Chapter 17 - mine

Cameron

"Shit."

The loud single knuckle rap on the window made me curse under my breath. A man in his late forties or early fifties peered at me through the tinted window of my parked truck, squinting his eyes as though he was trying to get a better look at my face.

When he stepped back, I opened the driver's side door and climbed out.

"Good afternoon," I said.

He tipped his hat, eyeing me suspiciously. "Afternoon. Are you lost?"

"That's the third time someone asked me that." I had no idea why I wanted to smile. And I had no idea why I said that.

I remembered the five-hour long drive I did from a work site to Mike's house to make sure Kara wasn't hurt. It was after midnight when I arrived. Mike had opened the door and asked me in a kind tone, "You lost, son?"

But someone else had asked me that question before. When was it? Who asked it? It was at the edge of my memory, but before I could grab it, the man said, "You must have a habit of getting lost."

He seemed to be waiting for an answer, so I said, "No more than my habit of finding my way out."

Unless I didn't want to.

He removed his work gloves, tucked them behind his pants pocket. "I spotted your truck ten minutes ago when you pulled up. What can I do you for?"

He'd been watching me.

He lived in a gated subdivision, and I was worried security wouldn't let me in, but I was using the company truck, and they might have assumed I was one of the many contractors building new homes in the area. They let me in without any trouble. Some security.

Even before I pulled up my truck in front of his house, I had been debating whether to knock on his door or drive away. But that nightmare with Kara unconscious at the bottom of those stairs—the same stairs that had been in my nightmare for years— kept haunting me.

She should have never been there, and the thought that whatever was after me would come after her and hurt her made me push aside my crippling fear and tackle it once and for all. I was just about to jump out of my truck when the man had knocked on my window.

"I'm looking for Detective Joel Moore," I said.

"Retired," he said. "You're talking to him. How did you get this address?"

"Your father, Romeo, sent me."

He took off is hat. His heavy brows knitted together with alarm. "Is my father okay?"

"He's alright. I came by to ask you something."

He visibly relaxed and put his hat back on. "Whatever could it be about?"

"It's about a case that happened a long time ago. In the house on your father's street." My hands started to shake, so I tucked them in my pockets. "There was a shooting."

"A shooting," he repeated.

"Involving a young boy."

"That was over ten years ago." His dark eyes shone with irritation. "What do you have to do with it?"

Everything. I had every damned thing to do with it.

"I was—"

"Never mind that." He blew out an annoyed breath. "Look, man. You said my father sent you? Sometimes he sends students here as though I'm some sort of a mother database of information, but I just don't want to deal with that anymore, alright? Interview someone else for your project."

"That's not what I'm here for."

He raised his arm to check the time before he looked back at me. "I just got back from a very exhausting day," he said. "All I can think about right now is washing my pits and balls, a cold beer, my couch, and HBO. Stop wasting my time. Look, man. Go home. I'm in no mood to answer any questions."

Before he could turn away, I handed him a piece of plastic. He looked at it for a moment, fierce frown in place. "What's this now?"

It was my license. I knew the moment he realized who I was. The frown melted away, and when he looked at me, there was shock and recognition in his eyes.

"You were that boy," he said quietly.

There was a lump the size of a baseball in my throat. I nodded.

"Well, I'll be." He looked at me for a moment. A big smile cracked the surface of his hard face, softening it, and I knew he was assessing me, but with kindness and genuine curiosity. "You shot right up like a tree, didn't you? Cameron Jeremiah Saint Laurent." He handed me back my license. "Want to come in for coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Not a problem. Call me Joel."

His house was large and modern, but sparsely decorated inside. In the living room, there was only a large leather couch, a Barcalounger, a coffee table and a gigantic flat screen TV mounted on the wall.

"You live alone here?" I asked.

"Yeah. The wife took the kids and the dog years ago. What she chewed up and spat out is what you see standing in front of you. Coffee?"

"Sure."

"How do you take it?"

"Black, thanks."

"Have a seat."

I sat on the couch. He walked behind a marble kitchen island, pulled out two coffee cups.

"Here you go," he said when he was done, placing them on the coffee table. He sat on the Barcalounger. Out of a little silver flask, he poured a generous amount of whiskey in his. "Little bite for you?"

