Page 98 of The Boy from Half Moon

The door opened and Tate stepped in. I jumped out of my seat, heading toward him so I could hug him. The last week in jail was scary, but perhaps because of my build, I’d been left alone so far. That and Jefferson County had a low crime rate, and there were only seven other prisoners in the facility, but I was still terrified of being locked away.

“Stay seated,” Tate said, holding his hand up, cutting me off. “We are currently being videotaped, so do not touch me and do not discuss our relationship. There is no sound being recorded, but I wouldn’t put it past them to hire a lip reader. That mirror on the wall,” he said, motioning toward it. “It’s two-way. Keep your mouth cupped with one of your hands while we speak.”

Tate seemed rigid and on edge. I hadn’t expected to see him, but when he finally appeared after a week, I hoped we could hold each other. I needed his comfort. “I miss you, Tate,” I whispered.

“Speak normally, Luke. No need to whisper.”

“I love you,” I said. “I didn’t do this, Tate. I can’t stay here any longer. I swear to you on my father’s grave, I didn’t do this.”

“I know that,” he said. “But you need to tell me everything, Luke. Everything,” he repeated.

“I have,” I insisted, knowing that I may have left a few details out because I was embarrassed by my actions.

Tate focused on my face, but he was emotionless. “Tell me about Franklin’s office?” Chills ran down my spine. He knew, but how? “Did you know that Franklin’s office had cameras, Luke? And that he was in the habit of recording his time while in that office. What were you thinking?”

I could continue to lie, or I could admit my actions. I loved Tate. I’d committed to not lie to him when we’d discussed the kind of relationship we both wanted.

“The time I threatened to kill him in front of the entire community? Or when I did a despicable thing to get a favor from him?” Tate looked down at my file and said nothing. I’d hurt him. “I did make that decision, Tate. I needed to be in Bend full time to be near you. The only way I could get Franklin to agree was to negotiate with him. I had nothing to negotiate with except the one thing he wanted, and I was afraid you wouldn’t notice me if I didn’t work closer to you.”

Tate lifted his head to face me, studying me carefully, most likely to see if he could trust my answer. “Anything else?”

“He asked me what I could do for him in exchange,” I added. “I didn’t want him to put his penis in my butt, so I tried to shock him by exposing my penis and getting him to put his mouth on me. I thought it’d be easier.”

Tate’s eyes were watering. Was he disappointed in himself, or sad about what had happened to me? He remained focused on me, saying nothing. After what seemed like hours, but was probably less than a minute, he cleared his throat.

“Your actions that day do not look good, Luke,” he said, scribbling nonsense on the cover of my file. “Without sound available, the video depicts you as being aggressive toward the victim. Exposing yourself the way you did seriously undermines our case.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. What else could I say but that? My actions were awful and I’m sure the tape made me look like I wasn’t a victim. Maybe I wasn’t a victim that day, but what I wasn’t today was a murderer. “But that doesn’t make me a killer, Tate. Even if you say you can’t love me anymore because of what you think I did, I’m still not a murderer.”

“Tell me about Josiah,” he asked, proceeding without acknowledging my previous statement. Tate was cold and his behavior concerned me.

“Sixteen, hard worker, my friend,” I replied.

“He’s pointing a finger at you, Luke. Considering Josiah to be your friend is also a mistake.”

“Well,” I began. “He is my friend. And yes, he saw me fighting with Franklin.”

Tate opened the file, flipping a few pages before continuing. “Your friend stated he saw you kneeling next to Franklin, jamming your knee into his stomach while he was defenseless on the ground. Said you threatened to kill him on the very spot his body was found.”

“I did. That’s all true.”

“And why would your friend provide all that incriminating evidence to the Sheriff’s office, Luke?”

“Because he was being raped, too,” I whispered.

“What did you say? Speak up.”

I didn’t like the man seated across from me right then. “I don’t like this you, Tate. You’re mean and acting like you don’t know me. I thought you loved me.”

Tate stood, throwing my file toward me, towering over me in rage. “You don’t like me?” he yelled. “You don’t fucking like me? Is that what you just said?”

“I don’t,” I confirmed.

“Well guess what, Luke? I don’t give a fuck whether you like me or you don’t. Do you think this pressure I’m applying to you is fun for me? Do you?” I shook my head. “Good! Because I don’t think you know just how much trouble you’re in. I’m a fucking cakewalk compared to what prosecutors will do to your ass during a trial.”

I burst into tears. “But I didn’t do this!” I yelled. “I love you, Tate. Please don’t do this to me.” He turned his back to me, his shoulders slumped over, his hand on the wall. I glanced at the camera in the corner near the ceiling, swiping at my tears. “I didn’t kill Franklin,” I repeated. “I found Josiah in the loft bleeding from his butt, and then later, when Franklin showed up dead, I thought Josiah could’ve done it.”

Tate spun around. “You what?” he asked, coming to my side of the table and leaning over me. “You witnessed this?” he pushed, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. I nodded, still wiping tears away. “Josiah actually told you that Franklin raped him?”

---