May All You Seek Be Lost ┆ Missing
@whumpthisway ┆ May Curses Prompt 26
「✦」 OCs: Achiette D'Aosta, Cathal Nadeau ⅋ Laurent D'Aosta
「✧」 Content: Nothing Major
「✦」 Word Count: 1,444
「✧」 Relevant Links: Masterlist ┆ .𖥔˚ ♫˚ 𖥔.
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ They'll think of me kindly; // When they come for my things; // They'll never know how I'd stared at the dark in that room; // With no thoughts like a blood-sniffing shark; // And while my dreams made music in the night; // Carefully I was going to live. ❞
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
As the morning wore on, Laurent’s concern for Cathal grew. After his absence at breakfast, he had difficulty ridding the thought that he may have made a severe mistake. Not that Cathal could leave the grounds of the castle and, even if he did, Laurent was uncertain that he would have an objection.
He approached Cathal’s door, a plate from breakfast in his hand – reheated, with eggs which had been entirely remade. With his other hand, he knocked on the open door, keeping his gaze ever so slightly lowered. Just in case. He wasn’t sure of what, but just in case. He could see Cathal. Just standing, staring out of the window, before his whole body seemed to stiffen.
Cathal jerked around and looked Laurent up and down. Weighing him up for an immediate threat. Nothing.
“You weren’t at breakfast,” Laurent spoke slowly. “You probably need to eat something.”
No. He’d eaten only hours ago. But – but this could be another test. If Cathal declined this, who was to say when he would be given another chance? He glanced out of the window once more, before turning his full attention back to Laurent.
“It’s a pretty nice view, huh?”
Cathal nodded.
“If you wanted, we could sit out there once you’ve eaten something.”
It was a kind of bargaining that Cathal had to admit he was unfamiliar with. A positive… in exchange for a positive? It didn’t make any sense.
“The eggs got cold, so I remade them for you,” Laurent paused, “But you don’t have to eat, I just thought that you might be hungry.”
Cathal almost opened his mouth to thank Laurent. Almost. Not yet. He nodded once more, his usually stony expression faltering into a slight smile as he took the offering.
“I’ll let you eat. How about I come back up in half an hour?”
One more time, Cathal nodded. Were there really no strings attached here? Simply that Laurent would return? It seemed too good to be true, but he could admit to hunger. Even with a real meal yesterday, it was likely in his best interest to eat.
Laurent had disappeared now, once again leaving Cathal alone. And, again, Cathal wondered why he didn’t stay. But, then again, did it even matter?
Deciding not to overthink it – to try not to, at least – he took the plate of food and sat on the floor, just in front of the chaise. A direct line of sight to the open door. As though he expected some kind of catastrophe, Cathal ate slowly. There was nobody here to take the food away – nobody even to threaten such a thing.
Once again, he felt better after a meal. An idea which should be common sense for him. Eating real food could stave off unwanted side-effects.
There he sat, for what felt like a long time, eyes still on the open door. Expecting the worst at any moment. It didn’t come.
For the third time that morning, there was a knock on the door.
Laurent. Again.
Cathal looked upwards. He should hardly be shocked. Laurent had said he was coming back, and he had. Normally, promises made to Cathal did come to fruition, but never in such a neutral way.
“You’re looking better today,” Laurent smiled faintly, while Cathal quickly stumbled to his feet. “Whoa – hey, you can take it slow, Cathal. No rush.”
Cathal just gave a sharp nod. Laurent was right, he supposed. He hadn’t been told to stand.
“How about we go get some fresh air? We can take a look at that contract, if you’d like?”
The contract. Cathal had hardly thought about it. Actively tried not to think about it. Because, did it matter? The answer would be a yes or a no. There would be no chance for nuance. Either he accepted every one of Laurent’s terms, or he didn’t. There was nothing more to it.
Cathal approached the doorway, before thinking twice and picking the plate up from the floor, and proceeding to follow Laurent. When directed, he placed the plate on a countertop to ‘be sorted out later’, while Laurent picked up some paperwork and opened a door towards the garden. He held it for several moments, before Cathal realised what he wanted. Laurent was holding the door for him.
He slipped out of the doorway and just stood outside for a moment, awaiting an instruction. No verbal instruction came, but Laurent followed him outside, before leading him further into the garden. Down a path of slabs, towards a bench against the outer wall, where Achiette was tending to a small patch of herbs.
“Take a seat, if you want.”
Once more, an offer was extended. Not an order. Demand. Just an offer of comfort.
Cathal accepted the offer, although sat stiffly, even when Laurent sat beside him.
He was grateful for a brief silence that followed, allowing himself just a brief thought towards the sunlight. How flower-addled bushes rustled in the wind, sending flickering shadows over the greenery of the garden. Distant birdsong breaking up the subtle sounds of the soft flurry of the breeze.
Peaceful.
And Cathal allowed himself only a moment of respite here.
A future like this was not promised.
“I’ve got the contract here, but I want you to understand that there is no pressure from me about this. If you decline, I will still do what I can for you.” Laurent spoke, his tone just as measured and gentle as before.
Not that there was a lot within Laurent’s power – no true way to help. He could make requests – suggestions. But, ultimately, his authority was tangled within knots of red tape and political bills.
“Can you read?”
“Laurent!” Achiette hissed, looking over at him when she stood, as though he had said something entirely out of line.
“What? I don’t want him agreeing to something he doesn’t understand.”
Spoken as though Cathal was absent.
“Whatever, you were just starting to take on that tone.”
“What tone?”
“You know the one,” she breezed past him and patted him on the shoulder. “Just be nice.”
“Are you alright to read this, or would you rather I explain?” Laurent was certain that he hadn’t spoken out of turn, but he allowed Achiette’s scolding to shape his next words. He was just – not even tired. Just so out of his depth, and doing all he could to keep his head above the murky water.
Cathal nodded, finally taking the paperwork from Laurent and starting to skim over it. There were a lot of technical terms – maybe he should have asked Laurent to explain. Hearing it set out more plainly than the text in front of him.
The contract set out in front of him seemed to make sense, but there would be loopholes. Underhanded clauses. Woven into the text, padded out with the promise of a fair employment. Laurent hardly appeared the type for that level of manipulation, but that was what made it far more likely.
