FRACTURED (6 page)

I could barely manage, but I brought my gaze up to meet Alan's as he slowly withdrew his position, sitting back down in his chair. The look on his face was empty. I could practically see his mind trying to process everything I'd said after the fact, but I decided to continue anyway.

“Sean was on a plane when Matty died, Alan. I talked to him earlier that night. That's when he told me about McGurney...just like I told you."

He looked distant, like he was trying to put the pieces of a mental puzzle together but couldn't quite do it.

“That's what he claimed when he came to me about―”

“Wait a minute...what do you mean he came to you? What are you talking about?”

“It means that he came to my house to report you missing himself.

I'm guessing, given whatever
occupation
it is that he's in, he wanted to take more creative avenues to find you,” he said, eyeing me tightly again.

“I didn't know about your friend Matty until long after Sean had come to me. Had I known at the time, I wouldn't have let him leave so easily."

“And now?” I asked, thinking Alan still wasn't going to believe my story. In fairness, it wasn't exactly true.

“There's nothing to do. The homicide is a closed case,” he said with a certain distaste. “A body was found just outside of Boston in the victim's car. He was identified as the Portsmouth murderer based on some evidence that was never released to the public. Carmilo's blood was found on his clothes and in the vehicle. The best the Boston PD could determine was that the perp had driven down to Hopkinton to dump the body in the river and let it wash downstream. What was left of it had wounds that indicated a fight had gone down. All we could assume was that the perp had been badly wounded and slowly bled out.” Alan leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, his head in his hands.

“Convenient―don't you think―that a murderer, who was already

'eliminated' by your own account, came back to life to kill your friend? I think it's
highly
convenient, and I also think it's bullshit. I have no idea how Sean did what he did, but he manufactured this whole cover-up, and I want to know how and why."

So did I. Knowing that Keith James had been long since been burned to ash in Ronnie's backyard, I was acutely aware that it couldn't have been his body in that car that the BPD found. It made me wonder just whose body it was and exactly what lengths Sean had gone to to clean up my mess.

I had no explanation to offer Alan. He wasn't stupid; he knew that I knew more than I was letting on. As far as he knew, I was being evasive, but I knew that he couldn't prove his little theory. Sean and the boys had done exactly what Alan had accused them of, and consequently, done what they do best―make problems disappear.

“I don't know what more I can do here, Alan. I'm telling you what I remember, which is nothing. I have fucking amnesia or some stress-induced whatever that's blocking my thoughts. Hell, I could have been roofied for all I know. Hook me up to a polygraph if you don't believe me. Ask me anything you want about the last three weeks. I guarantee you I'll sail through it because I don't remember,” I postured, gaining a little composure. “If you want to talk to Sean, have at it. You'll have to find him first, and believe me, he's the type that can't be found if he doesn't want to be. He's a ghost.”

“You don't know how to find him? Get a hold of him?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Not if he doesn't want me to,” I replied with a twinge of sorrow in my voice. “He and I aren't what you think, Alan. I'm nothing to him now.

I can't help you."

I stood slowly, awkwardly picking at the hem of my tee. Alan told me that my refusal to explain would change things. I knew with one hundred percent certainty that he wasn't bluffing. The frustration and resentment that rolled off of him told me so.

“I'm sorry, Alan. I really am. I know you hate cover-ups and conspiracies more than anything, and finding the truth is a fundamental need for you, but I can't help you. I have a whole lot of things to figure out for myself right now, mainly what in God's name happened to me for the last three weeks,” I said softly, hating myself for having to lie. “Do me one favor, please...”

“What?” he asked, trying unsuccessfully to quash the hostility in his voice.

“Tell Kristy I'm sorry. I didn't do this to hurt any of you. I know you seem to have forgotten that in your quest for truth, but I'm a victim in all of this, Alan. Matty was my friend. I loved him, and I know for damn sure that he loved me too. Try not to forget that when you're painting horrible scenarios in your head of what you think went down that night."

