January 13th, 2013
Saturday
6:01 p.m.
Dear Janet,
I met up with Amara's parents today regarding Ethan and his friends. They let me know that they too are digging into the Covingtons and their shady past because of how many similar cases involving these people have been pushed under the rug.
They told me to keep up this friendship I've forged with them, and that it's the only way I can stay safe. Pretending to be one of them, no matter how bad it makes me feel on the inside, is how I can get my hands on all the dirt surrounding their group.
Mr. and Mrs. Willow seemed empathetic to me. They're the only people who know of my motives and I hope I can trust them to bring your killers to justice. For now, all I can do is do my best while letting the Willows do what they're best at. I won't let this opportunity slip from my hands, no matter what.
I love you.
Your brother,
Jeremy
***
It was my sixteenth birthday. The summer of 2013 was nearing its end. Diana and a few of my friends from Sacredmore had thrown me a birthday bash that evening and it was the happiest I'd ever been that entire year. Mom and Dad had informed me that they were going to be late because of work. Nonetheless, they wanted to celebrate my Sweet Sixteen.
When I left the hotel Diana had rented for my birthday, I called my parents. They let me know that they were on their way back home. They'd bought a cake and a gift for me which they had intended to be a surprise. Despite returning from possibly the biggest party somebody had ever thrown me, I was more excited about what Mom and Dad had planned for my birthday.
I was giddy when I got off the bus; exhilarated as I walked along the lane my house was located next to. I had the biggest smile on my face...until I saw the smoke and flames at the farthest end of the lane. A crowd had gathered a couple of feet away from me, overlooking my house. I knew right away that something was wrong. Something had gone terribly wrong.
Most of the people in that crowd were neighbors I'd run into occasionally. The panic and fear on their faces when they saw me are still etched into my mind to this day. They tried to stop me from going any further. They tried to hold me back by tugging onto my arm, screaming my name aloud and even shielding me from peering into the fire.
I didn't listen. I wish I did but right then, I needed to know for myself. What I saw, haunts me to this day...
"Amara? Amara!"
The smell of smoke and the sound of people shouting and crying flood my senses. It's so awfully familiar, but it's nine years later. Mom and Dad are long dead and if I don't act on time, so will countless others.
My eyes sting as I open them. I'm lying on the floor. My legs hurt and I feel at least two other bodies scrambled on my limbs, both unmoving and heavy as is. My head feels like it has been smashed into a boulder and I can barely keep my eyes open.
"Amara!" Aiden's voice finds me through the commotion. When my vision clears, I see him hovering over me, trying to stir me awake.
"Ai-Aiden?" I stammer, followed by a cough. I touch my forehead. My fingers are coated with blood.
"Yes!" Aiden says, heaving a sigh. "Are you...okay? Can you move?" he asks.
I let out a groan as I sat back up. My memories come back to me in a blur - how I got here, all the events from the night, what led to this moment, everything. Around Aiden and I, the floor is crawling with bodies, some seemingly alive while others...otherwise.
I look back up at Aiden. He has cuts and scratches on his face and forearms, bits of fabric from his suit torn and sticking out. His face is ashen but through that darkness, I can make out just a hint of relief.
"What...happened?" I ask, pressing my fingers against my forehead. I feel numbness and excruciating pain all at once when I do.
"There was an explosion. Thankfully we were far from the stage so we didn't take much of the blow, but..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence. A couple of feet away from the both of us, the stage is engulfed in flames that reach the ceiling. The smoke blurs most of my vision but the adrenaline kicks in just in time for me to get back to my feet.
"Did you call 911?" I ask Aiden and he nods. "Where are the Covingtons?"
"I couldn't check up on them. You were more important," he says as the both of us make our way through the fire and the numerous unconscious bodies on the ground, trying our best to not stumble.
I fan the smoke away to clear out my path and from the corner of my eye, I notice them. "There!" I gasp, pointing in the direction my eyes are fixed in.
