The Devil Inside

24: Fallout

Maybe he didn't want to hear the answers, after all.

# # #

The first day of the new year went something like this.

Boy falls down the stairs.

Boy survives the fall.

Mayhem ensues.

Within the hour, first responders were crawling over every inch of the house, confiscating booze, blunts, and rounding up the partygoers who'd been stupid enough to linger at the scene of the crime—Cooper and Calla among them.

"What is your relationship to the victim?"

Cooper ran a hand down his face. "We hated each other."

Deputy Pendowski glanced at him over the rim of his notepad. "That's encouraging."

He shot the deputy an exasperated look. "I've got an alibi."

"Yeah. I know." Pendowski's eyes wandered to the cruiser parked across the street. Calla leaned against the hood, her arms folded as she spoke with an EMT. "The redhead and the big guy were with you." He raised a skeptical brow. "Again."

Cooper grimaced. Okay, so it didn't look great that his alibi was reliant (yet again) on his two closest friends. But this time, he had the unadulterated truth on his side. "I'm sure a few people saw us. We were on the other side of the deck when—"

"I know, kid. I know." Deputy Pendowski lowered his notepad. "We've got at least a dozen witnesses who placed the three of you on the far side of the deck at the time of the fall."

The fall. That's a weird way to describe attempted murder, he thought sourly.

"This is just me doing my due diligence." Pendowski tucked the notepad in his back pocket. "Kids are really dropping like flies in this town, huh?"

Cooper stared at him. He didn't know whether to laugh or to scream. Maybe both.

"Hold tight." Pendowski gestured for Cooper to make himself at home against the cruiser. "I'll get you out of here in no time."

Cooper watched him go, exhaustion settling over him. And not just because of the hour. It had been a long night. A long morning, he supposed. The thought made him want to curl up in the back of the police cruiser and close his eyes.

But he couldn't afford to lose focus. So rather than fantasize about his bed back home, he turned his attention to the sea of faces gathered in the front yard—a mix of uniforms and ripped jeans and the disorienting flash of red and blue lights. He spotted Ryan seated on the front steps of the house, hands clasped and shoulders hunched, an officer hovering on the ground below; and there was Vincent, half-asleep on the curb, his head in his hands; and beyond that, standing in the center of the yard with her hands wrapped around her middle, was Stephanie. Her eyes were unfocused, her lips still swollen from the kisses they'd traded in the dark.

Yet for every face he counted in the crowd, there were many more he did not see. Gareth. Astrid. Mike. Blake. All notably absent.

Cooper clenched his fists, fighting back the tidal wave of anger that threatened to swallow him whole. If he were the killer, would he flee the scene? Or would he remain behind in a bid to prove his innocence—and flaunt his crime right under everyone's nose?

Useless. He had no way to answer that question, because he wasn't a killer.

He turned his head. Calla stood several paces away, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Or maybe that was just the mask she'd chosen to wear for this particular occasion. It didn't matter. In the glow of the ambulance, she looked like a creature of hellfire.