“Is it because of Art? But he helped him out of a pretty big jam.”

“You just answered your own question,” Ricky says. “He has been crooked for years and there’s an Internal Affairs case open on him. They got him for something and he needed to give them something bigger in return. So, he came up with this.”

I consider that for a moment, but it doesn’t add up.

“Not to be rude, but David was just a smalltime mob guy, why would they care about that? Or at least, why would they consider it a big case at all?”

Ricky shakes his head.

“But it’s not just that case that they arrested him for, huh? What about the girl? They probably think they’ve got themselves a serial killer and there’s nothing more sexy to law enforcement officers than serial killers.”

“So what do you think I should do now?” I ask. He shrugs his shoulders and gets out of the car.

“Good luck,” he says. “Remember, we never had this conversation.”

12

Nicholas

When I ask for his help…

The water feels good running down my naked body. It’s warm and comforting and, for a few moments, it allows me to forget that I don’t have my freedom.

Everyone here watches everything and I’m not just talking about the guards. We all watch each other; every move and every word.

I’ve made a few friends but it’s hard to know if they are my actual friends or if they will turn on me at some convenient point in the future in order to get something.

Very few people in here admit they are guilty of the crimes they committed, but most of them have. I’m still technically in jail, not prison, so there are those who are serving the sentence and those still awaiting trial or plea deals.

When anyone asks, I tell them that I didn’t kill those people they accused me of, but no one believes me, not even those I would consider friends.

I open my eyes and watch the water run down from the shower head onto my skin.

Today, I’m alone in here and for a moment I’m suddenly reminded of being home again.

I try to remember what it was like to hold Olive in my arms and transport myself to the last time that we were together; the night before, not during the arrest.

I miss her.

There’s no other way around it.

No matter how much I try to convince myself that I should forget her, I can’t.

I know that it was she who turned me in and yet I still somehow forgive her.

I love her and that’s what love is, right? Or maybe I’m being an idiot.