Aiden and I rush towards a barely conscious Patricia. Hovering over her is Victor. Both are badly wounded, their skin darkened with burn marks and cuts with blood oozing out of them.
"Mister Covington!" Aiden says before helping him to get on his feet while I ensure Patricia is awake. We guide them through the exit and have them sit on one of the benches outside the hall.
"Did you see where your son was?" I ask Victor and he shakes his head. He's barely holding up as is.
"He was...on stage when..." Patricia speaks between her coughs. "Find him...please," she begs, reaching out and holding my hand. Aiden and I share a look. As much as we might hate them, we know that saving Logan is our priority as well.
"You stay here. I'll go and have a look," Aiden states and starts walking away before I can even respond.
"No!" I yelled, catching up to him. "I'll go with you."
"Amara, you have no idea how bad it can be in there."
"Which is why I have to go in with you," I explain, widening my eyes at him to make a point. He could've left me in the hall and gone on to rescue the Covingtons. But he didn't. He stayed by my side. It's only fair I do the same.
Aiden lets out a long breath and passes a hand through his disheveled hair before turning back to me. "Just stay close."
I nod and we go back into the hellfire, fighting the blinding smoke and flames. Meanwhile, few of the people in the chaos gained consciousness and are another threat to navigate through. Aiden holds my arm as we rush through the opposing tide and look for Logan.
"We should check near the stage," I suggest, and am about to jump into even more dangerous flames but Aiden holds me back.
"No," he says, squeezing my wrist. "The impact from the explosion may have sent him flying away from the stage. We should check nearby but not there."
"But what if-"
"I'm in charge here, Amara!" He shouts at the top of his lungs, louder than all the screams around us. "You follow my orders." His face reddens as he clenches his jaw, staring daggers at me. I feel a shiver run down my spine at his command.
There's not much I can do, except nod and answer with, "Yes, Detective."
He doesn't say anything else and we go back to examining the faces of the ones scrambled on the floor. We get as many people we can away from the flames as possible. Amidst the chaos, we hear the sound of sirens.
"Amara..." Aiden mutters, his eyes wide and staring at another body to the far right, one trampled under a broken pillar. It has the same burgundy suit on that I recall from before the explosion occurred, the very familiar Phantom of the Opera mask just a couple of inches away from him on the floor.
It's Logan.
Aiden and I clamber to his side just as the ambulances and fire trucks arrive on the site. With the help of two other officers, we managed to free him out of the ruckus and load him into an ambulance with his parents and ourselves before rushing to the nearest hospital.
Logan is taken to the intensive care unit while we get our injuries checked. My head is bandaged and other cuts and burns are treated.
After some more minutes, a doctor informs us of Logan's condition. He has suffered severe second and third-degree burns on his body and his right leg is fractured. It's no less of a miracle that he's still alive. They plan on shifting him to the burns ward tonight and administering IV fluids in hopes of resuscitating him ASAP.
The Covingtons inform us that they will stay back and let us leave, and we do. I'm not sure if I can get a good night's sleep tonight after what just happened, but I'm willing to give it a chance.
Aiden calls a cab which arrives shortly after and the both of us climb into the backseat. None of us speaks a word ever since we leave the hospital, knowing we're shaken up as is.
I look out of the window. This part of Valenchester is quiet, the residents unaware of the lives that were claimed and threatened tonight. Ignorance is a bliss sometimes, at least in situations like these. Tragedy is nothing to be fond of, especially when it's related to you or the people around you. A few minutes, a few seconds can entirely change the trajectory of someone's life, the way it did mine. Forever.
A low grunt to my right draws my attention to Aiden. He's shifting in his seat, his face contorting as he presses onto his side.
"Aiden, are you...okay?" I ask, my gaze moving from his face to the side of his ribs he is pressing his fingers against.
"Ye..." His words get caught in his throat as he releases another rugged breath, wincing in pain. His fingers fall off the area he was clenching and my own hand replaces them. When I pull my hand away, I find my palm slicked with blood.
