Page 32 of Deadly Force
The silence that follows is suffocating. She doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Her eyes are wide, unblinking, fixed on me like the words didn't land right. Like they're still looking for a place to hit.
For a long moment, she just stares. Processing. The color slowly drains from her face.
She rocks slightly, as if the news is a physical blow she's absorbing.
Then her knees buckle.
I cross the distance fast, grabbing her before she hits the carpet. Brooke goes limp in my arms. All the independence she clings to burns out in an instant, leaving nothing but raw pain stretched across her face.
She's breathing too fast, panicked, eyes wide and unseeing as I guide her to the sofa. I keep my voice steady. "Sit down. You're okay. Just breathe."
She doesn't answer, just collapses onto the cushions like a marionette with cut strings.
Without thinking, I draw her to me, arms sliding around her waist, pulling her close like maybe I can shield her from everything she's feeling. The movement is instinctive, protective. But the moment my hands settle against the small of her back, something tightens in my throat, cutting off my next breath entirely.
The rational part of my mind screams warnings. She's vulnerable. Grieving. Dependent on me for safety.
But then she whispers my name against my shirt, so quietly I almost miss it, and every rational thought dissolves.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," I murmur.
A sob slips past her lips, and she folds into herself, body convulsing as the weight of it all hits.
I should stay neutral. Keep my distance. But I don't move.
Her fingers curl into the fabric at my back,holding on like I'm the only solid thing in a world that's suddenly shifted off its axis. And maybe I am.
Maybe, for tonight, that's exactly what she needs me to be.
Brooke
Sunlight sweeps across the ceiling, warm and golden, but it doesn't reach the heaviness inside me.
Caleb is asleep on the bed. When he moved from the couch, I don’t know.
My whole body feels dragged through a storm. Like the grief I wrestled with all night has left bruises beneath the surface. But it's more than grief now. It's guilt, sharp and relentless, cutting through every rational thought I try to form.
I leave Caleb sleeping and tiptoe across the room. In the bathroom, the mirror confirms what I already feel. My face is pale, drawn. My eyes are red-rimmed and swollen—evidence of the night I couldn’t hold myself together.
I grip the vanity, the floor tilting out from under me. She’s dead. Gone.
The guilt crashes over me again. Eliza trusted me. She came to me scared and desperate, and I let my own ambition cloud my judgment. I pushed when I should have listened. I wanted the story more than I wanted to protect her.
I promised her. Promised her she’d be okay.
I whisper a prayer, desperate, frantic, my voice small as all confidence drains from me. “Lord, she’s gone. I can’t do anything about that, but please, help me to bring comfort to her family. They need to know she was…”
I pause, fresh tears welling in my eyes. I don’t know what her family needs. I don’t even know if they live here. The weight of my ignorance presses down like a stone in my chest.
If I’d had time, I would’ve been up half the night looking into her background, finding out as much as I could about her. Instead, I let myself fall apart in Caleb’s arms. Part of me feels guilty about that too—choosing comfort over action, choosing my own needs over justice for Eliza.
It’s my fault. I pushed too hard. I was so fixated on my big break that I forgot Eliza was young, scared, and vulnerable.
The shame burns in my chest, mixing with grief until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I’ve always believed that God uses everything for good, but how can any good come from this? How can Eliza’s death serve any purpose other than to highlight my failures?
As I wash my face and brush my teeth, questions pound through my brain. She was scared. A little paranoid. But suicidal?
My journalistic instincts war with my emotionalturmoil. There’s a story here. A truth that needs uncovering. But every time I try to focus on the facts, I see Eliza’s face, hear the tremor in her voice when she begged me to guarantee her safety.
