Page 23 of Frankie and the Fed
She surrenders and goes to the adjoining bathroom, brings a small hand mirror from there, and holds it in front of my face.
I bite the inside of my cheek until it hurts.
My face is swollen beyond recognition, and my nose is covered with bandages. Black circles surround my eyes. My lips are chapped, and there’s a cut on my lower lip covered with several stitches. This is what hurts me when I speak. I touch my bruised face gently, then lower my hand to the large angry cut on my neck. This is where he held the knife. I’m sure the rest of my body looks similar.
I look away. I don’t want to see it anymore.
“I wasn’t conscious when most of the...” I wonder what word to choose. “The fight happened. I didn’t know Ethan came to save me.”
“You were conscious when they found you. You must have seen part of what happened.”
“When I woke up, I saw Ethan on the floor, and Michael was about to shoot him. I didn’t know what to do, so I jumped on him.”
“You jumped on him?” She looks surprised, and I wonder why.
“Yes. I jumped on Michael, and we fell to the floor. The gun went off.” I remember those moments of horror. “I was sure I was dead. That he shot me. But when I got up, I saw the bullet had hit Michael instead. There was so much blood. Ethan too... I thought they were both dead.”
She shakes her head. “Mr. Summers died from his wounds.” She looks at me with a serious face. “Are you sure about your version? You jumped on him, and a bullet went off?”
“Yes.” I narrow my eyes. “Why?”
“Interesting.” She mumbles and exchanges a look with the other policeman.
“I killed him. It was an accident, but I would have killed him on purpose, given the chance. The gun went off as we wrestled on the floor. Am I going to jail?” I ask. I don’t mind going to jail. It was worth it. Ethan is alive.
“I don’t believe we’ll get to that. It sounds like an accident. Or self-defense. Especially after what you’ve been through. Assuming you’re telling the truth and the forensic evidence matches your version.”
“Do you think I’m lying? What reason would I have to lie?”
She stands. “I think you have no reason to lie. And that will be enough for now. I’ll come again later if I have any more questions for you.”
I nod, and she leaves the room. My parents rush in.
“Ayala.” My mother rushes to me. “Are you okay?”
I try to stop the tears and nod. “Mom. Mom, she said Ethan is alive. He’s in New York. I want a phone. I need to talk to him. I need to tell him I’m okay.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Ayala.”
What? “Did you know? You knew all along that he was alive, and you didn’t tell me?” I wanted to die. I thought I had nothing left to live for, and all this time, they knew.
“You had an affair with him while you were married. Michael thought you were cheating on him. That’s why you’re in this situation now.” I hear the scolding tone in her voice.
An affair. That’s what she calls it. What we have is love. It cannot be reduced to a simple affair. I want to hear his voice. I want to talk to him, to know that he’s alive and breathing. “He is not to blame for what happened. Michael is,” I insist. “Why didn’t you tell me Ethan was alive? I want to talk to him!” I cry.
“He doesn’t want to talk to you.”
I shake my head, despite the pain. “I don’t believe it. Let me talk to him!” I shout. I want to hear his voice. I need to hear his voice.
Mom reluctantly hands me her phone. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
The phone rings and rings but goes to voicemail. I call again, and still no answer.
I squeeze my fists. I have to talk to him. I try again, and lucky number three.
He answers on the second ring. I didn’t think about him not recognizing the number.
“Yes?” His low, husky voice sends a shiver through me. How good it is to hear him.