"Aiden, you're bleeding!" I state and he winces again. I'm not sure if he didn't get a wound checked at the hospital or if he was unaware he had an injury in the first place but we are too late to turn back now. By the look on his face, it seems he's on the verge of losing consciousness.
"Pull up...two blocks to the left, please," Aiden mutters slowly to the driver and I widen my eyes at his request. He notices the look on my face. "My house is right around the corner," he says to me. "Let him drop me off an-"
"Can you call someone to help you get to your house?" I ask, gravely concerned.
He clenches his jaw again, fighting back another wave of pain it seems. "No. None who live...here." Another grunt follows as his hand presses firm against his side. "I can walk, Am-"
The cab comes to a stop and I turn to the driver. "We're both getting off," I say and open the car door. Once I climb out, I help Aiden get off and loop his arm around my shoulder, holding him steady. He lets out a heated sigh to my right but I don't care.
"You're stubborn as fuck, huh?" he says, his pitch nearing the lower end of the perceivable frequency.
I scoff. "I know you don't want my help, even if it means you have to crawl to get back to your house. Stubborn, who exactly?"
He smirks at me once we reach his front gate. I know I shouldn't be focusing on the fact that he comes from wealth while he bleeds through his clothing, but damn his bungalow is impressive.
He taps four digits into the numeric keypad next to the doorbell. "7-7-1-6? What is that, a birthday?"
Aiden exhales as the door swings open and we step in. He kicks the door close and turns on the light switch in his living room before collapsing on one of the couches. He winces even harder as he unbuttons his jacket and tosses it aside. The white shirt underneath is soaking red.
"Where's your first aid kit?" I ask in a shaky voice. This is serious damage.
Aiden points his finger to the door on the opposite end of the room. "Kitchen. Second shelf to the left, just above the kitchen counter," he says, fighting back another grunt as he lifts his shirt, revealing a glass shard sticking out of his side, just below the ribs.
I tear away my gaze from the gaping wound and rush for the kitchen. Thankfully, it doesn't take me a lifetime to search for the first-aid kit but when I return to the living room, I find it empty.
"Ai...den?" I call out.
"In here," he answers from one of the rooms further down the hallway.
I follow the sound of his voice, which leads me to his bathroom. Aiden is sitting shirtless at the edge of his bathtub with the water running as he tries to take out the shard of glass plunged into his skin. There's blood on his hands and streams of red running down his torso.
"Wait!" I say and set the first aid on the floor, getting to my knees to have a closer look at the injury. It's at least three inches b, caused by a shard that's no more than a couple of millimeters in thickness. By the looks of it, the glass piece isn't lodged too deep into his skin but taking it out must hurt nonetheless.
Aiden tries to brush me aside and get back to doing things his way but I hold his hand down with my own.
"No," I order.
"Rookie, it's not that bad, I swea-"
"Aiden, if you call me rookie even once from now on, I'm going to cut your tongue off and shove it down your bloody throat. Are we clear?" I threaten him out of all the frustration that's been building up in me. He's awestruck by my tone, giving me a few moments of calm.
He swallows hard and keeps his gaze locked on me. "Just...do whatever. I'll be fine."
"Well, if whatever keeps you from getting an infection and dying a week from now, then I shall," I say and turn my attention to the shard that's protruding out of his side. Most of my first-aid skills come from the lessons I received during training, just enough to get by and live another day I guess.
After taking out a pair of tweezers from the first-aid kit, I walk over to the sink and wash my hands and the steel instrument. Kneeling back down in front of Aiden, I offer him my left hand. "This is gonna hurt," I warn. He reluctantly takes it and looks away. "Ready?" I ask, bringing the tweezers close to the glass shard. He passes me a tight nod.
Holding the pair firmly in my hand, I pinch the glass with the tweezers. The movement startles him and I feel his fingers coil around my left wrist. I take in a deep breath and pull out the shard, tossing both that and the tweezers into the sink.