Without another word, I walked around the table and straight out the door. I didn't wait for a response from him. I didn't want one.

Nearly in an all-out run by the time I got downstairs, I quickly made my way past Alice at the front desk before she buzzed me out. Through the double doors and down the flight of concrete steps outside, I fled to the TT that sat idling, waiting for my arrival. I practically tore the passenger door off before I jumped in and slammed it behind me.

“Sounds like that went well,” Cooper observed with his typical sarcasm.

“Drive,” I barked, not wanting to get into it.

“Another cheery homecoming?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you want some more good news or should I save it for later?”

he asked, losing some of his mocking tone.

“
Fuck.
What now?”

“I was reading the paper while you were in there,” he started, shifting uncomfortably in his seat before pulling into traffic. "Matty was in there―in the obituaries. Do you want to―”

“No!” I shouted, putting my arm up defensively as he reached between the seats for the paper. “I don't want to see it." I took a moment to catch my breath before continuing. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. Is that the good news you spoke of?”

“No,” he said plainly.

“Just lay it on me, Cooper. Please.”

“It said that his funeral is tomorrow. In Boston.”
Fuck me
. “What are you going to do?” he asked, eyeing me out of his periphery.

“I don't know...”

“I could go down with you, if you want to go.”

“No,” I said abruptly. “That's something I need to do on my own.”

He pressed his lips together firmly in a half frown.

“There's a freak storm coming up the coast. It's going to be brutal.”

“I've driven in snow before, Cooper. I'll be fine,” I replied, staring off towards my apartment as we rounded the final corner on the way home. "I'm not sure what I want to do yet. I'm going to sleep on it first.”

“Whatever you think is best.” Cooper parked the car in front of the shop and we simultaneously got out. “Go upstairs,” he ordered, throwing me the keys. “I've gotta do something in town. Go have a nap. I'll be home in a few.”

I nodded silently and did as I was told.

Once inside the main door, I schlepped my weary body up the stairs to the apartment. Exhausted didn't even begin to describe how drained I felt. I closed the door behind me and shuffled down the hall to my bedroom, flopping down onto the bed the second I reached it. Cooper wanted me to get some rest, and that was exactly what I was going to do.

*

Hours later I awoke to darkness surrounding me and a shrill beeping sound somewhere in my room. Disoriented and startled, I fumbled my way out of my bed in a panic only to crash into the night-stand by my bed. In my half-awake state, I had no idea where I was.

“Cooper!” I yelled, trying to control my rising unease.

As always, he was by my side in a flash.

“What's wrong?” he asked as he flipped on the bedside lamp. It illuminated the concern on his face.

“There was a sound, and I jumped out of bed to see what it was, but then I ran into the furniture...and it was so dark, and I...I...," I rambled, feeling increasingly ridiculous. “I didn't know where I was.”

He scooped me up in his arms and hugged me tight to his chest.

“You're
home
,” he whispered softly. “That's where you are. For good.”

And I was. Good or bad, drama or not, I was finally back where I belonged. I welcomed the feeling.

“Sounds perfect to me,” I said, smiling.

“Good. Now what the hell was this sound that woke you up in such a tizzy anyway?”

I pulled away from him to search the room for the most likely suspect. I found it lying on the table that had taken a chunk out of my leg only moments earlier. My innocent-looking cell phone looked at my laughingly. A text had been the cause of my near meltdown.

“My phone must have gone off,” I replied, walking over to retrieve it. I was surprised by what I saw―a message from Alan:
Filled out the
proper paperwork regarding your reappearance. BPD has been notified
as well. It'll be on the news this evening. Be prepared for the backlash.

I'm sorry about today. Talk later.

“So much for my quiet reentry to life,” I mumbled to myself. “I guess I won't have to call the Carmilos to tell them I'm alive and coming.” I couldn’t keep the dryness out of my tone.

“Why's that?”

“Because I'm about to be breaking news. Alan spread the word about my return.”