Most of it made sense. At least, Cathal thought it did. He would spend the remaining ten years of his sentence serving as a protector to Laurent – a bodyguard of sorts. Swapping the cells within the prison for a life of comparative luxury here. His brow furrowed as he read through the clauses regarding pay. It – that couldn’t be right. Laurent had mentioned payment, but it seemed – the money which the prince was willing to part with seemed excessive. A lie within itself.
“We can renegotiate payment, if it’s not enough,” Laurent’s words tore Cathal out of his train of thought. “It can be risky work.”
Risky? The job described on the paper paled in comparison to Cathal’s entire existence. His life may be on the line, working for Laurent like this, but not in the same way it had been hanging for years already. The volatile safety Cathal had clung to for so long could be replaced with a far more permanent guarantee of it.
Cathal shrugged at Laurent’s offer, continuing to read through the document. Most of it made sense – what was being asked of him was, ultimately, simple.
Be prepared to lay down his own life in order to protect Laurent.
“What do you think? I – I mean, will you do it?” Laurent quickly corrected himself. He hardly allowed himself to expect Cathal to speak. A yes or no question would be far easier for him to answer.
One more time, Cathal simply nodded. Outlined within the contract was a promise of a better life. Even with the way Laurent would undoubtedly manipulate it, he nodded. Could it really be worse than prison?
May Your Hands Be Cut With Thorns ┆ Nature
@whumpthisway ┆ May Curses Prompt 1
「✦」 OCs: Cathal Nadeau ⅋ Laurent D'Aosta
「✧」 Content: Nothing Major
「✦」 Word Count: 860
「✧」 Relevant Links: Masterlist ┆ .𖥔˚ ♫˚ 𖥔.
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ We don't rely on 'there's nowhere to go'; // We realize that the soul grows; // We just deny that the truth is untold; // No one to rally us both; // I don't know why they don't wanna transform; // Taking the long road home. ❞
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
As the pair approached the entrance to the grove edging the castle – Langthorn – Laurent paused and gave Cathal a cursory glance.
“Have you ever been down here?”
Cathal just nodded his head. More silence.
“Still… Just watch your step,” Laurent spoke, leading the way further into the wooded area. “I don’t get out here as much recently,” more of a musing, than a conversation piece containing much substance.
He pulled the bottle of wine from his jacket with the corkscrew, before removing the jacket itself, lying it down on the floor, before sitting beside it and gently patting the fabric.
“Just sit, for a moment?”
Another lack of an order, one more offer from the long string of them over the last few days.
Another order Cathal struggled to make sense of. An endgame which eluded him.
While Laurent removed the cork from the bottle, Cathal brushed away some debris from the ground and sat down. Masking a grimace as he got comfortable beside Laurent – the jacket lying untouched between them.
Quiet defiance.
“You can –” Laurent thought twice and cut himself off before he finished the sentence. He took a sip of the wine, straight from the bottle, before holding it out to Cathal. “I hope you don’t mind white.”
Cathal didn’t mind white. Nor red. It had been a long time since he’d even touched wine. Or anything of the like, for that matter.
He only stared at the bottle for a moment, then met Laurent’s eyes. Just for one heavy moment. This was Laurent’s way of connecting – Cathal had to assume that. No action of Laurent’s over the last several days had been intertwined with an ulterior motive – not yet. He would let his guard down, just this once.
He took the bottle, weighing it in his grip, before taking a sip and passing it back. Pretended not to see Laurent’s slight smile at his acceptance.
“I owe you an apology,” Laurent took the bottle back, taking another sip for himself. “Earlier. I should have stepped in sooner. I just didn’t realise –” he paused, shaking his head and looking away from Cathal. A sharp exhale through the nose. Grip tightening on the bottle. “I shouldn’t have let – I shouldn’t have put you in a position like that. I’m sorry that you felt as though she had that kind of authority over you, but that’s not really an apology, is it?”
A frown edged around Laurent’s lips as he took one more slow sip, before offering the bottle towards Cathal again. He took it.
“I hesitated. The last thing that I wanted in that moment was to cause a scene, and you paid the price for that. I’m sorry,” Laurent glanced back at Cathal. Trying to meet a gaze that Cathal wasn’t giving him. “I can assure you, I won’t allow anything of the sort to happen again.”
With one glance in Laurent’s direction, Cathal nodded. Not only an acknowledgement of Laurent’s apology – an acceptance. Regardless of how out of proportion it seemed, he appreciated the gesture. Soft words, which he thought were spoken truly.
For a while, they – Laurent – fell into silence. Passing the bottle of wine back and forth, just watching and listening to foxes. Two cubs darting back and forth, rolling around in the grass just several feet from them at times. And the silence, only broken by the foxes’ rustles, did not hang heavy. Not even for a second as they worked through the bottle of wine together.
“You know?” Laurent finally tilted his head and looked across at Cathal once more. “I really don’t want you to feel as though you are unable to speak freely around me. I don’t know what you’ve been put through, but your opinion – your voice – matters to me. Do you understand that, Cathal?”
A long pause. The excruciating kind. That Laurent thought felt a lot longer than it was. Waiting for Cathal to speak. Say anything.
He didn’t.
“I want you to know that, while you’re under my employment, you have no less inherent value than I do. Than anyone does. I did not hand select you as some kind of servant, nor as a trick or as a way to keep you under my thumb,” Laurent was aware of his rambling, yet continued. “I offered you this position because you’re one of the best, and with that, comes respect. You can say what you like because I value what you have to say. But, with that said, I will never force words from your mouth. Do you understand?”
Cathal almost spoke. Instead, he nodded. Despite what Laurent was saying, even the idea of saying something audible right now was – it was a lot. Too much. And, when a nod would give just as accurate a response as anything else that may come out of his mouth, he saw no need to lean away from his comfort zone.
So, there they sat, in silence. Soaking in the moonlight until they – until Laurent – suggested going back to the castle. Until Laurent was sure that not a word would pass Cathal’s lips tonight, and rest was a far worthier pursuit.
May You Heal Every Wound ┆ Painful Healing
@whumpthisway ┆ May Curses Alt. 2
「✦」 OCs: Achiette D'Aosta ⅋ Cathal Nadeau
「✧」 Content: Burn Injury (Minor) ┆ Herbal Medical Care
「✦」 Word Count: 1,228
「✧」 Relevant Links: Masterlist ┆ References ┆ .𖥔˚ ♫˚ 𖥔.
