Page 38 of Finding Our Reality

Ry steps to the side, placing his hand on the small of my back as I maneuver around the coffee table. My spine stiffens like an electric shock just paralyzed me. Feeling it, he immediately removes his hand. I’m grateful he removed it when he did... before that old and familiar tingle poured through my body. I perch myself on the edge of the couch and prepare to take notes. Trash snickers like a child in trouble, garnering my attention.

“Shit, Ella. The last decade has been good to you. I nearly forgot how good those legs of yours look.” He leans forward, scrunching his nose, baring his yellow and brown stained teeth. “I bet they’d look even better wrapped around my waist.”

Oh crap. Normally, my reflexes aren’t that quick. I mean, they’re quick, but not supersonic speed or anything. So, how I react so quickly this time can only be described as a miracle. Ry growls, shifting to pounce from the couch and beat the snot out of his brother. Before he can move more than a centimeter, my hand slides across his leg, pinning him to the couch in stunnedsilence. We both look down at my hand, splayed across his upper thigh. I can feel the tight band of his muscles contract beneath the fabric of his jeans. Slowly, his head lifts, his eyes meeting mine.

I should move my hand. I should move my hand.

But I don’t.

I always do what I shouldn’t.

My heartbeat pounds through my fingertips, playing a rhythm against his body. Suddenly, his calloused hand covers mine, holding me to him.

Was I mad at Ry? I can’t remember.

Our moment is interrupted by the squeal of his obnoxious, parolee brother. “She’s still got you on a leash, Crutch. After all these years, huh? Can’t do anything without the little lady’s approval? You tell her about that house—.”

“Enough!” Ry’s yell startles me and I yank my hand away. The discord tumbles me back into reality. Blinking rapidly and breathing a sigh of relief, I rememberthat’sa good thing. Reality reminds you where you belong. And according to Ry, we don’t belong together. That’s the reality I have lived with for nearly twelve years, and I need to remember that.

“Geez. Settle down, brother.”

Ry peeks over at me. I can’t even read his expression. What’s the point in trying to decipher what just happened? I nod, urging him to move on. “Let’s just get started.”

He turns on his body cam and states the date and time. “I will be recording this session with audio and visual. Please state your name.”

“The amazing Daniel Crutchfield. Everyone calls me Trash.”

Ry spends the next twenty minutes going over things we already know. General background information, things that we knew back then, duplicate questions from the last two times he interviewed Trash. None of this is uncommon. We can takethe answers and comments to this benign stuff and compare it to previous conversations to see if anything has changed, if anything raises a red flag.

“A couple of weeks ago, we came across some new evidence that is most likely tied to the disappearance of Carrie.”

This part intrigues Trash. It’s what he’s been waiting to hear since we started. “What evidence?”

“Some photographs.”

“Photographs of what?”

I hand Ry the blown-up copies of the photos from my notebook. “We wanna show you some of these photos. See what explanations you may have for what’s going on in them.”

“Where’d you get them?”

“We’re keeping that information confidential for now,” Ry says, handing the first picture to him.

To my surprise, Trash actually sits up straight and really focuses on the picture. “Carrie.”

Duh.

Ry tries to corral his brother’s thoughts. “Can you tell me anything about the picture? Location? Who took it? Anything based on the date stamp?”

“This is at Trey’s. I guess Christina took the picture. She always had that fancy camera with her. Don’t know why, she could’ve just used her phone.”

“Anything with the date?”

Trash rolls his eyes. “How am I supposed to know what I was doing on a particular date? I was either partying or working.”

“What about Carrie’s appearance? Do you remember seeing her in clothes like that? Anything?”

“I know she looks fucking fine with a capital F. That girl was like a model.” He flaps the picture back and forth in his hand. “In this picture, she looks like she really needs some bananas.”

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