The bathtub is about halfway filled with water when I run my hand under the tap. "I lied," I mumble.
"Huh?" Aiden gawks, his hand still wrapped around mine. He looks more clueless than ever.
I scoff. "This is the part where it hurts," I inform him as I start cleaning the wound with warm water. This is the part where he grips my wrist and holds his breath as long as he can. It's painful, I know, but this is what needs to be done.
Once his wound is cleaned, I dry off the area with a towel and apply an antibiotic over it. The bleeding has stopped. All that's left is the dressing.
"I can do the rest," Aiden says and I chuckle.
"You're going to need more hands. I'll lend you mine," I say and help him secure the cut with a bandage and cover it further with gauze. While wrapping the fabric around him, however, I noticed another wound on his right. It looks like a gunshot wound, one that's old and healed. My gaze lingers on it for a while but I don't ask Aiden about it, worrying it may be personal to him.
Once the dressing is done, I get back to my feet and lean against the tile wall as Aiden presses gently against his injured side. "How did you not realize you had the injury?" I ask.
He sighs. "Adrenaline, possibly."
"Possibly." I nod along.
He fishes his phone out of his pocket and unlocks the screen. "I'll ask Sadie to come pick you up."
"No!" I say. "She moved out, remember? Asking her to drive a hundred miles just to drop me off is stupid."
Aiden is silent for a few seconds before nodding to himself. "You're right."
A low chuckle escapes me. "Don't worry, I'll get a cab. It won't take lo-"
"No," he interrupts. "It's almost midnight. Besides, there's a killer on the loose, who happens to know your face."
"You're overthinking, Aiden," I comment.
A sigh later, he continues. "I'll give you a ride back home." He attempts to get up but I stop him.
"Not with that wound, you're not," I interject and slump my shoulders.
"What other option do we have?" he asks, sitting back down.
I shrug my shoulders. "I might...stay over tonight?" I ask with hesitance. Though the idea of being in the same vicinity as him outside of work makes me feel some kind of way, I need to make sure he doesn't go around doing something that may worsen his injury. "It's just a few hours. I'll catch the first bus back home, I swear."
He breaks into a low laugh. "Fine," he mutters under his breath.
"Good. I can sleep in the guest bedroom," I say.
"There's no guest bedroom," he replies. "I recently bought this house so there's not much furniture yet. Besides, I don't plan on having any guests over anytime soon."
"Ah." I exhale. "Well uh, I can sleep on the living room couch," I propose.
He shakes his head. "You're wounded just as I am. I want you to be comfortable."
"So, what other alternatives do you have?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
He spends a moment in silence before finally answering. "You can sleep on my bed."
"And where will you sleep?"
He looks up at me with confusion. "On...my bed?"
I blink a couple of times, unable to understand what he's getting at. "You want us to...share a bed?"
He nods, giggling at my bewilderment. "Don't worry, I'm not a perv. Besides, you're not my type, Amara."
I narrow my eyes into slits as I reply with, "As if you're my type." I scoff. "And for the record, I have something called 'standards.'"
He cocks his head to the side as he gets to his feet, clutching his side. He steps towards me and I find myself back into the bathroom wall. He pushes his free hand against the wall, pinning me between the tiles and him. His gray eyes meet my brown ones, sending a chill down my spine. He raises an eyebrow at the same time his lips curl into a smirk, before uttering a single word.
"Liar." He then lets go of the wall and backs away, the smirk still glued to his face. "Now, will you let me clean up or do you want to watch?"
I let out a long breath and go stand in the doorway. "Fuck you," I mutter.
"Is that what you want to do now?" he says, grabbing the door handle and locking it from the inside.
Once he's done, I ask him for a change of clothes and pop into the bathroom. Just a few more hours is how I convince myself as I wear his midnight blue tee and beige pants. They smell of fabric softener and a hint of his earthy cologne.
The dress I rented for the event is worn out in the worst way possible and my heart hurts knowing I'll have to buy the thing instead. I fold the gown and hang it from the rack before opening the door.