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ My tongue's acquired tolerance for tastes I couldn't stand; // You've been stuck in a rut and a wasteland, drowned in swamps below your feet; // So just trust me, you'll be just fine; // I need your trust just for tonight. ❞
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ « previous
Cathal had followed Achiette to the bathroom in silence, bore the discomfort of her tending to the old wounds and newer burn through gritted teeth. Kept his mouth shut as she applied the same cream as before – calendula, she had said – to the broken skin.
This time, he didn't pull his hand away. Just allowed Achiette to work on soothing the heat from his wrists. Letting her do it, and do it her way, seemed like it should be the best option. It appeared to be what Laurent wanted, and Cathal was inclined to agree. Even just to placate the prince.
The burn had formed an angry blister, harsh redness seeping further afield into his skin. Achiette studied it for several minutes, until her expression shifted.
“I’ll have to make something up for it,” Achiette paused, and I want to double check but I think –” she narrowed her eyes as she thought. “I don’t think that interfering with that blister will help. But – but if you end up with an open wound, digitalis in olive oil could work.”
Cathal nodded, ignoring the fact that he didn’t know what the former ingredient was. It wasn’t as if it mattered – he was poorly versed in herbalism, but the way Achiette spoke made it clear that she was.
“It’s foxglove,” she clarified.
Had his expression given him away? Made it blatantly obvious that her explanations were lost on him? Not that it mattered.
“On their own, neither of them are all that effective, but using them together works on burns. Is that okay with you?”
Cathal gave another nod.
“Good, we won’t touch the burn for now, but can you let me know if the pain gets worse, or the skin breaks?”
He paused. Let her know? Actively seek her out? He could just – he could deal with it. He didn’t need her to coddle him like this. For longer than he could remember, he had patched himself up. Fight after fight, he had pressed dusty rags into bleeding cuts. Shifted uncomfortably in the night as bruises burrowed their way into his skin. That wasn’t something that stopped now.
Was it?
“Cathal, listen to me. I know you may not feel it, but you’re safe here,” Achiette twisted the cap onto the calendula cream, focusing more on that than her words. “If nothing else, while you’re fulfilling your duties towards Laurent, it is in everyone’s best interest to ensure that you’re healthy.”
And – and that was logic Cathal wasn’t certain he could argue with. Could the entire game come down to that? The secret motivation for all of this not being to trap him in a convoluted loophole and, instead, truly hinge on the fact that Cathal was more use to them alive?
That, at least, made sense. If his entire existence now revolved around protecting Laurent, he would be no use to anyone injured, or dead. A stark contrast to prison. Injured or dead there made no difference to anyone around him. Just an inconvenience of a body to dispose of.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he whispered, voice scraping against his throat as his tongue took on an unfamiliar role.
A flicker of… something… crossed Achiette’s face. Cathal wasn’t sure what. But it wasn’t anger – he knew anger. And frustration. And disapproval. Her expression was none of those things.
“Of course,” came her soft response, while she packed away her kit. She was silent for several moments, before she spoke again. “I know that you have no reason to put your trust in me, so I’m grateful that you are.”
Cathal nodded and locked his eyes on the floor.
Trust? He wasn’t sure that it was. She seemed to know what she was doing, and that was more than he could say for himself – he would likely have ignored the abrasions on his wrists. Waited out each stage of healing. Because they would heal, eventually. Everything always did.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he repeated, still quiet. Even as he felt his heart rate spike – pound against his sternum. Preparation for fight or flight at inevitable anger. Not that he would do either. Cathal would freeze, take the cards dealt out to him and try to maintain even a shred of dignity.
“I know this must feel like a lot, but you really don’t have to thank me,” Achiette leaned against the wall, while Cathal stayed sitting on the edge of the tub, “You deserve to be treated with respect. While I don’t understand Laurent’s adamance that you’re the one he wants, I trust him.”
Cathal had descended back into silence. Already, he had risked too much – risked burning a bridge with Achiette. The four words alone could have brought everything crashing down around him. Except, they hadn’t. Had he spoken to any of the guards like that, it would have been insubordination. No matter how quiet, how soft his tone – he would have been speaking out of line. Achiette, royalty, of all people, should know better than to tolerate it.
“I understand if asking for things right now feels like a foreign concept, but you need to know that you can,” Achiette twisted her head slightly as she pulled out a clip and let her hair fall around her shoulders. “Would you consider a compromise?”
A compromise? That already sounded – bad. Like this was the cost of the calendula.
“I’ll get you some writing materials. If there’s anything you want –”
Want. Not need. Cathal hadn’t even considered anything like that in – in too long.
“– Will you write it down? We’ll do everything we can to make it happen. Laurent is – he’s trying, but he can be,” Achiette looked upward, as if searching for the right words. “He can take things for granted.”
Cathal just nodded once more. He could do that – he could try, at least. Not that he even knew what he would write on that list. With meals and somewhere to sleep taken care of, what else was there?
“I –” he cut himself off quickly, it didn’t matter what he thought. His words would add nothing, it wasn’t worth the risk to speak. Not when a nod would suffice.
“It’s alright, I want to hear what you have to say. If you don’t mind sharing?”
“I – I’m –” Cathal gritted his teeth, brows furrowing as he searched through the murky waters of his thoughts for something. Anything. “I don’t want, Your Highness.”
His words stung over Achiette’s skin as he spoke. I don’t want. A complete sentence. A complete, decisive, sentence. Cathal could have said anything. Just that he didn’t know, or that he would write things down. Instead, a blunt statement. An assertion that desire was not applicable to him.
“Then don’t write anything, you don’t have to,” she spoke slowly. “I just want you to have the option, should you think of something.”
Cathal wanted to thank her again, but reassure her that there was nothing that he could even imagine wanting. Yet, he kept his mouth shut. Every word out of his mouth was weighed down with risk. If he wrote down something he needed, God forbid something he wanted, it merely opened up another avenue from which bargaining chips could be scraped.
And he couldn’t let that happen. Achiette already had far too many missteps to hold over his head. Cathal couldn’t give her more.
