I sat on my bed just looking up at all my Justice crap. Posters, action figures, even a mask like his. Fury and desolation just washed over me. I felt betrayed. I worshiped the man, and the one time I needed him, he didn’t show up. I thought he actually cared about us. No. Another lie. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ripped off, smashed, and then burnt anything with his face on it before running out of that apartment. I hopped on my bike and rode until I couldn’t anymore, finally stopping on Pendergast Bridge, willing myself to jump. You can only be strong for so long before you break. I broke.
Like now. I’m sitting here, head up high, stoic, representing their family when I really feel like screaming at the top of my lungs, but I can’t even cry. I’m the strong one, forged by fire and ice. Dobbs blots his tears with a tissue, Lucy remains stony, but when I glance at Justin my façade crumbles. He’s desperately trying to keep himself together, though his eyes are rimmed with tears and his chin quivers. It literally feels as if someone plunges a knife into my heart. I can’t look at him for the rest of the service.
As the eulogizers speak about the deed’s multitude of achievements, I scan the pews. More than a few mourners whisper to their friends, eyes on me the whole time. My hands start shaking, and I ball them into fists as I set them in my lap. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to run out of this church. The guilt is suffocating. I can do this. I will do this for him.
Rev. Matthews concludes the service with a prayer about forgiveness, and the moment I can I leap up, excuse myself, and rush toward the door behind the altar. I know there’s an empty office. I shut the door, and take several deep breaths. I pace back and forth, wringing my hands to stop the shaking, trying and failing to expel the pent-up energy that’s about to explode out of me otherwise. Geoff steps in, but I tell him I need a minute. He listens, but I’m sure stays close. I keep pacing on those wobbly heels, now my whole body shaking while I try to catch my breath. I was doing so well. No tearful breakdowns or drinking binges, and now I’m a second away from a full-blown panic attack.
They all know. All of them in there know. How I feel about him, how I felt about her and God knows what they’re all thinking. Who knows how long it will be until he figures it out too? I can’t keep this up. The pretending. I almost wish Alkaline would just come in and kill me already. He—
There’s a knock on the door. “Jo?” Harry asks on the other side. He steps in, and I stop my crazy person routine. “I saw you run in here. Are you okay?”
“You know, I am so sick of people asking me that. ‘Am I okay?’ No. No, I am not okay. Not in any way am I okay. I am…exhausted. And pissed off. And scared out of my mind. All I want to do is take a few pills and fall into oblivion for a few months, and when I wake up I’ll find out this was all a dream. That my friend hasn’t shattered into a million pieces, that you don’t hate my guts, and that I’m not responsible for either.”
“Jo—”
I start pacing again. “Everyone is just being so fucking nice. It’s driving me insane.” I can feel my blood pressure rising. “They just want to keep hugging me, and saying kind things to me. I can’t stand it. I can’t. Especially when I know it’s all fake. All those people in that room know who I am. What I’ve done. Then why won’t they just fucking say it? Once, just once I’d like someone to look me in the eye and say, ‘Joanna, this is your fault. You let him slip through your fingers twice. You challenged a cold-blooded murderer, and he just rose to that challenge. We know you didn’t mean it, but there it is. Their blood is on your hands.’ Just one person, instead of platitudes and—and—and fucking comfort I don’t deserve!”
Harry doesn’t respond right away. He just keeps looking at the floor as I keep walking. “Okay,” he finally says as he takes a step toward me. “Speaking as head of the investigation, the strongest motive for the murders we have found is revenge.” I stop pacing. “We have surmised this due to the savagery inflicted on Dr. Thornton, the fact he used your name to check into the hotel where he stalked her, that he most likely summoned you to the prison that night, and the picture left at the scene. No other known connection to the victims has been found, so that leads us to conclude that you are at the center of this. We have examined the lives of the victims and Justin Pendergast, and none have had dealings with James Ryder or any of his known accomplices, and believe me we have looked.”
“See? I told you—”