Chapter Twenty-One

Vera

––––––––

“It wasn't Pax.” Shaking my head, I steadied my hands on the desk and stared down at Detective Deacon. “I remember it all, I can tell you what happened now.”

Smiling up at me, he steepled his fingers, and nodded for me to sit. “Vera—”

“It wasn't him, he had nothing to do with it. I know who did this, sorta—” Wiggling my fingers, I shut my eyes and took a quick breath. “I know their first names, I don't know them, know them, but I can see their faces and it wasn't Pax.”

Plopping into the chair, I dropped my bag to the floor and kept talking. “There were two of them, Sara was right about that, but she identified the wrong man. One of them looked similar to Pax, he had a shaved head and tattoos, I can see why she picked him. The other guy had shoulder length hair, and his eyes. . . His eyes were black, he looked dead, like he literally had nothing inside. They had given us a bottle of water, only it wasn't water—I didn't know it wasn't water—”

“Vera,” Deacon said, reaching his hand across the table and tapping it lightly. “Stop, we already have everything we need—”

“No!” Snapping my back straight, my eyes burned into his. “It wasn't Pax, I'm not just going to sit back and let you guys toss him away into a cell. He. Did. Not. Do. This.” Each word was loud, formed with exaggerated syllables and heightened vowels.

I hadn't been able to see Sara yet, we weren't supposed to have contact, not until after my memories came back. But now I knew, I saw it all, every detail, every sour smile. I could even remember the small scar that Glenn had right above his left eyebrow.

Sara had been wrong, she had identified the wrong man.

There was no way I would just let them keep going with this. It was wrong, it was despicable, it was a number of other colorful choice words I decided to keep inside.

“I won't let you charge him with this, I'll refuse to take the stand and testify against him.” Lowering my eyes, my brows dipped in angrily. “Pax is innocent.”

The detective leaned back, resting his hands on his beer belly as a broad smile turned his stoic expression into a wild painting of swooping lines and brush strokes. I waited for him to question me, to tell me I was in denial and that my memories were wrong.

He had this air about him that made me anticipate a challenge. His shoulders were stiff, his eyes dull and glowing at the same time. The way his cheeks were puffed made me think he was about to laugh in my face and call me foolish for letting my mind play tricks on me.

But all of it was as vivid as if it had just taken place only seconds before. I could see both men, the way they looked at each other as we drove silently down the street. Both of them knowing what was in store, while Sara and I sat oblivious in the background.

Their kind smiles weren't drawn from someplace that harbored good, their smiles were drawn from the depths of hell as fiery hands burned scars across my body, both emotional and physical.

“I know, Vera.”

“I won't do it, I just—” Stopping myself, I felt my lips hold their position to keep speaking, my mind stuck on the idea that Pax was still guilty in his eyes. “What did you just say?”

“I said I know.”

“What do you mean you know?” My brain was spinning a mile a minute, trying to figure out what he meant.

Did he mean he knew I wouldn't take the stand?

Was he saying that he knew I'd come in and try to push their investigation in another direction?

What did he know?

Flipping through a stack of folders, he plucked one out from the middle and opened it up. His fingers flew over the papers, folding one on top of the other as he quickly glanced over them. Tugging out a handwritten statement, he sat quietly, reading it to himself.

It seemed like minutes had passed, but it was probably only a few seconds. Lifting his eyes to mine, he looked between the paper and myself. “Do you know a woman named Joy Runner?”

Shaking my head, I said, “No, I don't think so, it doesn't sound familiar.”

Placing the paper to the side, he pulled out another one. “What about a man named Glenn Stonington or Devon Whittfield?”

My heart jumped inside my chest as sweat immediately began to bead up on my forehead and my fingers began to shake in my lap. “The man who drove the truck was named Glenn and the other guy, he went by Dev.”

Nodding along as I spoke, he tossed a few more papers to the side, resting his hands on the center of the stack. “Vera, we know Paxton wasn't involved in taking you girls that night. Two days ago a woman named Joy came in and to be honest, I didn't even consider that her case could be linked to yours.”

Cupping my mouth, my eyes widened as I listened. Joy had an identical story, only she hadn't been drugged. They hadn't given her the same sympathy potion they had let Sara and myself share. The poor woman was beaten, raped, and left for dead in the woods off Thirty-Seven.

It was a miracle she had survived. It was a miracle we had survived.

If Sara hadn't taken off, if Pax hadn't found me. . . This ending might be very different. We were lucky Joy hadn't been drugged, we were lucky that we didn't have to endure the same torture that she did.

For how lucky I should have felt, I was saddened to know that poor woman had gone through so much more than we had. It didn't seem fair, it didn't seem right.

For all the bruises and pain I went through, for all the healing I had done. . . She had far more to work through.

“She knew the men, she had known them for years, and it was good for us—and you, that she could give us their names. When we went to their apartment with a search warrant, we found something.” Rifling around in the drawer in his desk, he pulled out two clear bags, both labeled evidence. “Do these look familiar?”

My purse, it's my purse and my phone.

Reaching out for the bags, I flipped them over and upside-down, turning them sideways and running my fingers over the clear barrier. “This is mine, they're both mine.”

“We got the men who did this to you and Sara, they've been arrested and are going to be charged with aggravated kidnapping, rape, and attempted murder.” His hand found mine, squeezing it hard. “We got them, Vera, they're going away for the rest of their lives.”

Tears had started to pool in my eyes, making the room go fuzzy. Wiping my face, I sniffled. “And what about Pax? What happens to him?”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he tapped the desk with his fingertips. “We sent him home yesterday. I was going to come out and talk to you this afternoon, let you know the new developments and tell you that you were really safe now.”

I was already safe. I was safe when I was with him, when I was in his arms, when I was in his bed.

The detective could try and steal his thunder, he could stand tall and hold his arms against his hips like he had just saved the world. But I knew better, I knew who the real hero was.

“I was already safe, Detective, long before your men found me.”

Tilting his head into his shoulder, he eyed me curiously. “You realize he still kept you in his home even though he knew we were looking for you? We brought you home, Vera.”

“I understand that, but there's a difference.”

“And what's that?” he asked, tucking his elbows into his ribs and holding his jaw.

“He found me first, he brought me home.”