May Roots Tangle Your Steps ┆ Exhausted
@whumpthisway ┆ May Curses Prompt 14
「✦」 OCs: Evander Lantsov ⅋ Kay Edwards
「✧」 Content: Handcuffs ┆ Law Enforcement ┆ Prison Setting
「✦」 Word Count: 1,851
「✧」 Relevant Links: Masterlist ┆References ┆ .𖥔˚ ♫˚ 𖥔.
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ Leave all your love and your longing behind; // You can't carry it with you if you want to survive; // The dog days are over; // The dog days are done; // Can you hear the horses?; // 'Cause here they come. ❞
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ « previous
“Do you need anything?” The agent who was sitting across the aisle from Kay asked, as though Kay was just another passenger.
“What?” Kay spoke before he thought, looking up. “No, I’m fine.”
“Just let me know, Agent Lantsov, FBI,” the agent introduced himself. “And I hope you’re Aeon Edwards, or we’re going to have quite the explanation to give when we get back to New York.”
Confirmation that they were heading home.
“Yeah – yeah, your job’s safe,” Kay didn’t even comment on how Lantsov mispronounced his name, or how he usually went by Kay. It hardly mattered.
“Not a nervous flier?”
“Not at all,” he gave only a short answer. No reciprocating question.
“I used to be,” Lantsov admitted, a sharp gaze on Kay. “I was never a big fan of flying as a kid.”
Not the piercing, unnerving kind, more like a watchful curiosity. A look that Kay could accept.
“But you get used to it after a while, right?”
“I guess, maybe,” Kay just agreed. One of his first memories was being scolded by his mother for scribbling over leather seats on a private charter flight with a ballpoint pen. He’d gotten used to flying early.
He shifted in his seat, lips tightening as he heard the rattle of the cuffs. An unnecessary reminder of the situation. He understood them, though. If he had been in an enclosed space with someone with his criminal record, he would be on edge too.
“Did you eat this morning?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yeah – I mean, I didn’t, but –”
“Well, you probably should.”
“Yeah, because there’s great in-flight service,” Kay muttered. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Lantsov undid his seatbelt and headed towards the back of the plane. He returned moments later with a can of Coke – diet – a bar of some kind of chocolate, and a packet of something. Looked like chips or trail mix. “Like I said, you should probably eat something.”
Lantsov didn’t hand anything to Kay yet, though. And a cynical part of Kay wondered if this was just some sort of mockery he didn’t yet understand. Until the agent put the snacks down on the couch behind him and reached for a key hooked onto a clip on his belt.
“We’re going to be approaching thirty-five thousand feet, and there are four FBI agents here with guns. I wouldn’t suggest trying anything,” and Kay had hardly processed the veiled threat, masquerading as a statement, before Lantsov had undone the cuffs on his wrists.
“I’m not going to try anything,” Kay confirmed, glancing towards the front of the plane. “Is this… allowed?”
“It isn’t disallowed. It’s just… highly discouraged, I’ll put it that way.” Lantsov responded. “But I’m inclined to believe that any escape plans you may have don’t take place mid-air.”
“Well – uh – thanks. They didn’t tell me I was even flying until we got to the airport.”
“I’ve been in cuffs like that, I get it,” spoken as if it meant nothing. And maybe it didn’t. Lantsov handed Kay the snacks and drink. “Although, I have to say, this is a far nicer flight than I was on.”
“You’ve been on a flight like this? And you’re FBI?” Kay’s curiosity got the better of him.
“Yeah. I was acquitted and found not guilty at an appeal,” Lantsov was selective with the information he offered. “That's why I ended up here.”
“It makes sense, I guess,” Kay had opened the bag of chips and started to pick at them. “It’s a good thing that I was never planning on being in law enforcement, huh?”
“No? What was your plan?”
“I – uh – I don’t know if I should be answering anything without a lawyer…”
“I understand. This is off-record, and I don’t want to know about the case, so you can speak freely. If you’d like to.”
Kay took a couple more chips while he mulled over the statement. And, really? What was the harm? It wasn’t as if he could make things worse.
“I’ve been looking after my boyfriend for – for a while. The plan was to start college when he was okay,” Kay shrugged, but left his sentence there.
“Studying what?”
“Probably a degree in pharmacology,” Kay glanced out the window. This was fine to talk about. “I wanted to go into drug research.”
“Did you have a specialty in mind?”
Kay picked at his nails. Paused before he gave an answer.
“Addiction, mainly. Stimulants,” he briefly met Lantsov’s eyes. “I wanted to focus on drug development – not recreational. I mean drugs that could be used to help with the withdrawal processes, or relapse prevention.”
“Like methadone?”
“Kind of. There just – they don’t have anything like it for stimulants. So that was my five year plan, I guess.”
“What made you take that angle on it?”
“I used to have a bit of a problem. It – I kicked the habit, my –” Kay hesitated. Boyfriend. “My ex-boyfriend couldn’t. He – uh – he’s in rehab on the other side of the country.”
“I’m sorry, that sounds like it would be difficult,” Kay failed to see any form of insincerity in Lantsov’s expression. “It sounds like you care about him.”
“I do,” Kay gritted his teeth. “I didn’t mean for anything like this to happen. He – I don’t think he knows.”
“That you care about him? I’m sure –”
“No. He knows that. Me getting arrested. That we can’t really be together. I left a note with his parents, but he won’t even get it until he’s out of treatment.”
“Then it sounds like you tried to make the best choice for him.”
“Sure, yeah,” Kay shook his head and opened the can Lantsov had given him.
“But that doesn’t make it any easier for you, does it?”
“No, but it was the only option I had. There were warrants for my arrest and I didn’t have much time – and I shouldn’t be talking about the case.”
“I understand. We can talk about something else, but can I give you one piece of advice before we move on?”
A noncommittal shrug from Kay.
“I’ve seen people try to run from their past. But it’s there. All the time, even in the back of your mind. You have done the right thing here. You’ve got good instincts. Trust them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Doing better is hard. There isn’t a right path for it, but it sounds like you’re taking a good approach. Trust that.”
“I don’t know if I can trust myself any more.”
“The heart of the matter is, you need to take a step back and see how much of this you’re doing for him, and how much of this is for yourself. I’m not looking for your answer, but,” Lantsov paused and glanced towards the front of the plane. “I would be willing to venture that you didn’t walk into the U.S. Marshal office because you thought it would be a nice day out.”
