Nearly Broken (23 page)

Feeling a little
better, I soaked in the tub for a bit, but my mind wouldn’t
settle enough to fall asleep. By the time Nick got home, I had given
up and crashed on the sofa with a novel. Unfortunately, my mind
wouldn’t let me get lost in the world of paranormal romance
either.

Usually, I was in bed
by the time he came home, so surprise shifted his face when he saw
me. He immediately came to kiss my forehead. “Hey, baby. Sorry.
I didn’t think you’d still be up, otherwise I would’ve
called sooner.”

I tossed the book onto
the coffee table, the paperback slapping against the slate top.
“Couldn’t sleep.”

Nick made his way to
the kitchen, dumped his backpack on one of the barstools, grabbed a
beer from the refrigerator, then settled in beside me. “Worked
up over the cop?”

“Just a
smidgen,” I said, pinching my thumb and index finger together
to add my visual representation of a smidgen. “Any idea what he
wanted?”

He shook his head.
“No. He wouldn’t tell Hank any details but he left his
business card for us. I’ll call him in the morning and find out
what he wants.”

I leaned my head back
over the cushion. “You worried it has to do with the fire?”
he asked, combing his fingers through my hair.

“The thought’s
crossed my mind like a hundred times tonight.”

He was silent for a
moment. “Well, I’d be incredibly surprised if they put
you in that house since no one knew you were there and any trace of
your DNA would’ve gone up in flames. But it’s possible.”

I groaned, not even
wanting to think of the repercussions of that mess could cause me.

“Megan,”
he said in the voice that meant he wouldn’t continue until I
made eye contact. Reluctantly, I rolled my head in his direction.
“You’re not going to jail. Your dad mentioned last
weekend that they told the cops they found you. They’re
probably just following up with you.”

“Did my parents
tell them what happened to me?”

“I don’t
know. Probably a little because your file already suggests
trafficking.”

I rolled my head back
to stare at the ceiling: white, with a surface I figured wasn’t
too different from what I expected the moon to look like, both
smoothed and cratered. This sucked. Just when I thought I was moving
on with life, trying to let some things from the past go free, I get
sucked right back into the nightmare again.

Sensing my continued
stress, Nick began swirling his fingertips on my scalp. It was
heavenly. “Do you want to call your parents and ask if they’ve
been contacted? Now that I think about it, the only way anyone would
know Claire Whitaker was here was if one of your family members told
them that. But even if they did, they obviously didn’t expect
them to come here or they would’ve warned us first.”

“Yeah, you’re
right. It’s probably just a follow-up.” I rolled back
again. He looked as tired as I suddenly felt. “Will you go with
me if they want me to come up?”

“Like I’d
let you go alone. No offense, Megan, but it’s doubtful I’ll
let you go anywhere alone ever again.”

Fine by me. Forcing a
tired smile, I pulled his reluctant body to his feet so we could go
pass out in bed together.

I felt like I swallowed
a brick of dry ice. Stomach acid ate away at me, churning madly,
burning the bottom of my throat. Nausea threatened to bring up the
delicious frittata Nick made me for breakfast, one of those filled
with colorful, freshly chopped vegetables. And I really didn’t
want to see what that would look like coming up.

I leaned my forehead
against the cool glass of the passenger door, hoping the rumbles from
the road vibrating upwards through the car would ease me like they
normally did.

A few days ago, Nick
called Detective Alvarez, who so rudely tried to bring down our door
like he was a freaking caveman ready to pull me down to the station
by my hair. He was contacting me for one of the detectives working my
case in Seattle. Apparently, Detective Farrow wanted to follow-up in
person to close out my file. Even though Nick told him I didn’t
know anything that would aid their investigation, the detective still
insisted. There was no way Nick was going to allow me to go alone,
and his only days off were Sundays, which of course was the
detective’s day off, too. Already a little annoyed with
Detective Farrow, Nick told him he could take it or leave it.

Unfortunately, he took
it.

Bright side? At least
I’d get to see my family again afterwards, because right now we
were on a schedule to visit every other weekend. That way, Nick got
the chance to stay home and rest all day at least once every two
weeks. I hated that he was forced to do all of the driving these
days.

When I asked him what
ever happened to my car, he said that the police impounded it for
evidence. “Good luck getting that back,” he had jested.
And then he brought something very important to my attention. “Can
you even remember how to drive?” After thinking on it…
no
,
I couldn’t. I mean, I could remember the basics of a car, like
turning the ignition and all, but I think I only remembered that part
because I had seen Nick do it so many times now. The rules of the
road, the little symbols all over the car…I could guess what
they all meant, but I was no longer certain if what I was thinking
was right.

The bastards took away
my memory of how to drive. Obviously, it was just one more way to
keep me grounded, but seriously, how’d they even do that? Now I
was going to have to learn that all over again, too.

My eyes were closed
now, as the landscape whipping by in blurs of green, brown and a
bright sky blue, was hurting my eyes. Nick’s hand covered mine
on my left thigh. “Look,” he said soothingly, “even
if they’ve put you in the house that burned, there’s no
way to prove you started it unless you openly admit to it. Right now,
the only people who truly know what happened that night are in this
car.”

I rolled towards him,
the back of my head never leaving the head rest. “You didn’t
tell my family?”

“Not that you
started it, no. It’s not my secret to tell. And honestly, the
fewer people who know the better, even when it concerns your family.”

