Page 49 of Jagged Line Paradise

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“You want a soda? I’ll grab you a soda.”

She disappears for a few seconds, then returns. She pushes past me, coming outside with her cell phone tucked between her elbow and her side and one can of soda in each hand. She holds one out to me and I take it, watching her with curiosity as she plops down onto the plastic chair and sets her phone on the side table. She pops open the can and takes a sip.

I’m a little bewildered at this turn—at how quickly she shifted and decided to come outside just to avoid my question. Clearly, things are not okay, and I’m certain I’ll get to the bottom of it in time. I’m going to take this for what it is. There’s no use in overanalyzing when I got what I came here for.

I sit in the other plastic chair angled toward her. “How’s your mom?”

“Like you care,” she replies half-heartedly, then she sighs. “You know it was really shitty of you to show up the way you did today. Worse still that you just won’t leave me alone.”

I stopped listening aftershitty.I grin. “Did you just say it was shitty of me?”

Her eyes narrow. “Yes, Andrés, I’m an adult and sometimes I cuss. I just don’t feel the need to pepper every other word with a cuss like you do. I like to reserve special words for special occasions.”

“I guess that makes me a special occasion then.” I pop the tab on my can and take a sip.

“Your unannounced arrival? Yeah, it’s a shitty, special occasion.” Her head turns sharply toward me. “What is it that you want from me, exactly? I think I have adrenaline fatigue from the emotional roller coaster you’ve put me on today.”

“Now that I’m here, I want a lot of things from you.”

Her gaze burrows into my soul. “You want me in your documentary.”

“Yeah, I do. The other families want it, too.”

“The other families? Who? Of the victims?”

“Yeah. You have a voice that his victims don’t have, and they want you to fucking use it.”

Her shoulders rise with tension. “What good would it do anyone to hear me talk about it? I’m not special. I didn’t get away because I was strong…or smart. I got away because I waslucky. That’s it, end of story. It’s not inspiring. It’s not bringing any new light to the situation. It’s not going to make anyone feel any better, least of all me.” She sets her can down a little too hard on the plastic side table and leans forward. “It’s not going to right any wrongs, Andrés. But you know what it will do? It will make people talk abouthim.I’ll be just another story for true crime addicts to get off on. And you’ll be the one facilitating it.” She leans back with a huff of finality and crosses her arms over her chest.

I look down at my can of soda and wish I had something stronger. I wonder if Avalon has made a choice not to drink—if ever there were a day for it, it would be today. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t, given the way alcohol ruined her mother, and consequently, Avalon’s childhood.

I set my can on the ground and cross my ankle over my knee, leaning back in the cheap chair. “Listen. I’m not facilitating sickos getting off on true crime porn, okay? This documentary is meant to show humanity at its best, not at its worst.”

“Will there be mention of your father?”

“Of course.”

“That’s humanity at itsworst, Andrés.”

My eyes narrow on her lips every time she says my name. She says itright.She rolls the R so perfectly, pronouncing it with the proper accent. I’m so used to hearing it the wrong way, but never with her. I want to hear the way she says it when she comes.

Fuck, I need to focus.

“He’s not the focal point. This is about the victims, the lives they lived before him, their families, how they coped, how they grew, how they found peace.”

She shakes her head, looking off into the distance. “Hmm. That would be nice to know.”

“What?”

“How they found peace.” She turns to look at me then with unflinching eye contact and I see it there, the unrest in her soul.

“Come with me to one of the interviews. See for yourself.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? What do you really have to lose?”

---