Kay took another sip from the can, giving himself the time to consider a response. Or if he should even give one. But the words weighed on him. Lantsov was right, to a point, at least. Kay had told Paris once that he never thought he could leave someone he loved. Abandon them without a word – cut contact. His love for Paris had never been in question, but maybe it should have been. Kay had turned around and done exactly what he had promised never to.
An uneasy silence fell between them for a while, when Kay didn’t respond, and Lantsov didn’t push. He spent a long time staring out of the window, lost in swirling thoughts that he wished he could leave among the clouds.
They clung to him like static, refusing to vacate his mind. All Kay could do was bury them deep, in hopes they would only surface when he was able to deal with them.
“Can I ask you something?” Kay spoke up, maybe an hour into the flight. “It – it might be related to the case.”
“You can try me,” Lantsov agreed. “But I can’t promise you I can answer it.”
“When I left with the marshals this morning, people were taking photographs. Is that – is that a normal thing?”
“It can be, especially in high profile cases.”
“Like mine?”
“You’ve garnered quite a lot of media attention. Has your lawyer not gone through it with you?”
“Not really,” Kay admitted. “She said there was some public interest, but not to worry about it.”
“Then take her advice. Any case will have somebody who is interested. The marshals did their best to keep your transfer quiet…”
“But?”
“But journalists with the right connections might know when we’re due to land in New York. The agents handling your transfer will do their best to avoid any spectacle.”
“Tell them not to bother,” Kay muttered. “It all comes out eventually, right?”
Lantsov responded only with silence.
Kay spent the rest of the flight, head against the window, staring out. Trying to get just – just a few minutes of sleep. By the time turbulence hit, he had abandoned the idea. Doubly so, when Lantsov had replaced the cuffs on his wrists. More loosely than before. And, from the look that Lantsov gave him, Kay knew it was deliberate.
He was escorted from the plane, into a van. With still very little idea of where he was heading. New York. That was all he had been told so far, but that was enough. He hadn’t seen anyone taking photos at this end of the journey, though. So that was something. Then again, he hadn’t been looking.
The van ride didn’t take long. Half an hour at most, Kay guessed. Half an hour from LaGuardia and… and he could be just about anywhere.
A new wave of tiredness washed over him as he was escorted from the van by two – not agents or marshals this time – Kay just went with them. Head down.
Then the booking process started over again. ID checks. Name. Numbers. Date of birth. Fingerprinting. Again. The same questions as before. A strip search which Kay gritted his teeth and bore. A set of clothes. Clean. Navy blue. He wore them without complaint. Only spoke when spoken to. New photographs. An ID card bearing his name, date of birth, a number, a photo and a barcode. Strict instructions to keep it with him at all times.
Information he was too tired to truly process or listen to.
And then he was alone again. In a new cell. He had expected – Kay thought there would have been more chaos. A guard had made an offhand comment about protective custody – cop or snitch? Kay wished he was neither.
It was quieter than he thought it might be. For the moment, anyway. He stood in the center of the room for as long as he could bear, before lying down on the bed. That was as he expected. He’d planned to just lie down, just for a minute, but after three days of almost no sleep, Kay found himself drifting into an uneasy state of rest.
May You Never Feel Pain ┆ Numb
@whumpthisway ┆ May Curses Alt. 9
「✦」 OCs: Kay Edwards
「✧」 Content: Handcuffs ┆ Law Enforcement
「✦」 Word Count: 1,406
「✧」 Relevant Links: Masterlist ┆ References ┆ .𖥔˚ ♫˚ 𖥔.
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ And I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head; // They beg me to write them so I'll never die when I'm dead; // I'm bigger than my body; // I'm colder than this home; // I'm meaner than my demons; // I'm bigger than these bones. ❞
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ « previous
“Edwards, you’re up.”
Kay glanced up blearily at the marshal standing in front of him. He wasn’t sure he’d slept – almost certain that he hadn’t, actually. Sleep would come, just, not yet, it seemed.
“For what?”
“Paperwork’s processed. You’re out of here.”
“Out? Like…?”
“No. Get up. Do you need the bathroom? Anything like that?”
“Uh – no, I don’t – but yeah, yeah, okay,” Kay pushed himself to his feet. Already a second nature, he held out his wrists to the marshal, and the familiar metal against his skin was a grounding force. “They’re moving me?”
“Seems so, doesn’t it?”
“I guess? Where?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Kay nodded in response, following the marshal down the corridor. Someone frisked him. Cuffed his ankles. Led him through security. Outside. A different entrance than the one he’d come in three days prior.
He squinted slightly in the daylight – just after sunrise – as he was led towards a blacked out SUV. A quick glance around and he spotted a small group of people, no more than three or four of them. With cameras. It was only once he stepped into the car that it hit him.
Not only was he in real danger from Mercer, and the entire organisation – this was a high profile case. Public interest. Media attention. Although, right now, Kay was too tired to care. Let them think whatever they want.
Bars separated the back seat, where Kay sat, from the front. Two marshals, lost in their own conversation, occasionally sparing a glance backwards towards Kay. As it stood, he was absolutely fine with being ignored. Their conversation – about an upcoming birthday. A wife or girlfriend. Distracted Kay just enough. Combined with the staring out of the window. Watching scenery pass them by.
They were driving. Surely that meant they weren’t going far. Route Seventy. But not for long, not before they turned off. A sharp pang of guilt hit him as they passed signs towards The North Carolina Museum of Art. Then the turn-in to the building itself. It would have been the place Kay would have taken Paris. Listen to him ramble about neoclassicism and romanticism displayed within the works of Volaire. How he repainted such familiar scenes over and over again – and the history of the piece. And even North Carolina itself –.
They’d always meant to come here together. Paris commented several times about how North Carolina had been the first state to use public funding for the purpose of art acquisitions, and Kay had listened to him talk every time. Taking it all in, even when Paris didn’t think he was.
Now it didn’t look like they would ever get the chance.
Kay hardly paid attention to the rest of the route, only snapping out of his daydream in time to see the sign for the airport.
“We… we’re flying?” Kay’s brow furrowed.
