Chapter 35 #2
I wanted to know who Gabriele was talking about over the phone when he mentioned medical records; I wanted to know why my father hadn’t said anything in response to the photos I sent; I wanted to know where the hell Dean was after hearing absolutely nothing from him since yesterday.
It didn’t help that the blinds of Dad’s office were closed over, making it impossible to see if he was talking to anyone.
“Waiting for Dad, huh?” The gruff voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked to my left.
Detective Paul Crowley. I had no opinion on him, but he also didn’t seem like the kind of man I wanted to get to know.
“Yep,” I said tightly, smiling politely. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
At a desk beside Crowley’s was another detective I hadn’t seen before. He was younger, with light brown hair and a near-permanent smirk in the corner of his mouth. Something about him seemed familiar, though.
He gave me a small smile, but instead of introducing himself, he went back to reading whatever was on his computer. Out of the pair, he was the only one to notice I wasn’t in the mood for talking while I waited.
Crowley, on the other hand, continued his questions. “Did your dad know you were coming?”
“Ah, no. But what I want to talk to him about is kind of urgent.” I shouldn’t have said that to a detective. They were naturally curious.
“What kind of urgent? Maybe I could help.”
“It’s private. But thanks…” I focused on my father’s office door, willing it to open already.
When it finally did, I straightened expectantly, readying myself to question him about everything I had worried about over the morning, but that plan was quickly squashed when Dad stepped back to hold the door open for someone in the office with him.
Dean.
He stepped into view with his head down and broad shoulders slumped, moving with a pained sort of stiffness that he masked with a stoic frown.
His shirt was covered in black smudges and dried blood spots.
Small slices in the material made me realize the blood was his.
There were tiny scratches on his skin. They marked his arms too, one of which was wrapped with a bandage.
It wasn’t until he looked up that a graze on his cheekbone was revealed, along with more black smudges like the ones on his shirt. As if an artist had smeared his skin with spots of charcoal.
His eyes were almost glazed when they finally came to me, rimmed with red and dark circles. He hadn’t slept.
I stood slowly and moved towards him, barely registering when Dad asked me to step into his office.
Dean’s eyes were almost empty until he noticed my hair. The faintest of smiles appeared on his lips, and his eyes softened.
“What happened?” I whispered, carefully reaching for his cheekbone where the graze was. My thumb brushed through the black smudge near it, finding it sooty. Like ash.
“Your boyfriend stupidly discharged himself from the hospital too early, is what happened,” Dad said.
Dean muttered, “I hate hospitals,” right as I said, “Why were you in the hospital?”
“Maybe we should talk about it outside.” The soft tone of Dean’s voice indicated that not everyone should hear about what happened.
“Okay…” I looped the strap of my bag over my shoulder, eager to leave again.
“Didn’t you want to discuss something with me?” Dad said, referring to the images and video I sent.
“Not anymore. Talk it over with your colleagues.” My worries about Gabriele had drifted to the back of my mind. I couldn’t give a fuck about him, not when Dean looked like he had walked out of a burning house.
Dean and I left, but not before a young officer approached us with Dean’s keys in hand. As he handed them over, he said, “Your car is parked at the rear of the building.”
“Thanks,” was all Dean said. Not a hint of worry about the car's condition or if they drove it carefully. A blank sort of stare was in his eyes, and there was complete disinterest in his voice.
I gently took his hand, trying not to bump any of the cuts in his skin.
Following the officer’s direction, we took a back exit that led us down a flight of stairs and opened onto a small parking lot with a tiny area of green space beside it.
The Cadillac was parked beside the small garden — if you could call it that, with its single picnic table, one tree, and the evidence of it being used as a smoking area.
Instead of heading for the car, Dean led me to that one table.
The clouds in the sky closed over the sun, casting the area in a gray shadow while an icy wind weaved its way through the parking lot.
My gaze fell to the left side of the Cadillac.
“Oh my god…” I breathed, taking in the small dents and scratches that marked the emerald-green exterior.
Dean slowly took a seat at the picnic table, pressing his lips together in a pained grimace. His entire body seemed to ache.
“Dean…” I took a seat beside him. “Were you in an accident?”
He shook his head, still distant as he focused on the car. “No… There was an explosion after the meeting last night—Roxy’s car…”
Everything went still, like the city was listening.
I was hesitant to speak as I tried to gauge anything from his face. “Is… Is she okay?”
Dean broke his focus on the car and looked down at his hands. There were no tears in his eyes, just a sort of emptiness. He seemed to be replaying whatever happened in his head. When he spoke again, it was more of an empty statement than anything.
“She’s dead.”
Something heavy settled in my chest.
“I think it was Antonio’s kids… Or at least Gabriele, after he found out she was lying to him to get close.” Dean sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at his car again. “She was screaming, and I couldn’t do a fuckin’ thing.”
A sickening shiver ran through my body.
“If that was you—” Dean cut himself off, swallowing hard as he rubbed his thumb against his palm. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. Not again.”
I knew where this could go if he let his thoughts get the better of him.
“It won’t, Dean.” I brought my hand to his opposite cheek and turned his head to face me, bringing that blue-gray gaze to mine. “It won’t...”
Dean looked at me in silence, and his throat bobbed. Straightening again, he cupped the back of my head and pressed a kiss to my forehead, letting it linger.
When he pulled back, I took his hand. Despite the cold weather, they were warm, unlike mine. On feeling how cold mine were, he grabbed my other hand and wrapped both in his before lifting them to his mouth to breathe warmth onto them.
He inhaled sharply. “Let's get you warm, yeah?”
When we were in the car, with the heat on, we didn’t leave right away. As if we needed more time to stew on what happened.
While Roxy wasn’t someone I ever imagined being friends with, I couldn’t help but feel numb and confused by the news of her death.
Several months ago, Dean went to her on a drunken mistake when we broke up, but I didn’t hold any grudges towards her.
Roxy became someone I rarely thought of after that.
Suddenly, she was dead.
To be trapped and burned alive. No one deserved a death like that.