“The same can’t be said for me, and I said no. Now, leave.”
“Miss Thompson, please reconsider. We can help each other.”
“The only thing you can help me with is escorting yourself off my property before I call the police and report you for unlawful trespassing and harassment. You can also relay that message to the others who are out there with you. I’ll not be giving you or anyone else an interview. You’re wasting your time.”
He swears under his breath before stomping off the porch, with a gaggle of footsteps trailing behind him. Walking into the living room as quickly as I can without causing myself pain, I push aside the curtains just enough to get a better view of my front yard.
Four different news vans line the street. Two of them have cameramen and reporters outside of them. Van Nees continues down the sidewalk and throws his hands up when another reporter calls out to him. Yet, none of them leave. I watch for over an hour as each one of them positions themselves on the sidewalk outside of my house, recording their news report, basically telling my attacker right where to find me. This is not what I need right now.
Sliding my cell phone from my pocket, I dial the number the douchebag detective had given me.
“Detective Morrison,” he snaps.
“Detective, this is Blair Thompson.”
“Ah, Miss Thompson,” he drawls. “Finally ready to tell me about your friend at the hospital?”
Seriously? “What is it with you and this guy? I have zero ties to him, okay? None. Zip. Zilch. Zero.”
“I know you’re not being honest with me. Guys like him don’t just go saving random women. There’s a reason, and I’d like to know what it is.”
“How many damn times do I have to say it?” I holler into the phone, my reason for calling him in the first place disappearing from my mind. “I don’t know him. I don’t know who he is or why you have such a hard-on for him, but every minute you focus on him is another minute my attacker is still out there, possibly hurting some other innocent woman. Why haven’t you caught him?”
Every inch of my body tingles with rage. I’m the victim, but this son of a bitch is intent to believe otherwise. I don’t know how much more of his victim-blaming I can subject myself to before I snap. I am not at fault. I didn’t cause this man to attack me. I just wish the detective would pull his head out of his ass and see that for himself. As long as my attacker roams free, my life is at risk, and my sense of safety deteriorates even more.
“We’re trying our best. If you don’t have any information to add to your case, what can I do for you? Did someone else follow you home?” Blatant teasing reverberates in his tone.
I clench my teeth, trying to keep my cool. Snapping at him won’t to get me any more help than he’s already doling out. I don’t know if they teach misogyny at the academy, but if they did, this guy aced it.
“I’d like to have an officer sent to my house.”
“Can I ask why?” he huffs in disbelief. “I’m not going to waste department resources on someone who isn’t even willing to help herself by telling the truth.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. Heavy knocking starts at my door again. Raising my arm, I hold my cell phone toward the sound so he can hear it. “That knocking you hear is a group of reporters currently camping out in front of my house. I’d like them to leave and stop knocking on my door.”
“Knocking on a door isn’t a crime, Miss Thompson. They’re just trying to do their jobs, much like I’m trying to do mine. I see you’re being just as uncooperative with them.”
“Listen, asshole,” I snarl. “I’ve been attacked, hospitalized, harassed by you, and now I’m being harassed by reporters. If you don’t send someone over here to make them leave, I’ll go on camera and call you and your entire department out for not doing your job.”
He attempts to argue with me, but I hang up before he can get the first word out. Should I have called the lead detective on my case an asshole? Probably not, but I’m at my wit’s end. My life is in shambles, and I’m emotionally and physically drained. Something has to give, and if I have to threaten an officer of the law to get it done, so be it.
Apparently, though, it worked, because less than thirty minutes later, all four vans are peeling out of their parking spaces.
Peace and haunting quiet at last. But it’s a stinging reminder that I’m truly alone in this world, except for Jinx. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of being alone. That I’d be fine with no one to miss me if I’d died that day. My parents left me, and so did my roommates. Grandmother was the only one I had left in this world until cancer stole her away from me.
Truth be told, I’m the poster child for being abandoned when you need support the most. It had taken years to work through my childhood abandonment trauma with multiple therapists, and now, that deeply seated fear is returning all over again.
Am I even deserving of love?
GreenPeace
I lean against my motorcycle, attempting to appear casual, as Jack Carson pulls into his driveway. I can tell just by the set of his jaw he knows exactly why I’m here. This is going to get interesting.
He unfolds his scrawny frame from the driver’s seat and slams the door closed. “May I help you?”
Standing, I take a couple of steps forward, but stop when his fists clench and move toward his waist. He and I both know he’s packing, and I’m not about to get shot. “Just a friendly visit, Carson. Why so jumpy?”
“Fuck you,” he spits back, his eyes flashing with rage. “We aren’t friends. What the hell do you want?”
All right, time to cut the shit. “We know the Armstrong boys are still running fights. I wanna know when and where. No bullshit.”
Carson’s face pales, but I have to give him credit. His expression doesn’t falter in the least. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, man. I don’t have anything to do with the Armstrongs anymore.” His eyes dart toward the house, and I follow his gaze to see a little girl peering out the window, her crooked grin beaming brightly down at us. He waves up at her with a smile, barely moving his lips as he says, “Please don’t make a scene in front of my girl.”
Leverage. Dirty leverage, but it’s all I’ve got. “Then answer my fucking question, Carson. Where are the fights, and when?”
His arms fly up in exasperation. “I fucking told you, man, I don’t know shit, okay? The last time the Black Hoods broke that shit up, the Armstrongs went ballistic. My wife told me she’d take the kids and leave town if I didn’t get away from them. I haven’t had a thing to do with them since.”
I look behind me at the house where the little girl waves back at me, her smile so wide, I can’t help but wave back. “Cute kid,” I tell him. “Would be a shame for her to lose her daddy because he doesn’t know when to tell the truth. Judge isn’t backing down, Carson. None of us are. The Black Hoods are going to end this shit, with or without your help. And if you’re involved, you’ll go down with them.”
Carson sighs, his shoulders slumping with defeat.
I hold my ground as he steps around his truck and comes closer.