“You are,” one of the marshal’s spoke, a noncommittal edge to his words. “Not sure where.”
Kay sat back against the seat in silence for the last few minutes of the journey, eyes down as they passed through more security checkpoints. Instead, he stared at a patch of – something – on his jeans. The same jeans he’d been wearing for three days.
“Edwards, out,” the car door opened and Kay followed the instruction.
At next glance, he was already on a runway. Approaching a small plane. Not commercial. That was a blessing, at least.
“Where am I going?” Kay looked up, met with someone in an FBI uniform this time. He jerked his head around, the original marshals standing back against the vehicle.
“Can’t say.”
Kay exhaled, following the agent towards the plane. Not even noticing an agent also behind him. It didn’t matter to him anyway, he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. At least, anywhere other than onto that plane.
Stumbling slightly as he ascended the stairs, sitting where he was told to sit.
And something felt deeply wrong. It was nothing like he’d imagined. Not like the movies. If anything, it was nice. He almost wondered what he did to deserve this. A business class private jet from here to… wherever. It certainly wasn’t because the growing list of charges against his name indicated he was low risk.
He sat in the seat – beige leather – alone facing forward. A couch along the wall to his right. A set of seats around two tables in front of him. Further forward, he assumed that was where the cockpit must be. It was all too flashy. Too clean. Unnervingly so.
Voices echoed in his head as they grew closer. One caused him to flinch. A deep physiological response. Not necessarily rooted in a memory. Then again, Kay was far past the point of exhaustion. Maybe the agent was merely speaking too loudly.
One agent, he recognised. Irvine. She had been present through most of the interrogations over the last two days.The voice of reason within what felt like abject chaos. The third agent, Howard? No – Hume… He had been present as well, not as much. And then it clicked. The voice. Reyes.
Kay kept his composure. Clawed it back from the brink, even as his heart raced. The frayed trust, and vague respect, he had for Irvine outweighed his nerves around Reyes. Just about. Not that he would dare let his guard down.
None of the agents spoke to him, taking seats around the tables. Keeping their distance from him, both physically and metaphorically. The same separation as in the car on the way here.
Irvine had said she was from the New York FBI office. Did that mean – it must mean that they were flying back to New York. He was going back to New York? If tiredness wasn’t strangling his every train of thought, maybe he would worry. He was heading straight back to Mercer’s turf.
There wasn’t much conversation, and Kay kept his head down as final checks began. A flight attendant of some sort checking paperwork near the door. Giving the all clear, just before another person ducked into the plane.
“Cutting it fine, aren’t we?” Irvine spoke from where she sat in front of Kay.
“Just some last minute questions.”
“Where can I get an iced caramel latte with hazelnut milk and lavender syrup at six thirty in the morning?” Irvine mocked the newcomer. “Am I close?”
“Oakwood. Fox and Rose Café. They open at seven.”
“Sit down, buckle up.”
And Kay wasn’t sure if that instruction had been for him, not when she was speaking to the last man to board the plane. But he followed it anyway, awkwardly twisting to do up the seatbelt as the most recent addition to the team took a spot on the couch near Kay and did the same.
It didn’t escape him how the man – one he had yet to meet – sat closer to him than the others, despite the one spare seat with the group. Not that he had the energy to piece together what that meant. Probably nothing. Probably a useless observation.
Or maybe it wasn’t. He could be a newer agent to the unit, less ingrained within the group dynamic. More claustrophobic, or wary of flying. Preferred the idea of being close to the exit or bathroom. Not that those ideas would benefit Kay to know, but it was something to focus his attention on, other than just out the window.
Light conversation bubbled between the agents in front of him. Nothing related to him, or his case. Or even work, for that matter. Just – just regular, human, conversation. How Irvine was relieved that The Bureau paid for flights like this, with Reyes quickly correcting her that this was out of convenience, and Hume complaining about the return to New York traffic. Irvine countering with how New York was home and –.
Kay had stopped listening. New York was home. Always had been, always would be. But, despite now being confident that was the destination, it evoked only a new sense of homesickness. One which he could hardly name as such. A homesickness for nowhere, yet, everywhere at the same time.
He turned his attention out of the window during takeoff and the light turbulence. Blanked out the pilot’s announcements. It would only be a two hour flight, if that was where they were going. If not, Kay had time to burn. He’d appreciate the view until either they landed or he fell asleep.
May Your Ancestors Forget You ┆ Buried
@whumpthisway ┆ May Curses Prompt 23
「✦」 OCs: Chloe Lévesque ⅋ Kay Edwards
「✧」 Content: Arrest ┆ Law Enforcement ┆ Talk of Murder
「✦」 Word Count: 1,162
「✧」 Relevant Links: Masterlist ┆ .𖥔˚ ♫˚ 𖥔.
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ And Christ, forgive these bones I've been hiding; // Oh, and the bones I'm about to leave; // And take me down to the river; // And bathe me clean; // Put me on the back of your white horse to ride; // All the way to the chapel, let you wash all over me. ❞
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ « previous
Kay stared down at the blank sheets of paper in front of him. He had requested the time to write formal confessions, but putting pen to paper? It seemed like an impassible hurdle. He stumbled over every word choice. Every variation would show him in a slightly different light. And he wanted to tell the truth, but doing that without even knowing what the truth was – that was the impossible part.
Even the details of what to include. Forget how to include it. Chloe had told him everything was important. Every detail he could remember from every case. But his details were patchy at best. It didn’t make him a liar, but the agents tasked with reading his statements – Kay had no way of knowing how gaps in his memory might be interpreted.
He sat alone in the interrogation room – Chloe had insisted on his cuffs being removed. Told him that she’d check in periodically, while she took the time to read through the case files she hadn’t read on the plane. A two hour flight, and she hadn’t even scratched the surface of all of the files Kay’s name was leeched onto. And those were the cases he was connected to. There were more. A lot more minor charges. Night outings with Mercer that hadn’t been linked back to them.
Yet.
Not linked back to them yet.
Kay planned to link them back.
Finally, he started scrawling on one of the pieces of paper. A mind map. Starting out with vague details of the victims. Anything he could remember.
Broken alarm. Carotid. Broke a rib.
Dog was whining downstairs. Spaniel. Stab wound to RUQ. Slow.
She cried. Blonde. Tried to bargain.
