Chapter 4
The crease between John's brows deepened. He said, "Mr. Rivers, do you realize that every word you're saying right now, including 'planned it,' could be used against you in court?"
"I know," I replied.
He pressed on, "Premeditation will affect your sentence. Do you get that?"
"Yeah, I get it," I said. "But I turned myself in, cooperated with the investigation, secured the evidence myself, stopped the bleeding before he lost too much blood, and called the ambulance and the police. Those things will also count when it comes to sentencing.
"David did the math. Worst case, five to seven years. But if I turn myself in, get a letter of forgiveness from the victim, make restitution, and plead guilty for a lighter sentence, it'll probably end up being around three years."
John leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and stared at me for a long moment.
The only sounds in the interrogation room were the hum of the fluorescent lights and the faint buzz of the recorder.
"Do you hate her?" he suddenly asked, a question that wasn't part of the official record.
I paused, thinking. "Hate?"
I didn't hate Laura.
I only hated someone if I cared about them.
Before dawn on June 30th, I cared about her.
After that, to me, she was just like an expired insurance policy, worth nothing, didn't matter if I kept it or tossed it.
The one I hated was Brian. And it wasn't just because he had an affair with my wife. There was another reason.
"Brian isn't just some random guy," I said. "He's Richard Coleman's son, the heir to Coleman Realty.
"Three months ago, Coleman Realty tried to buy a key patent for autonomous driving technology from my company. I turned them down.
"A month later, my wife ended up in Brian's bed.
"You think that's a coincidence?"
John tapped his fingers on the table twice. The sound was soft, but the rhythm was clear.
"So you think this whole affair was a business tactic?" he asked.
"I don't have any solid proof," I said. "But I don't need it. I just want Brian to pay. Not in business, not in reputation, but in flesh.
"He's not getting the patent. And he won't get to keep my wife either. As for his leg—"
I glanced down at my hand. The cut on my palm was starting to scab over, the dried blood a deep red, tracing the lines of my skin like a map.
"Every day he's stuck in that hospital bed, that's another day I feel like I've gotten my revenge's worth," I said.
John was silent for a long time. Then he turned off the recorder.
"Alex," he said, his voice dropping a notch. "I've been in criminal investigation for nineteen years. I've seen impulsive killers, crimes of passion, and those who plotted for ages."
"But you, you calculated every move, even went so far as to learn how to stop the bleeding ahead of time." He shook his head. "You scare me."
I smiled. "Officer, you really don't need to be afraid of me. I've got nothing against anyone who wasn't part of it. I just made things even."
*****
The bed in the detention center was rock hard.
It was a concrete slab with a thin mattress thrown on top. Every time I rolled over, I could feel my spine knocking against the hard, gray concrete.
My pillow was a pile of my own clothes.
The fluorescent lights were always on. The harsh white glow never dimmed, so I couldn't tell day from night. Time only passed by the ticking of the clock on the wall, so slow it felt like forever.
On July 18th, my fourth day in the detention center, I got my first visit notification.
It wasn't my lawyer. It was Laura.
The visiting room was separated by a sheet of clear acrylic glass.
She sat across from me on a plastic chair, her hair tied back. It was a look she never wore at home, because she always complained it made her face look too round.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes. I could see the exhaustion from four sleepless nights etched into her face, and no amount of makeup could cover it up.
She was twisting the hem of her shirt so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
"Alex," Laura said, her voice rough as she picked up the phone.
I grabbed the phone on my side. "Speak."
"Are you okay?" she asked.
I didn't waste my breath on that pointless question.
She bit her lip, her gaze flickering for a couple seconds, probably searching for the right words.
"Alex, I'm sorry for what I did to you," she went on.
I waited, saying nothing, just letting her talk.
Her voice started to shake. "But you shouldn't have hit him. Brian's still in the ICU. His mom's been yelling at me in the hospital hallway for three days straight.
"The Coleman family's lawyer says they're going to sue you for more money, and they want you to get the harshest sentence possible. She says I'm an accomplice, too. Alex, you have to do something. You can't let this happen—"
"Stop," I cut her off. "First, get my name out of your mouth. Hearing you call my name makes my skin crawl."
Her eyes reddened, and her lips quivered.
"Second, I don't need to figure anything out," I went on. "Every step I took was calculated. Every single one."
"Third," I squeezed the phone tighter, my knuckles going white. "Are you here to cry for yourself, or to plead for him?"