No. Just you is fine.” Even though I really don’t want to see the disappointment in Tyler’s eyes when he realizes just how much of an outcast I am.
“We can talk in here, if you like,” he offers. Reaching into his pocket, Tyler pulls out his phone. He sets it face-up on the bed, so it’s between us. “If it’s more comfortable in here.”
I think for a moment. “I think it would be, if that’s okay.”
Tyler nods. “Of course. Do you want me to get Oscar?” Because traitorous Oscar quickly realized that he had four new softies to take advantage of, so he’s taken to trailing after the guys whenever he thinks there’s a chance of food being involved.
Webb is on security camera duty right now, but Levi and Indy are in the living room, snacking on leftovers while they watch one of those movies about cars that drive out of airplanes and miraculously land on the ground in one piece.
Since I haven’t seen Oscar recently, I’m guessing he’s trying the old I’m starving even though I just ate dinner act, complete with sad puppy dog eyes and a drooping tail.
“No, that’s alright,” I reply. “I know the guys like spending time with Oscar. And it’s good for him to be around people other than me.”
Tyler regards me for a second. “Alright.” He taps the screen several times until a recording app opens.
Then he taps the red button to start it.
“Everything you say is confidential,” he explains.
“And once we’ve gone over the recording, I’ll encrypt it, so even if someone could hack into our databases, they wouldn’t be able to listen to any of this. ”
“I don’t have anything confidential to say,” I tell him. “No dark secrets. All the bad stuff I did is already out there.”
“Mel.” Tyler moves closer to me.
“It’s okay,” I lie. It’s not really okay. I hate myself for what I did to Gage and Rory. And though I know I deserve all the bad things people say about me, I still wish, childishly, that there was some way to escape them.
Tyler looks like he wants to argue. But instead, he just sighs. Then he says, “Okay. We’re going to talk about anyone you can think of who might have motive to hurt you. Coworkers, of course. Friends. Exes—”
I snort. “No exes. Not unless you count Jeremy Wilson, from junior year in high school. I dated him for a month before he broke up with me because I wouldn’t sleep with him. But last I saw on social media, he’s married with four kids. I doubt he gives me a second thought.”
“You never know,” Tyler replies ominously. “One of my friends—Leo, from the New York Blade and Arrow branch—his wife was stalked by a guy she barely knew from high school. So it’s definitely worth looking into.”
“Oh.” I pluck at the bedspread with my uncasted hand.
“You’re doing good,” he encourages. “I know this isn’t pleasant. But we’ll try to get through this as quickly as possible.”
And true to his word, we do. Mostly.
I run through my friends from high school and college, people I used to keep in touch with but haven’t in years. Family is easy, since it’s just my parents and a few distant cousins on my mom’s side. Since I’m certain my parents aren’t involved, it’s not even upsetting to talk about them.
Then it’s on to my coworkers. I don’t know any of them particularly well, and aside from brief conversations about the weather or if the coffee in the employee lounge is fresh, I can’t think of a time I shared anything personal with any of them.
“It’s not their fault,” I explain. “When I first started, they were friendly enough. But every time one of them would talk to me, I’d wonder what they’d say if they knew what I did.
If they’d be scared of me. If they’d make a stink about this crazy person working there, and I’d end up losing my job.
So I buried myself in my work instead of socializing.
And eventually, they stopped talking to me. ”
Still, I give Tyler a quick rundown on all my coworkers, answering his questions as they come up.
Have I ever gotten into an argument with any of them?
No. Gotten a promotion over one of them?
As the most recent hire, it’s another no.
Received extra attention from my boss? Not aside from the day he pulled me aside to scold me for the package of sex toys, which I can’t even think about without blushing.
Then it’s on to the part I’ve been dreading—everyone who was at the fundraiser or knows about it. People who knew Vince, and weren’t happy that I lost it during an event meant to remember him.
Feeling ill, I recall the words of one of his college friends when I ran into him not long after being released from inpatient treatment. “He told me I should be ashamed of myself,” I say. “That what I did was unforgivable. And he said… that Vince would be so disappointed in me.”
“Mel.” Tyler squeezes my hand. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be.”
“Probably not. But a lot of his friends were, and they didn’t hesitate to tell me. I got emails and messages telling me I should be in jail. That I shamed Vince. That I was crazy.”
“What?” Tyler’s voice dips to an angry growl. “His friends said that?”
“Some of them. Not everyone, of course. Gage was nice, once he got past being pissed that I shot him. Which is more than I deserved, really. Rory was nice, too. Sam—he was another Night Stalker who worked with Vince—came to visit once I was allowed to see people in treatment, and he said he understood.”
“Did anyone make threats?” Tyler asks. “Imply that you should be punished for what you did?”
I snort. “They didn’t imply. Some of them came right out and said it. Told me if it were up to them, I’d be in jail. But threats? No.”
“I want their names,” Tyler replies with an edge to his tone.
“Anyone who said something even remotely negative. If they even looked at you wrong.” He shakes his head, looking extremely pissed off.
“I can’t believe it. You were grieving. Suffering.
And if they served, they should have known damn well how PTSD could affect people. ”
Tyler’s immediate defense of me feels good. But I can’t help feeling guilty about it, too. He wasn’t there, after all. He didn’t see my behavior firsthand.
“I can understand,” I tell him softly. “Why they were so pissed, I mean.”
“What?” His features jolt with surprise. “I don’t. Saying that to a grieving widow? Who would do—”
“I held a gun on one of his teammates,” I remind him. “A man who’d lost his foot in the same crash that took Vince’s life. I threatened to kill Gage. I shot him. And Rory… God. I can’t believe I did what I did.”
Tears burn behind my eyes, and my throat goes thick.
“I was drunk that night, you know. I shouldn’t have been drinking.
I knew it. I’d been struggling a lot, and my emotions were all over the place.
My paranoia was out of control. And sometimes…
” I duck my head. “Sometimes I’d just… switch off.
I’d be in the middle of something—-vacuuming the house, washing dishes—and suddenly I’d come back to myself ten minutes later with no memory of the time in between. ”
“That happens with PTSD, sometimes,” Tyler says.
“I know that now. Back then, I didn’t. I just chalked it up to stress. And I told myself it would go away eventually. But that night, at Vince’s fundraiser, things got especially bad.”
“I can only imagine. With everyone there for Vince, talking about him…”
“It wasn’t the first one, though,” I reply.
“His parents had organized the event before. And I went because I felt obligated to. But that one… I don’t know what happened.
Maybe it was because Vince’s parents asked me to help plan it that time.
So I spent the two weeks prior staying at their house, helping.
Talking about him. Looking through old photos. His baby pictures—” My voice catches.
“Mel.” Tyler touches my chin, lifting my face to look at him. “You don’t have to talk about this. It’s okay. It’s not relevant—”
“But it is. So you know how terrible I was. I’m not some innocent victim, Tyler. I’m the villain of the story. I hurt people. I ruined an event meant to celebrate Vince’s life. I’m surprised his parents don’t hate me for what I did, honestly. Sometimes I wonder why they don’t.”
“No one could hate you,” he insists. “And you’re not the villain.”