Page 17 of ILY
“Back into hiding. That fucker.”
My mind conjures up all sorts of things—an escaped prisoner, a tortured victim—but for some reason, I can’t imagine Leaf doing anything terrible to someone. I really can’t. But then again, he was trying to blow Michael up and was carrying a very poorly constructed baseball bat with nails in it. No matter how many times he calls Michael a groundhog, I know it’s just some form of disassociation.
“Where is he hiding?”
“Underground. Good riddance! I hope an earthquake happens and you get buried alive!” He shouts this, the trees in the orchard rustling slightly behind him. He laughs maniacally and then looks like he’s going to cry once more.
“Did you know I’m allergic to apples?”
My eyebrows rise. “What?”
He sweeps his arms behind him. “Fucking apples! They’re all around me. First, Michael, and now the fucking fruits. They’re trying to kill me. Put me in an early grave!Godfuckingdamnit!”
He slaps his hands onto his legs and then starts to sob in earnest.
I stare at him, my hands not quite sure what to do. One half of me wants to pull him into my arms and hug him, the other realizes I should probably bring him in for questioning.
That’s what I’m supposed to do when someone’s a suspect of a crime. But fuck it. This is literally my last case before I retire,so what are they going to do? Fire me for not following protocol? I’m already not supposed to be here. I was told not to.
I look at him again and see the sad, dirty tear marks streaking his face as he cries. I gently touch his lower back, guiding him back toward the house. “Come on. You need to sit down.”
He inhales loudly and swipes at his cheeks, dirt smearing across his face even more as I guide him across the yard and back in through the front door.
The house is quieter now without his breakdown. In my good ear, I can hear his breath catching on little hitches as he inhales and exhales. He’s not sobbing anymore, but he’s still sniffling, fresh tear tracks running down his face.
The poor bastard is a mess, and all I want—with every fiber of my being—is to wrap him up and hold him until this whole thing passes. Which definitely tells me there’s something wrong with me.
I guide him to a kitchen chair, take a quick assessment of him, then turn to search for something to clean him up with.
Glancing around, I see a stack of towels on the kitchen counter that seem maybe washed, and I walk over, snagging one from the pile. There are dirty dishes in the sink and boxes on the counter, but otherwise, the place is mostly tidy, which seems very unlike him. His entire personality so far has been total chaos.
Then, just as I reach for the faucet handle, I spy a comically large martini glass with two olives on a kebab skewer sitting in what looks like a puddle of vodka and orange juice. I fight back a laugh. That’s more like it.
More likehim, anyway.
Pushing the glass aside, I slip my missing hearing aid back in my ear, then wet the towel until it’s soaking. Squeezing it out, I turn around and make my way back to Leaf, who’s still sniffling.It’s a bit too soft for me to hear it, even with both hearing aids now on, but I can see it in the way his nose keeps wrinkling.
He blinks up at me, so I kneel down, squatting between his legs. His gaze meets mine and holds it. I have an absurd urge to say something like, ‘Hi,’ and smile at him, but I don’t. This is a suspect, and I am investigating a murder threat.
So why do I want to treat him so tenderly? I wipe his cheeks as more tears flow from his eyes, and in spite of the crying, he manages something like a smile.
“You’re alright now,” I tell him softly.
He huffs, then murmurs, “I’ve made a huge mistake.”
“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my breath steady. I’ve gotten plenty of people to confess to terrible things over the years. I know what to do. “I understand.”
“I just got caught up, you know?”
“Yeah.” Oh god, is this it? Is this the moment? I’m not sure I’m prepared for this. If he admits any of it, I’m going to have to take him in.
I lean back, staring at his now-clean face. The goggles sit in his hair, pushing it up at an awkward angle, but instead of looking silly, he just looks cuter. There’s that flutter in my belly again.
“I’ll be better, I swear. I just need Michael to stop doing everything in his power to ruin my life.”
“You could let him go.”
“Ha. I wish.”
