Page 83 of Finding Home with You

I’m sure he’s just as torn as I am about it. It’s seems fucking crazy to put myself in this situation, something that I have intentionally avoided for years, but it also seems like the only viable solution.

“I understand if you can’t go through with it,” Ryan says as he slides his arm around me, pulling me closer. “But I think you’ll be able to draw Anthony right to us this way. We’re struggling to find him.”

“I understand,” I reply, the hesitation in my voice makes me hold back. Pausing for I second I add, “It’s hard because I’ve avoided him for so long. I’m walking straight toward something I ran away from.”

Ryan falls silent and for a moment I wonder if he’s fallen back to sleep, but then his hand begins to absentmindedly brush my back.

There’s something about the darkness that gives me courage or maybe it’s that I know the truth will eventually come out.

“I think Anthony killed someone,” I whisper, my words hanging heavy in the air as they echo in my ears.

I’m sure Ryan already knows this, but I don’t mean he hired someone to do it. It’s still murder regardless of how it plays out, and in this case I mean that he actually took it upon himself to get the job done.

I feel his body stiffen against me and suddenly he’s sitting up, the light clicking on, illuminating the room, and taking the darkness along with my bravery with it.

“What did you say?” Ryan asks sharply, his eyes wide and focused directly on me. When I don’t speak immediately he snaps, “Erin, this is serious shit and if you don’t start talking now I’m going to assume the worst.”

“We were just kids…” I start, but Ryan cuts me off, his voice loud and booming, as he nearly shouts, “That’s bullshit, Erin.”

“Shit, Ryan, keep your voice down. Your sister is sleeping,” I say, my hands shaking as I put them on his chest trying to calm him down, yet I can’t even calm myself down. “And would you let me speak before you start interjecting?”

I’m sure Ryan can feel the trembling of my hands as he rests his over mine and the shakiness in my voice is apparent as I try to find the words, the words that will make him understand.

“We were supposed to be going to see a movie, but at the last minute Anthony got a phone call and we drove to this industrial area, like shipping containers and freight trucks. I wasn’t really paying attention,” I confess, shaking my head at my own stupidity, my naiveté, wishing now that I would’ve committed every detail to memory. “Anthony told me he’d be back in a second and I didn’t question him. Honestly, I knew by that point not to question him because I didn’t want to be anymore involved than I already was.”

Ryan has been silent, but his hands still clutch mine, and something about it allows me to keep going, like his touch gives me the strength to admit everything I know.

Carrying this secret has been a burden I have worn heavy for years, but more than that, I think carrying Anthony’s secret was the heaviest of them all. I held his close; it was bigger than anything because he didn’t care. I had to care for him.

“I heard arguing, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, and then I heard several gun shots.” I tell it all as if I was an outside observer, my voice now void of any attachment or emotion. “Anthony got back in the car as if nothing had happened. I remember noticing how steady his breathing was and how composed he seemed, almost like it hadn’t even happened. A part of me thought I might have even dreamed the whole thing.”

I swallow hard, now beginning to worry about what Ryan is thinking, and even worse, that nagging feeling in the back of my mind is now front and center, screaming at me that I’m somehow responsible for what happened all those years ago.

Despite this, I continue, that detached feeling now long gone. “He made a phone call to a guy he just called H…”

Ryan stops me, sitting up a bit taller, his hand squeezing mine slightly. “Do you think it could’ve been Hamish? The guy I asked you about last night?” Ryan questions, but there’s an eagerness to his tone, like my admission might lead somewhere. “What did he say in the phone call?”

“It was cryptic, something I was never able to decipher, but I assume Anthony called him to clean up his mess.”

“What else do you know?” Ryan presses, moving farther away from me, and it now feels like an interrogation and I grow anxious, as a feeling of warmth spreads over my face and neck. I swallow back the sob that clings to my throat and I suddenly feel far from comfortable sharing anything with Ryan.

“Nothing,” I stutter out, but Ryan’s body language changes and he shifts so he’s now fully facing me.

“Erin, you need to tell me everything. There’s more, you need to remember. Any small detail that you think isn’t important. Did you see any blood on him? His hands? His clothing? Did he meet up with anyone afterward?” He slams his hands down on the bed, “Think, Erin!” he shouts and it shatters the stillness of the house.

His questions come at me in rapid fire not even giving me a chance to process, let alone answer.

“Ryan, stop it,” I admonish, my face now hot as my fingers claw at the itchiness that has developed on my neck. I can feel the tears swell in my eyes as I continue to silently beg for Ryan to stop his interrogation.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I understand he’s a cop, but at this moment I need him to be my boyfriend, not some hard ass detective trying to crack a case.

I leave the bed, unable to look at him and disappear into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

Leaning over the sink I begin to cry as the feeling of judgment and shame washes over me. I didn’t expect this from him, and now any trust I felt has vanished in a matter of seconds.

He thinks I’m hiding something, but worse than that, what if he thinks I should’ve reported it all those years ago. What if I’m an accomplice to everything Anthony has done. Maybe a part of me agreed to help catch Anthony because of my guilt.

A couple of seconds later there’s a knock on the door and the sound of Ryan’s knuckles tapping startles me a little. I guess I expected him to leave; that he’d got what he needed from me so there was no sense in sticking around.

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