"No, thanks."

He shrugged, poured more in his. He took his time stirring it with a spoon. He took a sip, then released a satisfied sigh. "Now. Where were we?" He looked at me again and grinned. "I can't believe that kid was you. I'm glad you turned out alright. Now tell me how I can help you."

I reached for my coffee and took a sip. He did the same, patiently waiting for me to continue.

"About that night of the shooting," I started. I could hear the tremble in my voice. I paused, gathered my bearings.

Shit. I hated this. There was something desperate inside me that wanted to know, and somehow another part of me just as desperate not to know.

Talk to me, Cam.

I closed my eyes, hearing Kara's voice in my dream.

"I get nightmares about that night."

"Yeah," he said, eyes filled with sympathy. "I have things from my old job that haunt me to this day. Woke me up several times at night, covered in cold sweat. Doctor told me it'll go away, but it never really does, does it?"

"No, it doesn't."

"I know how it is, man." His face darkened. "I'll tell you what I know. You were very young when it happened. Do you even remember anything about it?"

I dragged my palm against my mouth. "Gunshots. Someone screaming for me. Can you fill me in on anything that happened that night?"

He leaned back against his chair, pulled out a small pouch of tobacco. "You mind?"

I shook my head. "It's your house."

"I haven't thought about this case in a long time. But yeah, I remember most of it. It's part of what made me a good cop. I could always remember the details." He took a drag, blew it out. "Well, not always, but I remember what counts. It's what also cursed me to a life of pills and doctors."

And alcohol, I wanted to add but didn't. Would I be the same? I wondered. Was this what waited for me?

"Yeah, I remember you. Brave kid." A long smile appeared on his face. "I remember it was Sunday, because my mom made pot roast that night and she asked me to come by for dinner after work. I got out of my car, grabbed the flowers I bought for my mom when I heard gunshots coming from your house.

"I called it in. I should have waited for backup, but I knew there was a kid who just moved in few months ago in that house. And his mom was hot. What? I was a cop. I wasn't blind. Fancy car, fancy dress, fancy face—what's her name again?"

But I didn't answer.

"The guys in the parish all talked about her," he continued. "Everyone knew she went out with that piece of shit guy. Couldn't figure out why though. Do you remember him?"

"No." Raven had never let any of the men she dated around me.

"Anyway, when I got there, the door was locked. I kept calling, but there was no answer. I kicked the door open. Found your mom on the floor, crying, beaten up. Her face was a mess. Busted lip, both eyes almost closed shut from getting pummelled. It was a shock to see a beautiful woman like her in that state. Then I saw you."

My heart started to hammer against my chest, so loud, so hard that it was almost painful.

"You were lying at the bottom of the stairs, unconscious. Your head was bleeding. I didn't know if you were shot. You had a gun in your hand. I secured the gun, called an ambulance. I asked your mom what happened, but she was beside herself. Just so out of it, screaming your name.

"Then someone walked in from the kitchen, caught me off guard. I almost shot him. He was holding a first aid kit. Guess he brought it for you and your mom. He put it down when I told him to."

"There was someone else?"

"Yeah. A good Samaritan. I forgot his name. It's been so long. Your mom said he came just before I did, was only trying to help. And that I should go upstairs. But I cuffed him, just to be safe. I was worried he'd hurt you or your mom. He cooperated."

His voice had gone quieter. "Upstairs I found the man your mom was dating, dead on the floor, bullet wounds on his chest."

I shut my eyes closed for a moment, waited for the dizziness to pass.

"You all right, man?"

"Yeah," I croaked. "Can you tell me the rest?"

"You want some water?"

"No, thanks. It'll pass."

"Alright. The ambulance rushed you and your mom to the hospital," he went on. "You were drifting in and out of consciousness. Doctor said you had a concussion, but your mom... Man, did he do a number on her. How he could have done that to such a face, I would never understand."

He shook his head, took another sip, but this time straight from his little silver flask. "Man must have been an animal. Without a doubt, whether you remember it or not, you did the right thing, Cameron."

Thoughts and images jumbled in my brain, creating chaos inside me. My ears started ringing, cold sweat popped on my forehead. I willed myself to shut my mind off and concentrate on the conversation. I needed to hear the rest.

