Chapter 4 #3
Wren feels anxiety churn in her chest. It’s alarming to see Leroux fall into so many easy traps. Their proximity to Jeremy’s crimes should be to their advantage, but it feels like it’s an advantage to Jeremy alone. He’s exploiting it somehow, turning the tables around with ease.
“Are you really going to go to the execution chamber guarding someone else’s secret?” Wren asks, her voice steely and powerful. She’s spent so much of this conversation convincing herself she is strong and unflappable, and now she’s starting to believe it.
“Ticktock, ticktock,” Leroux taunts, leaning back with a grin.
Wren ignores his interjection, continuing her line of questioning. “What does that bastard have on you? You can’t possibly have anything else to lose.”
He wants sole credit because he thinks it’s his last way to kill me, she thinks to herself, running back the conversation in her head.
Jeremy wouldn’t protect another human being unless it directly benefited him.
If he removes Philip Trudeau from the equation, he gets to be responsible for Wren’s greatest trauma to date.
He gets to steal a literal piece of her, and that’s all he’s ever wanted.
Jeremy doesn’t grin. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t do anything except stare back at her.
Inside, she feels like a lost child, desperate to find something familiar or warm to cling to.
She knows he’s doing this to shrink her, to make her question the sudden strength even he could feel emanating from her.
She returns his gaze, chewing subtly on the inside of her lip, forcing herself to endure it.
After an unquantifiable number of minutes, he finally speaks.
“Richard asked where you were,” Jeremy says, a hint of pity lacing his words.
Wren shakes her head, determined to block out what is almost certainly nonsense. “I don’t believe you,” she says, finding that the air in the room suddenly feels thicker. “Tell me who the prints and hair belong to, Jeremy.”
“Muller, let’s leave. He’s spinning a web here.” Leroux gently touches her back, shooting a glare at Jeremy.
“He asked for you,” he says again, leaning forward and clasping his hands together in front of him. “But he knew you wouldn’t come.”
Everything crashes inside her. The dam breaks, and she’s no longer in control. One single tear rolls down her cheek, a visual cue to him that he’s won.
“I’m done.” She pushes away from the table, rising and walking quickly to the exit. Her back is turned, but she’s sure he can see her wringing her hands as she waits for the guard to unlock the door.
“He realized he couldn’t protect you. He couldn’t keep you safe from me,” Jeremy continues. The words come out mocking and cruel.
“Muller, don’t listen. Shut him out before he gets in your head.” Leroux stands behind her, putting himself between them.
“Too late for that, Detective,” Jeremy taunts. “I’ve been living in there for years, and I don’t have plans to leave.”
The door suddenly opens with a loud gasping sound.
Wren immediately steps out, pushing past the guard and trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and that room.
As she makes her way to the end of the hallway, surrounded by guards and staff, a sob tries to force its way out of her throat, but she catches it.
She chokes it down hard, steadying herself on a wall and digging her fingers into the grooves of the smooth concrete.
Leroux squeezes her arm, ready to hold her up should she collapse.
He won’t let her make a fool of herself, and she’s grateful for that.
“We don’t ever have to do that again, Muller. We’ll figure out another way to nail Trudeau.” Leroux’s words are gentle and sincere. His face is lined with worry and regret. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come here.”
She shakes her head, rolling her shoulders back and taking a long breath in through her nose. The scent is different out in the hallway, but it’s still unpleasant and stale. “No,” she says sternly. “We know the traps now. We just have to avoid them next time.”
She begins to walk, a silent cue for him to follow her.
Propelling herself forward at a brisk pace, she shoulders any guards who happen to be in her path.
She doesn’t stop until she’s outside, finally breathing in air that isn’t thick with sweat and cruelty.
Wren spins around, facing Leroux, who now looks breathless and confused.
“You okay?” he asks. “You bodychecked an entire cell block’s worth of guards back there.”
She throws her hands in the air, not acknowledging his question.
“What kind of person wants to take credit for—” Her voice breaks as she considers what she is about to say.
Suddenly, the weight of the visit crashes down on top of her.
As each puff of fresh air enters her lungs, it’s like she’s pelted by every moment again.
She shakes her head, trying to free herself from the onslaught.
“He’s not a person,” Leroux says. “It’s all by design. They caged him up, but he’s like a fucking poisonous gas that leaches through cracks and under doors.” He sighs. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
She watches him move his shoe through the dust, sending plumes of dirt onto the bottom of his pant leg. Again, his face is lined with regret, and she doesn’t want that for him. She wants to reassure him that he didn’t bet on the wrong thing or the wrong person.
“No, it wasn’t a mistake. It was difficult,” she says, lightly pushing him. “Everything having to do with Jeremy Rose is difficult.”
“Exactly. So let’s cut this shit out. The last thing we need is more difficulty.” He begins to stomp toward the car ahead of her, lighting a cigarette as he walks.
She doesn’t follow right away. She watches him carefully, seeing the hunch in his shoulders and the dust continuing to kick up onto his pants. She decides to follow, breaking into a light jog to catch up to him. “You don’t get to decide this, John,” she says, pulling him to a halt next to her.
He almost rolls his eyes but stops short of it, instead fixing her with a look. “Muller, I would never deign to believe I could tell you what to do. I have learned that lesson.”
She smiles, standing up taller. “So shut up and start helping me figure out what our game plan is for next time.”
“Jesus, I suppose you’re the boss.”
“You’re a smart man, John,” she says, throwing an arm around his shoulders.
As they slide into the car, Wren feels a rush of exhilaration, and it surprises her.
It felt completely unsuccessful in there.
It felt like a merry-go-round that she couldn’t disembark from.
It also gave them insight into something they had never seen before: Jeremy locked up, powerless and flailing for whatever tools he feels like are still at his disposal.
Neither of them had seen Jeremy when he didn’t have control, when he didn’t have the ability to carefully plan and bend everything to go his way.
“By the end of that conversation, he was running out of ammunition. He was using the same tired tactic over and over,” Wren says as the car engine roars to life.
Leroux grins, shaking his head slightly as he begins to pull away from the prison. “Man, I apologize for doubting your resilience.”