Kay’s attention jerked upwards to the door. A gentle knock, before it creaked open. Chloe standing there.
“How are you doing?”
Kay shrugged. Then shook his head. Then looked down at his notes.
“Do you need anything? Water? When was the last time you ate?”
“I’m fine – I’m really fine. It's just – it’s a lot to write down.”
“That’s understandable. I’ll check back in about an hour. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine,” Kay offered her his best attempt at a smile, as Chloe closed the door and left.
He rested his head in his right hand, continuing his notes. Trying to piece together the deaths he’d witnessed – caused – over the last two years. Some cases stuck out more than others; his notes scrawled close together. Overlapping. Other cases? Only a few words. It wouldn’t be enough.
Then came the notes on the kidnappings. The breaking and entering. Thefts. Arson. Destruction of evidence. Accessory after the fact. Obstruction of justice. And those were just the terms Kay knew. He was probably confessing to far more than he thought.
Even the kidnappings – he didn’t kill anyone then. But he knew Mercer probably had. Whether Kay had helped, or even known; Kay’s knowledge of the crimes. Of Mercer’s network. Everything he knew could have stopped this years earlier. If he hadn’t been such a coward.
His disjointed ramblings were finally starting to tell some semblance of a story. A vague timeline of events. It made Kay miss who he had been. Not because working with Mercer had changed him – that was possibly the worst part. That working with Mercer hadn’t changed him. That he had always been like this. Except he hadn’t known it prior.
When Chloe returned, Kay had most of his notes down on paper. Adding less new information now.
She paused in the doorway and looked down at Kay’s notes, spread across the table, before resting a hand on the chair opposite him.
“May I?”
Kay nodded, shifting in his seat and looking across at Chloe. Taking a moment before he spoke.
“I – I don’t have anything formal…” He trailed off and fidgeted with the ballpoint pen in his hand. Pulling off the end. Replacing it immediately. “But – but I think I’ve gotten all of the – the warrants covered. And more. I – I think you’re missing some…”
“What do you mean, Kay?”
“I – he – I didn’t take part. For some of them. But I was there. I – I guess that’s why they don’t think I did it,” Kay paused again. “They – you said they have the file for three kidnappings. I helped in three. But I know about five. I – I think all of those people might still be missing…”
“Do you know where they are?”
“Maybe. I – I don’t know,” Kay shook his head. “I can tell you where he – he had a spot. Lake Ozonia. He – I never went out there. But he would talk about it being West of there… A cabin. Then South of that. But – but he never gave me coordinates.”
“And you’re telling me that there are five bodies buried there?”
Kay nodded.
“You need to tell the agents about that,” Chloe spoke slowly. As if she were trying not to spook Kay. “Can you write it down for me?”
“I want to, but they’re not going to believe me.”
“They’ll send a team out. If they find something, it gives everything else you say credibility. This is something they can verify.”
Kay wordlessly obliged. Scribbling down everything he could remember Mercer ever saying about the site of the body dumps.
The location itself. Driving times. Landmarks. Everything.
“And can you just confirm that I can pass this information on to the agents on your case?”
“Yes. Yeah – give it to them. I – I just – I have so much information and I just – it’s – I want those families to have that closure.”
“I understand.”
“But if his graveyard is torn up – he’s going to know someone talked. So that's all that I can give you. Anything else, and he’ll know it was me.”
“I understand, Kay.”
“But they won’t – the marshals, or agents, or whoever is dealing with the case. They’ll want that information anyway.”
“You’re giving what you can. That’s the important part,” Chloe took the piece of paper and stood up, leaving the room again. She quickly returned, sitting back across from Kay and seemingly waiting for him to talk. So he obliged.
“What happens now?”
“They’re going to want to talk to you tonight. For a while, at least. I can be here with you the whole time, if that’s something that you want.”
“That – I think that’s a good idea. If I talk to them now, right now, do you think that works in my favour?”
“Yes. I think at least speaking to them tonight is important. Even if you don’t get through a lot of it, it shows that you’re willing to talk,” Chloe spoke slowly, took a glance at Kay’s written notes. “They already have a team on the way out to the area you specified. If they find what you say they will, you immediately get some level of credibility.”
“They will. I – I think that’s the place. I – I think can mark it on a map.”
May Death Darken Your Door ┆ Too Late
@whumpthisway ┆ May Curses Prompt 15
「✦」 OCs: Chloe Lévesque ⅋ Kay Edwards
「✧」 Content: Arrest ┆ Handcuffs ┆ Law Enforcement ┆ Talk of Murder
「✦」 Word Count: 1,566
「✧」 Relevant Links: Masterlist ┆ .𖥔˚ ♫˚ 𖥔.
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ You feel the glass start to crack; // Sailing on a ship in the bottle; // Water's leaking through the holes in the bottom; // Flying flags of shops that have long since; // Sat at the floor of the sea, but in defense; // You set sail alone, there is no crew. ❞
⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ « previous
He jerked his head up when the door opened and a woman stepped inside, a stack of case files under one arm.
A stack. Not just one. A stack of all of the worst things Kay had ever done. A paper trail that proved it.
“Mr. Aeon Edwards?” she asked, putting the files on the table. “My name’s Chloe Lévesque, I’m with Blue Lyre Law.”
“Yeah – uh – that’s right,” Kay half stood up to greet her. Then aborted the movement. “I know you.”
“You do?” Chloe asked as she sat down.
“Yeah – he – uh – my dad mentioned you worked on my case before. A while back – but it wasn’t like this. I’m sorry – you’re the only attorney I know so…” Kay trailed off. Wrung his hands. “I haven’t – this isn’t something I’ve done before.”
“No, I remember you. Petty theft and underage drinking in 2010? Then arson the year afterwards?”
“Yeah,” Kay smiled faintly. “You got me off and got my record wiped.”
“That wasn’t me, I was still an admin intern.”
“And I don’t think this is going to be as easy as that was,” he mumbled, gaze shifting to the pile of files on the desk. “You’re not winning this case.”
“You seem certain of that, can I ask why?”
“I’m giving a full confession. To everything they’re accusing me of.”
“The evidence in some of these cases is extremely circumstantial.”
“I – uh – haven’t really seen them. They gave me a long list of charges, but I don’t know the – uh –” he searched for the right wording. “The grounds of the warrants.”