"I visited you at the hospital. When you woke up, you didn't remember a thing. Probably all for the best. Who would want to remember a thing like that?

"It was a traumatic experience for anyone, especially to a young kid like you. Your mind must've blocked it. The doctors said it's the mind trying to protect itself."

His eyes were clear and sharp as they assessed me. "Anyway, it was a clear-cut case of self defence. We found your prints all over the gun. Your mom and the witness had the same story. Case closed.

"But I never forgot you. It bothered me that a kid had to shoot a man to defend his mom. You had to do what you had to do to protect your family. That man would have killed you both if you didn't shoot him. I know that much for sure.

"When I came to visit you for the last time, you were being transferred to a different hospital. Your mom and dad were screaming at each other."

"My dad was there?"

"Yep. I overheard him threatening your mom that he'd take you away if you didn't get the right treatment. I think he was talking about sending you to a shrink. Your dad was saying something about your friend dying in a maze just recently and that you had stopped talking, and I thought, this kid went through a lot already. He sounded very angry at your mom, very worried about you."

My dad was there after it happened, and it sounded as though he was trying to protect me. How did I not remember? How did he not say anything about it?

"A-are you sure it was me?" I asked.

"Eh?"

"The one who shot that man."

"Like I said, your prints were all over the gun. It turned out to be your mom's gun, and we found a few of her prints on it too, but it was clear from the evidence and two witnesses that you had fired it. According to your mom, you saw him beating her up and you shot him on the top of the stairs. I guess it was bad footing on your part but you took quite a tumble down the stairs after that. Probably from the kick of the gun or you got scared. But you were holding the revolver when I found you.

"You fell down a flight of stairs. How you did not break a bone to this day I don't know. You were a tough kid. Small, but tough. I came to the hospital a few times to visit you. You really don't remember me?"

"No. I'm sorry. I don't even recall going to the hospital."

"Ah, that's a shame. I was really hoping you would pick up a badge eventually. Well, like I said before, when you woke up, you didn't have any recollection of that night."

But something was off. Something didn't add up, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

He didn't know the whole truth. Raven didn't tell him all of it, I was sure of it. He only knew what he saw after it already happened. And what happened before that and what was on record came from Raven and a witness.

"Who was the witness?"

"I can't remember his name. We questioned him, and he was cleared."

"Can you find out for me?"

He looked at me for a moment without saying anything. Then, "I can do that for you."

"I appreciate it."

"You defended your mom. You were a hero. You saved your mom's life. The injuries she had were really bad. Thankfully, she pulled through. How is your mom nowadays, by the way?"

He smiled, curiosity in his voice, but I hated talking about Raven, so I just said, "she's good."

"Good. I wish her the best. She went through something horrible. Single mom, good son, monster of a boyfriend. I've seen it too many times. Still do."

"Thanks for your time." I stood. "And the coffee."

"Not a problem." He rose, offered his hand. We shook hands. "Really hope you find what your looking for, Cameron Saint Laurent."

"I will."

"Want some advice from a wrecked, retired, divorced cop who'd seen it all?"

"Sure."

"Even if you don't find what you're looking for, don't let it beat you up to a pulp. It's not worth it. A guy like you, move on."

I gave him a small nod. "Will you call me when you find out his name?"

"Will do."

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome."

When I stepped outside, the warmth of the sun on my face, the fresh air I inhaled were such a welcome relief I almost went down on my knees.

Just before I reached my truck, he called out my name. I looked behind me.

"Bury the past. It's dead," he said, meeting my eyes. "Take care of yourself."

I nodded and he closed the door.

The firm grip I had on my steering wheel felt familiar and reassuring as I drove away from the street. I should have been relieved, now that the things that happened that horrible night were revealed to me. Instead, I felt disturbed. Something felt off.

"Shit."

I forgot to give him my phone number. Tires squealing, I drove back to his house. But just before I knocked on his front door, I froze. Blood ran cold in my veins.

"Raven," I heard him say into his phone. "Your boy was just here. And he's asking questions."

THREE CHAPTERS POSTED TODAY! Chapter 16, Chapter 17, and Chapter 18.

Hi loves, leave me emojis that show what you felt about this chapter!