Surprisingly, I don't feel like I'm out of my comfort zone. Somewhere along all the fights and bickering, I think I've started seeing him as a friend, someone I can trust perhaps. He still gets on my nerves, of course, but most of it doesn't faze me anymore.
Aiden's bedroom, thankfully, has a queen-sized bed, in the middle of which he's built a partition with the help of cushions. I internally heave a sigh of relief.
"All okay?" he asks, lifting his eyes from his phone. I nod in answer before walking over to what is my side of the bed. The only light in the room, as well as the house as of now, comes from the bedside lamp.
"Thanks," I say as I lay on the mattress, pulling my blanket to my neck.
Aiden plugs his phone into his charger. "For what?"
"Tonight," I answer. "We make a good team, I'd say."
He laughs as he turns the light off. "Yeah... I think I should thank you too after what you did."
"I think you should," I say, scrunching my nose and breaking into a little laugh myself.
Silence follows my words for a few minutes. Moonlight pours into the room, illuminating the space just enough for one to distinguish the furniture.
"A gunshot wound," Aiden says, interrupting the silence.
"Huh?"
"The wound you saw on my right side. It's a gunshot wound," he explains.
"Did you get it while working on a case?" I ask, interested in the topic now that he brought it up.
"No," he says, shifting slightly under his blanket. "It was from the police shooting that killed my parents several years ago. We were at this protest. The crowd got a little out of control and the cops opened fire."
I can only respond with more silence when he describes the incident to me. I feel my heart sinking deeper into my chest at the revelation. "I'm...sorry," I mumble.
Aiden chuckles. "Don't be. You're not the one who was involved anyway," he says, trying to sound nonchalant but all he comes across as is dejected.
I sigh, conflicted if I should say something or let the silence deafen us till we finally fall asleep. Ultimately, I decide on the former. "My Mom and Dad passed away in a car incident nine years ago."
A moment of quiet later, Aiden responds with an, "Oh."
I purse my lips. "Someone had implanted a bomb inside the car which caused an explosion"
"Did the police find out who did it?" he asks and I shake my head.
"They didn't investigate much. My grandmother wanted the case to be closed anyway," I explain and turn my head in his direction. "My parents were journalists. They had a habit of getting their hands dirty just to get to the truth. Nana thought it was just one of their many enemies that had done it. She thought if the cops or even I dig any further, they'd come for me next." I look back at the ceiling. "I moved to Pennsylvania with Nana soon after."
"Is that why you wanted to become a detective? To investigate your parents' murder?" Aiden asks.
I sigh. "Maybe. They've always inspired me to hunt for the truth till it has no other option but to present itself to you. Their murder fueled that passion within me."
"Did they never share with you what case they were working on?"
"No," I answer. "Professionalism, maybe. More importantly, however, I think they did it to keep me safe."
I catch Aiden nodding to himself before he speaks up again. "They must be proud of you wherever they may be right now."
I glance at him. "You think so?"
He hums. "As a senior and your work partner, I'd say you're a force to be reckoned with, one of the most ambitious officers I've come across ever since I joined the VPD."
"You're sugar-coating," I comment and roll my eyes.
He chuckles, his eyes meeting mine in the dark. "You should give yourself more credit, Amara. You have no idea of the power that you have."
We stare at each other in silence for a couple more seconds before he turns to his side, his back facing me.
"Goodnight, Amara."
I find the breath I'd lost in those few seconds and turn to my side as well. "Goodnight, Aiden."
***
AUTHOR'S NOTE
What are your thoughts on this chapter? Let me know in the comments section down below!
Can you believe this chapter was 4K+ words long? I genuinely thought it would be over in 2K words but I'm an overwriter haha. What was your favorite part of this chapter?
With Logan hospitalized and the Arcana Killer on the loose, what does this mean next for Amara and Aiden? Do Amara's parents have a connection to this case? Read on to find out!
Until then, goodbye,
-Adrianna
