Her Dark Desire (In the Process of Being Edited)

24: Zeke

                Downstairs my father lounges in the armchair. He sits with a glass of bourbon in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. A man sits on the sofa rifling through papers. He looks up when I enter the room.

                “It’s about damn time. What took you so long? This,” he says, taking a puff of his cigar. The smoke billows out from between his lips as he continues. “Is your lawyer, Jeffery Hughes. He’ll be representing you from now on.” The man stands and holds out his hand to me. The gravity of my situation finally settles in. If things do not go the way my father wants, I could really spend the rest of my life in jail. The thought leaves me with somber feeling. I flop down beside the lawyer. He gives me a grin and pats my back.

                “Don’t worry, Zeke,” he says. His gray eyes show concern. “After talking to your father I’ve come up with a strategy that will leave the jury with so much reasonable doubt that you’ll definitely win.” He smiles over at my father. “This will work.”

                “What’s the strategy,” I ask. As soon as the words leave my mouth I regret it. I fear that I already know the answer. Please don’t be what I think, I pray.

                “Well, your father told me about a friend of yours.” He adjusts his glasses with his middle finger and looks down at his notes. “Ah yes, a Paisley Miller. From what I understand, she was originally a suspect as well in the murders. Correct?”

                “That’s correct,” my father says. “I truly believe that she’s the one that killed that girl. I don’t know why the police aren’t…”

                “Paisley wouldn’t,” I interrupt. Two pairs of eyes turn to glare at me. I’m not going to let my father ruin my kitten’s life. “You should just think of something else because I’ll plead guilty before I let you blame Paisley for this.” I stare down at my feet, refusing to look up. I can tell that my father is angry. The sound of breaking glass forces me to look up and into the red face of my father. Shards of glass were sprinkled around his foot while small drops of blood drips from his hand.

                My mother rushes into the room and drops to her knees. She must have heard the glass fall as I did. He ignores my mother as she fusses over his bleeding hand.

                “What do you think my friends are saying about this,” my father screams. “I’m doing all of this for you but do you care? No. Maybe I should’ve just let you rot in jail.”

                “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing this for yourself. My kitten doesn’t deserve to take the blame.”

                “Do you really think that child wouldn’t throw you under the bus if she had to? You’re being naïve son and I’m starting to find it…”