“We can go through all of that first, if you’d like?
“Yeah…”
“Okay. So, Mr. Edwards –”
“Kay,” he corrected.
“Kay. The main charges against you are six of first degree murder and three of kidnapping. That’s already a hefty list, without getting into misdemeanor level crimes and additional charges. Are you telling me that you committed all of those crimes as a lone participant and wish to confess to everything within these files, without even reading them?”
“I – maybe?”
“Maybe isn’t a yes.”
“It’s not,” he agreed. “But I deserve to do the time.”
“I’ll admit, I haven’t read all of these case files, but I’ve looked over them all. Why don’t you lead this? Tell me where you want to start with everything?”
“But – but I took part in all of these,” he gestured towards the files. “Why are you asking me where I want to start?”
“That’s the Marshals’ jobs. Or the police. Or the FBI. Wherever your case lands. My job is to listen to you and get your side, then to help you get the best deal you can.”
“But I killed two people!” Kay raised his voice. Just slightly. Just enough.
“That’s strange, because I have the files for six murder victims here.”
Kay slouched forward and put his head in his hands, giving his head a quick shake before he spoke downwards. Towards the metal surface.
“No – I – not like that. I – I was there. They – that many people might not have died if I wasn’t there.”
“So someone else was in the room with you?”
“I’ll confess to all of the murders.”
“Kay. Look at me. If you can give me a name, you might get far much more leniency. I can help with that.”
“I don’t deserve leniency.”
“Did you kill those six people?”
“Yes.”
“Out of those six, how many times was someone else present in the room?”
“All of them.”
“How many died as a direct result of injuries inflicted by you?”
“All six.”
“How many died as a result of you deliberately trying to end their lives?”
“Two.”
“Let’s start there, then. Do you mind telling me about one of those?”
“Can… Do you think we can start with less? I – I don’t know if –”
“That’s fine. Why don’t you tell me where we’re starting?”
“There was one. About a year ago. That one – he made me help.”
A pause invited a question.
“Who is ‘he’?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Okay. That’s fine.”
“A year ago was the first time I touched anyone. I – I didn’t want to. From what I can remember, he just told me where to meet him. And a time – and I did.”
Kay fidgeted with the cuffs and paused. Taking just a moment to sift through his thoughts.
“M– He incapacitated the guy – the alarm was broken…” he paused once more as Chloe sorted through the files in front of her and picked one out. “He was just having fun. I guess? Taunting the guy like usual. And he gave me a knife. He – he’d never done that before.”
Kay shook his head sharply. As if trying to clear the memory. Yet, he continued his story regardless. It wouldn’t be the only story he had to recount, nor the last time he had to recall this one.
“He told me to have my own fun, or something. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t tell him that. I remember he was asking me about the arteries. Which ones I might hit. It was like a twisted biology class.”
“It sounds bad,” Chloe agreed. “How far did you go?”
“One cut. Five or six inches. Medial and diagonally, going distal. Superficial.” Kay reverted back to his clinical approach. “The guy – he was begging me to stop. I couldn’t listen to him. I – I didn’t feel guilty. But he was begging. I gave the knife back after that. He had me keep hold of the guy while he slit his throat. Then drilled me on the – on the anatomical reason behind his death. Had me clean myself up and we left. I – I got home and apparently he had some clean up guys come in after us.”
“Do you remember anything else about that night?”
“He landed an elbow right in my ribs. I was hiding the bruises from Paris for weeks.”
“Who’s Paris?”
“My – uh – he’s my ex-boyfriend. But – but you can’t bring him into this. You can’t give the Marshals his name. I – I don’t want him brought into this. Please,” Kay spoke quickly. “I just – he won’t cope. I will give them everything they need. Just – please.”
“Kay, everything you say is covered by attorney-client privilege,” Chloe reassured him. “I can’t promise nobody will speak to him, but I can try.”
“What about a term? I – I don’t talk unless they leave him alone.”
“We could try that.”
“You don’t think it will work.”
“I don’t,” Chloe shook her head. “I think they want more than your confession.”
“They want – they want the guy.”
“The ringleader,” she nodded. “The guy that you keep mentioning.”
“I – no. No. I can’t.”
“Not even if they offer leniency?”
“I – I don’t deserve it. And I can’t. They’ll go after Paris. I’ll take the extra time.”
“It’s a lot of extra time,” Chloe shook her head again. “It’s the difference between you getting out of prison and dying behind bars.”
Kay shrugged and descended into silence. Gaze on the cuffs once again.
“Would you like me to get those taken off?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Kay mumbled. “I should just – can you get an agent in here? I – Can I just get all of this over with?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. You need some kind of strategy or they’ll pin everything they can on you.”
“I mean… Does it matter?”
“It matters to the victims’ families. They deserve the truth,” Chloe leant forward slightly. “Do you agree with that?”
“So – so I just confess to what I did? And they’re happy? I get all of this over with.”
“They’ll want names. People you were with.”
“I can’t. I mean – I want to. Everyone deserves the closure. I’m too late to fix it.”
“But, what you can do is give them closure.”
Kay gritted his teeth and sat back in the chair. Hands on the table. Wrung together. White knuckle.
“Do I have to talk to them? Can – can’t I just write a confession? Talk about it afterwards. Because I’ll forget parts and – and I want to tell the truth.”
“I can talk to them, I think they might go for it. You will have to talk to them eventually, though.”
“I know – I know that – I just – they need the truth.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you put all of this together before you turned yourself in?”
“I didn’t know I would – I – I must have driven past this place three times yesterday. I just didn’t think I could do it,” Kay shrugged and met Chloe’s eyes, just briefly. “I figured it would just… end when it ended. Maybe that they’d just. Just shoot me. You know? Get it all over with. I’d take the fall for – for everything.”
“I understand that. Thank you for sharing. How do you feel about waiting in here for five minutes, and I will go and talk to an agent about that written confession?”
“Can – can you speak to them here? I don’t – I don’t want to talk to them. But I want to hear the conversation. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine, Kay. Give me a couple of minutes.”
“Thank you. I – I really appreciate this.”
“Don’t worry about it. Five minutes and I’ll be back with someone, is that okay?”
And Kay just nodded. He had all the time in the world.
