Page 10 of The Fallen
“Yes?”
“No, I mean lock the door.”
He moves, and I secure the locks, forcing my hands to stay as steady as possible. I don’t want him to see how much the incident in the alley has shaken me. Or was it his words that caused them to take hold? Hearing him say I’m guilty opened up a break in my heart I’ve been trying to ignore - willing it to disappear. Telling myself to ignore it is one thing, but hearing it out loud is very different, like the words are a knife slicing open the wound again.
“I didn’t murder him.” My voice is quiet, and I hate that I’m not more confident.
He doesn’t respond but moves into the main room and takes a seat at the table.
“You don’t understand the situation. You couldn’t,” I go on, hoping he might listen. If I can make him see my point of view, then …
“Don’t care. Not my business.”
The curt response riles my anger. “What, so you’re just doing my brother’s bidding. No questions asked?”
“Not paid to ask questions in this scenario.”
“You don’t fool me, Mr Locke. You’re a smart man.”
“And you’re a stone-cold killer.”
My teeth clench together, but it’s futile. The trembling from my bottom lip starts, and the weight of tears pools in my eyes.
“I didn’t kill my father!” I scream, unleashing the turmoil that’s wound up inside.
I watch for his reaction, but there’s none. He just looks bored. Finally, he turns away from my direction. “No. Don’t do that. Listen to me,” I plead, as I close the distance between us to get in front of him again. I need him to hear me, to see that I’m not a killer. “Why would I kill him? What motive do I have?”
“I told your sister that you and your siblings have the biggest gain in all of this – first the author’s death and now this.”
“So now I’m up for murdering two people?” I can’t keep the incredulous tone from my voice and slump into the chair next to him.
“Didn’t say that.”
“But you think I’m guilty,” I repeat. The word tastes evil as I say it. “I’m not.”
I can’t help but be disappointed that it's so easy for him to believe I’m guilty. Benefit of the doubt would be nice. However, I don't suppose any of my actions support that.
I stand, the burden of all this hitting me hard.
“Tell me the answer to the obvious question, then. Who did kill your father?” he asks, as he looks up at me.
His eyes, for that split second, don’t show judgement or condemnation. They’re alive with interest and questions, and the name is on the tip of my tongue, but I know that it will mean everything has to come out if I confess. Although, my pride is a small price to pay to clear my name. And that’s the point, isn’t it? I have to clear my name and put this mess right.
“His name is Lewis Davis.”
I wait for an answer, a sign. Anything.
“And you expect me to just take your word for it? Doesn’t work like that, Neve.”
No, it doesn’t. But I have to start somewhere if he’s going to change his mind. I can’t just go back. “Do you want a drink?” I ask. “I’m going to make some tea.”
I cross to the kitchen area and start the preparations for mint tea. Boil the water, spoon the tea. I take a second glass down from the shelf for him, perhaps trying to find words that match the simplicity of these actions, but nothing about what had happened to me is simple.
“I’m going to grab a shower.”
I turn to face him, and my eyes are automatically drawn to his chest. It's shown off so well in the t-shirt that looks about as dirty as he is that I can't help but imagine it unclothed. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run for it while you're naked?”
His lips twitch. “I’ll find you if you try. Besides, I have a feeling you have the rest of a story to tell me. Stay here. I'll listen.”