“Well,” he said, scratching his head. “He didn't really have a choice, and in fairness, that cat had to be let out of the bag at some point. Guess now is as good a time as any."

“I guess so,” I muttered to myself, getting up to go into the living room and hunker down for the rest of the evening. I wanted to crawl into a cave and hide, but I'd already done that for three weeks, metaphorically speaking.

“Where are you going?” he asked, following behind me.

“I don't want to miss the big story,” I replied sarcastically. “I think I'll make a stiff drink for the show."

“Better make two, then. Can't have you drinking alone...”

I scoffed as I entered the kitchen, Alan's words running rampant through my mind.

Be prepared for the backlash...

The story of my life.

6

There hadn't been a Nor'easter like that in New England for decades.

Twenty inches of snow was forecast to pummel the coastline from the Providence area up, but only after an inch of freezing rain laid the foundation for treacherous road conditions. Just as the weatherman had predicted, it was the perfect storm.

While I drove to Boston, signs of that storm were already visible, the weather steadily deteriorating. Along with it went my resolve. I had dreaded that day, fiercely.

During the time the commute provided, I reflected on things that only deepened my sadness—my sense of loss. Thoughts of the hours Matty and I had spent together in dance class, joking around instead of paying attention, clowning our way through choreography, and stopping for food afterward. His twenty-second birthday party at his parents' house was one of my favorites. I loved his family, and they took me in like I was one of their own.

Carmen...Dominic...

The pain in my chest was excruciating when I thought of them.

They'd already lost one son by the time I had met Matty, and, because of me, they would bury another. I didn't know how I could face them.

I flew past exits on the interstate while I drove, and, before I realized what I was doing, I took one of them, turning off the highway in an attempt to loop back onto it to retreat north. I pulled into a gas station before my cowardice fully took over and tried to pull myself together.

My hands shook uncontrollably, and no matter how hard I gripped the wheel, it did nothing to quash the quaking.

Laying Matty to rest was not something I wanted to be a part of.

The three weeks I’d spent tucked away in Scarlet's mind had offered me a certain escape from reality. Though the events that had occurred on the night of Matty's murder played through my mind repeatedly, I could detach from them because I hadn't faced the aftermath. The final vision of Matty's decapitated body should have clearly illustrated that he was gone, but it didn't.

Burying what remained of him would.

I took multiple deep breaths before putting the car back in gear, driving off towards the entrance ramp for I-93 South. The rain was falling harder and the temperature plummeted as I drove. Funeral or not, the worst of the storm wouldn't hold off for long. My emotions couldn't be held back forever either, and I was suddenly in a hurry to get the whole ordeal over with.

I thought about watching from afar, hidden by trees or headstones nearby, so I could avoid the onslaught of grief I was sure to be bombarded with. It was cowardly, but I was certain that, when faced with the totality of my own grief, I would crumble under the weight of anything else. Matty was always so strong, both physically and emotionally. I selfishly wished for his strength in that moment. If I couldn't be strong, then I would at least be honorable and bear my pain publicly, for all who loved him to see. It was by my actions that he was about to be put six feet under, and I owed it to him to be there.

Cars thickly lined the street on both sides, forcing me to park nearly a block away. I had dressed for the unseasonable cold, but not the freezing rain. My black stilettos offered little stability on the icy walkways, and I teetered my way across the street to the main entrance of the cemetery.

“He always said you had impeccable fashion sense,” a voice called to me from inside the wrought iron gates. A man around thirty rounded the corner, headed in my direction. He was difficult to make out at first through the assaulting rain, but once I was closer, I saw that it was one of Matty's brothers-in-law.

“I guess I didn't review the weather as thoroughly as I should have before I left,” I said, walking towards his extended hand.

“Let me help you,” he said, placing my hand in the crook of his folded arm. “I had to run back to the car for another umbrella. Rosa's didn't hold up well with the wind.” I looked up at the flimsy, travel-sized one I held and prayed it would manage the weather. “I saw you on the news last night,” he said softly, uncertain as to where to take his observation after that.