Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sophia
This can’t be real.
I’m numb and hollow and pacing around the living room. It’s been two hours. Maybe three. At this point I’ve lost all perception of time.
I’ve lost perception of everything.
At some point the local afternoon news will come on and they’ll be all over this. Until then, all I can do is wait.
Part of me can’t bear to watch, but I don’t have a choice. Right now it’s my only source of information. Another part of me wants to curl up and cry, but I’m still too numb.
Noah isn’t capable of something so violent and horrendous. It’s impossible.
And I have faith in my colleagues, I want to trust them, but if they’d just allow me to consult the evidence then they could start pursuing the real killer. Every second Noah is in custody is a waste of time and resources.
My blood is on fire racing through my veins.
There’s an aching hole in my stomach that’s starving for substance, but everything else is churning over and over in sickening nausea. I don’t even feel human. And more than the relentless nausea, I can’t push away the echo in my head.
I’m dealing with something. I think it’s fair that I tell you that.
With every echo I flash back to the bar and I desperately want to reach out and hold him. I want to take Noah’s hand and press him for an explanation like I should’ve done that night.
But I didn’t.
Instead I went against my better judgment and refrained from digging too far into his personal affairs. I held back when I could’ve helped. And now I can’t even do that.
But the truth will come out. It has to. He can’t really have done this.
Murder.
Could Noah—my Noah—really have committed murder?
NO. Of course not. So why am I even considering it?
The department made a mistake. Sheriff Vernon, Claire, my own colleagues—they’ve got to be wrong. We’re good at what we do, but it happens. God knows it happens. They don’t like to admit it and some people will suspend you if you argue about it. But it still happens.
And that’s what this is. A mistake.
Noah couldn’t have killed anyone. He couldn’t have…
Finally the TV bursts into a mixture of digital palm trees, traffic lights, and dark building silhouettes. The name LOCAL 7 NEWS spirals in from the top of the screen. Then comes the murmuring of a deep voice and I dart to the couch, hastily scrambling for the remote. My thumb taps rapidly at the volume.
“You’re watching Local 7, home of Local7Online and breaking news from around the state. WVFL Local 7 News at 4:00 starts now.”
Another round of colors and logos buzzing around the screen, then a female voice that I immediately recognize as Vickie Connors, the local anchor. She’s already talking when the camera begins zooming in on her behind the studio desk.
“It’s a day for scholastic pride in Florida! A jump in test scores from around the state give both students and parents a reason to cheer. But first, a shocking murder in Marvel County.
“The deceased body of twenty-four-year-old Elizabeth Barton was recovered early this morning from behind the Palm Leaf Motel.”
A picture of a young female fills the screen. She has a thin face with high cheekbones and straight dark hair streaked with purple. She’s grinning, candidly posing with her arm around a body that’s been cut from the picture.
I shut my eyes.
“Police cite her cause of death as a single gunshot to the head. Authorities have ruled out suicide after additional evidence suggests a sexually motivated component to the murder.
“Marvel County Police Officers suspect the crime was committed by a thirty-two-year-old male who is now in custody. His identity is being withheld until formal charges are brought. However, the Marvel County sheriff has indicated that the case will likely move no further than the suspect that’s been apprehended.”
I reach for the remote to turn off the TV, but before I have the chance Sheriff Vernon’s face is centered on the screen behind a podium and an army of microphones.
“There’s no place in the country, and especially in our state, for this kind of violence. Our officers haven’t stopped working since the body was discovered, and while charges are still being assembled, at this time we believe the investigation has reached a point where no additional arrests are anticipated. Most importantly, I want to extend condolences to the family of Elizabeth Barton. We—”
Now I do have to click it off.
I hurl the remote against the living room wall. The battery cap flies off and the whole thing clatters across the floor.
Then come the tears.
But I can’t. I don’t have time to cry right now.
I shoot up from the couch and grab a fistful of Kleenex from the kitchen to blot my eyes dry. Right now, crying equals inaction and inaction equals defeat. And I will not accept defeat.
I need to call Claire. If anyone can help me—and by help me I mean get me the information I need to prove Noah’s innocence—it’s Claire Brooks.
The first call goes to voicemail. The second only rings once.
“Soph?” she asks cautiously. The nickname brings moisture to my eyes.
“Claire!” I blurt. “Are you—”
“Oh God, tell me you’re okay,” she says in a low and barely audible whisper.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “But I—”
“What the hell is going on?”
I muster as much composure as I can. “That’s what I was hoping you could tell me.”
“God Soph, I really shouldn’t be talking to you. Sheriff would end my career—he prohibited the whole department.”
“I’m sure he did.” My legs weaken and I collapse onto the couch. “But I need you to talk to me, Claire. Please.”
“You promise me you’re okay?” Her voice is still so low that I have to strain to hear her.
“Yes, but I—”
“Is it true that you and him were… dating?”
I shut my eyes and swallow the lump of emotion rising in my throat. “Listen Claire, I need you to find a quiet place to talk. Give me thirty-seconds.”
There’s a long pause muddled with occasional mumbling away from the phone. I stand up and return to pacing.
“Okay—” Her voice is still a whisper when it returns. “—will you tell me what the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening but—”
“Do you know him?” she cuts in again.
I draw in a long breath. “Yes. I know him.” I can hear her stir on the other end. “But he didn’t do this, Claire. Believe me. This is all a mistake.”
“Were you involved with him?”
“Look, none of that matters right now. I need you to tell me why he’s in there. What happened?”
“It’s a homicide,” she says with dreadful decisiveness.
“I know.” I close my eyes, fighting away the girl’s smiling face as it fills the darkness. “But what points to Noah?”
Now it’s her turn to draw in a long breath. “You’re a potential witness, Soph. I could lose my job for this.”
“A witness?” My eyes snap open. “There was nothing for me to witness!”
“Just let me call you back when—”
“Please Claire! I need you to talk to me.”
Her second of hesitation feels like an eternity.
“Okay listen,” she says, her voice even softer. “What I know is that Sheriff Vernon found a body dumped behind Palm Leaf Motel. We recovered a revolver from the scene with fingerprints that matched Noah Mason. Haven’t got back a ballistics report on the bullet yet.”
She pauses and I’m praying that she’ll continue, but I don’t dare to speak.
“I can’t speak on the autopsy specifically, but it looked like a sexual crime,” she says. “The semen we collected matched a DNA sample in CODIS.”
My heart drops.
“You found semen?”
She murmurs a confirmation. “A lot of it.”
“And they already got a match? That’s—”
“Lab ran it right away, Sheriff’s orders,” she says. “He knew the Vic. She was arrested here for prostitution a couple times, had some drug and alcohol problems, but apparently she’d just gotten clean and he was helping her through treatment.”
A new and painful emptiness suffocates me. Silence fills the phone and every inch of the room. I feel empty of everything, even the will to speak.
“Hello? Soph?” Claire murmurs. “You there?”
I can’t answer.
I can’t move.
My entire body is trapped envisioning inconceivable horrors.
“Soph? Where’d you—shit, I gotta go. Promise me you’ll stay safe, okay?”
Click.