11. Memphis

CHAPTER ELEVEN

memphis

I had to look away when Utah walked right at him and swung the golf club until the head connected with the detective’s left ankle bone. His pained screams were unpleasant to listen to, but I was uniquely prepared to withstand disturbing sounds. His squeals couldn’t even come close to the sounds of several girls crying themselves to sleep every night.

“The fact that I have to stand here and tell the story back to you makes me want to kill you before you even have the chance to explain yourself,” Utah said to him. “So, just be aware of that now. This is me showing great restraint.”

Utah paced around for another moment, casually swinging the golf club while he walked. I wasn’t sure if he was actually deep in thought, if he was truly putting effort into holding himself back, or if he was just fucking with this man for the fun of it. He was nearly impossible to read when he wanted to be that way.

“Everyone believes Elizabeth Anderson used a firearm to murder her in-laws. She was said to have used that same weapon on her own four-year-old daughter before she turned it on herself. All while Vance Anderson was deployed overseas. She struggled with depression for most of her life. Probably pretty simple to let the whole thing fall on her shoulders after that. And Vance was devastated to come home to that kind of news.”

The panic hit the detective by the end of Utah’s words. He was already shaking pretty violently from the pain in his ankle, but he started to cry once he recalled the case to which Utah was referring.

“Yeah,” Utah said quietly. “You remember it now.”

“Why?” I asked the now sobbing man.

“It wasn’t up to me,” he cried.

“You didn’t decide to just let everyone believe Elizabeth Anderson did it? You didn’t choose to not investigate anything at all? You didn’t choose to ignore that there was no evidence to suggest Liz was the shooter? For any of the victims involved?” Utah asked. “Herself included?”

“Okay, look. Yeah. I did all that. But I didn’t have any other choice.”

“There’s always another choice,” Utah said. He stepped forward a second later to swing the golf club at the man’s other ankle. While the detective sat there and wailed, Utah turned to face me once he’d laid the golf club across his shoulders. He stared at me until I looked back at him. He was trying to silently ask if I was okay to keep going, to continue being present for this, without actually saying the words.

I swallowed the urge to vomit and nodded my head at him.

“I’ll stop breaking your bones if you just tell me why,” Utah said.

“I can’t,” the detective screamed in between the sobs.

“Why?” I asked.

“You’re prepared to sit here while I break every bone in your body just to avoid giving me the reason?” Utah asked and walked back to the detective. “‘Cause I feel like I should tell you now, man,” he smirked and placed the head of the golf club in the man’s groin, “once I’m done with the bones, I’ll just move on to removing pieces of your body. You probably won’t like the appendage that I’ll be starting with.”

The detective started shaking again when he hung his head to cry that time.

“Your ankles might heal well enough if you get a good doctor,” Utah continued. “But that,” he said and tapped the golf club up and down on his crotch, “that won’t grow back.”

“I have kids,” Samuels cried quietly. “I have two daughters.”

“That’s nice,” Utah said sarcastically. “Weird as fuck that you’d bring them up while I talk about cutting your dick off. But if I was worried about losing mine, I’d probably say some strange shit too.”

The detective shook his head. “He said he’d take them.”

I was across the room before anybody said another word to grab Utah’s wrist and make him move the golf club. He stepped back and I knelt in front of the detective to see if I could get him to look at me.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He shook his head again and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Step back, angel,” Utah said. I glanced back to see that he already had the golf club raised and ready again.

“Tell me,” I begged the detective. “Please. Who was going to take them ?”

The detective’s shoulders slumped but he raised his head until he was staring straight up at the ceiling.

“They were so young. He had people watching their school. He knew their schedules. He knew Viv played soccer. He knew Lil was in gymnastics. He said he’d take them. He’d sell them,” he continued crying. “ Sell them . Do you understand me? He. Would. Sell. My. Girls.”

I wasn’t sure when I’d stood up. Or when I started backing away from him.

The room felt like it was shrinking while I backed away. Like there was a black fog closing in from the broken-down walls. Like the sun had disappeared entirely and was letting some plague of darkness take over. That nonexistent fog was somehow making it harder to breathe too.

Utah’s chest appeared in front of me after what felt like nearly two hours in that void.

I shook my head as hard as I could.

“Angel?”

I pushed him out of the way and rushed right back to the detective.

“Who?” I demanded. “Tell me his name.”

Was I crying? Why did my voice sound like that? Shrieky and high-pitched. Crazy.

I watched my hand reach out to grab his jaw to force him to look me in the eyes, but it felt like something else was controlling my movements.

“His name,” I repeated.

“Evans.”

I let go of his face and backed away again. I turned right around and left that room to see if I’d be able to breathe any easier once I found my way back outside.