He was taking the
burden of what I did on all by himself. I of all people knew how that
could eat away at you. I was always afraid it would make him look at
me differently, knowing that I had intentionally allowed someone to
die. I may not have set fire to the man directly, but I knocked him
out, rendered his body useless as the fire consumed the structure
around him. And then I told the fireman the house was empty so they
wouldn’t risk their lives to go in searching. I killed him. And
I was going to have to live with that the rest of my life. Took the
decision for his life to end and crushed it within my grasp like it
meant nothing. He went in a man and came out ashes.

Ugly
, and it
shamed me inside that I had allowed myself to be reduced to something
so low and vile. And I wondered if secretly, Nick thought of me that
way too, even though he acted otherwise.

“Doesn’t
it bother you that it’s my fault that guy is dead?”

His facial muscles
stretched and scrunched in all the wrong ways. “Are you kidding
me?” he asked angrily. “What that shithead did to you was
worse than death. So no, I don’t have a problem with what you
did. It was either you or him. I’m proud you had the strength
and courage to do what had to be done. Otherwise…”

He cut off, but I knew
the rest.
…I’d still be there, and he and my family
would still be brokenhearted, desperately praying and seeking me out.

We sat in silence most
of the remaining drive, and by the time we reached the police
station, my head was pounding, my insides twisting with anxiety. We
were taken to meet Detective Farrow, a man in his forties, with olive
skin, dark brown hair and eyes, natural frown lines and a disposition
that just screamed unhappiness. Even when he introduced himself and
shook our hands, I got the distinct impression he was annoyed to come
interview me on his day off.

Well, tough shit. I
didn’t want to be here either.

“Let’s get
this over with as quickly as possible, shall we? Then maybe we can
all have a partial day off.”

My eyes rolled toward
Nick. He wasn’t going to get a partial day off for this, as he
would still have to drive back to Portland tonight.

“Mr. Ellis, if
you’d take a seat here, I can escort Ms. Whitaker to the
interview room from here.”

My eyes widened as I
met Nick’s gaze. We never considered we’d get separated
and already my insides had hit the panic button. “No,”
Nick replied firmly. “I’ve already promised Megan I won’t
leave her alone.”

“Well, that
wasn’t your promise to make. My questions are for her and her
alone.”

Oh, shit. I’d
only ever seen that look on Nick’s face once before, when that
dipshit grabbed my ass at the diner. “Are you arresting her for
something?” he questioned cautiously, memories of the fire
already trying to preoccupy my thoughts.

“No.”

“Then either I’m
going with her or this meeting is already over.”

Farrow’s eyes
intensified, tightening as his eyes shifted from Nick to me. My head
nodded towards Nick. “What he said.” Hell no this man was
getting me alone. I was already an emotional wreck, and given that
state, I wasn’t sure if I could completely trust myself not to
blurt out all the wrong things.

Reluctantly, and with
a bitter tone, Farrow muttered, “Fine.” Already walking
away, he added, “This way.”

I inhaled a deep,
silent breath of relief, and Nick squeezed my hand as we followed
Farrow to an interview room, which unfortunately, looked a lot like
those interrogation rooms you saw on TV. This one even had one of
those lovely two-way mirrors off to the side.

We took up the seats
opposite the detective, who quickly had his file open, a notepad and
pen ready to go and was already running his mouth before we even got
comfortable. Or as comfortable as we were going to get in steel
chairs with hard plastic backs.

“Alright,
Claire–”

“Megan,” I
quickly interrupted, and he already looked more annoyed with me. “I
haven’t gone by Claire in a long time.”

He scribbled onto his
notepad, replying, “Fine.
Megan
… First things
first. Your parents have already informed us of a few things, but I’d
like to hear everything directly from you. On October 30
^th
,
2010, your Ford Focus was found on the side of Hillsdale Ave at
approximately eight-fifteen in the morning. Do you remember anything
that happened that day?”

“No,” I
said quietly.

“Not the car
that hit you, nor the people in the car? Nothing?”

“Nothing,”
I parroted. He scribbled on his notepad, but since I had nothing to
offer, I couldn’t imagine what he was writing.

“Since you
managed to escape your captors, you must know in which city they were
keeping you. Correct?”

“L.A. Somewhere
in the hills but I don’t know enough about that area to
clarify.”

He nodded his head as
he wrote. Without looking up, he added, “Do you remember what
the house looked like?”

“Other than the
white stucco and bars it had on the windows? No. And there’s no
point since it burned to the ground.”

That piqued his
interest, and I suddenly wanted to smack myself for saying that.
Breathe, Megan. They can’t prove you started it.

“Was that the
same day you escaped?”

“Yes,” I
replied. Underneath the table, Nick squeezed my hand and I released a
breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“When was this?”
Farrow questioned further.

Unfortunately, that
day was burned into my brain. “November 2
^nd
, 2011.”

He scribbled quickly,
then gathered his things and stood up. “I’ll need a few
minutes. Can I get you anything?”

I shook my head and he
was out the door without another word. I couldn’t help but gaze
at the mirror, wondering if someone was listening, watching from the
other side. Nick leaned over and whispered, “You’re doing
great,” then kissed my forehead lightly. We sat in silence,
keeping our promise to use minimal words so long as we were here, but
Nick continued to stroke my hand to comfort me. I tried my damndest
not to let my mind wander, but speaking of the kidnapping, the
fire…it was difficult to keep the memories turned off.

When Detective Farrow
returned, he had several sheets of paper on top of his folder.
Settling down again, his eyes scanned the information, but I was
certain he’d already gone over it before he came in. “There
was one fire on the day you stated, where the home had stucco and
bars, and was in the L.A. area. Is this it?” he inquired,
sliding a copy of a picture of the house pre-fire.