Split(107)

“You’re telling me you were home the night in question?” Gary, the deputy interrogating me, stares with disbelief.

We’ve gone over this multiple times already, and no matter how many creative ways he tries to ask it, my answer is still the same. “Yes, sir, as far as I can remember.”

He leans across the table, his forearms bracing his weight. “And you don’t have anyone to corroborate your story?”

“No, sir.”

He falls back into his chair with a huff and shakes his head. “Witnesses say you were seen leaving the victim’s house just after six in the morning.”

“No, I’ve never been to Sam’s house.” Nausea crawls through my gut. Someone saw me, or rather Gage? After the blackout receded, I didn’t feel any different. My muscles weren’t weak or sore; there wasn’t evidence of a fight left on my body, no blood on my clothes, but I was in the shower. I suppose any evidence could’ve been washed away.

“Is it true that you and the victim had some kind of sexual relationship?”

I drop my head and search for the courage it’ll take to be honest. If I want to stay in Payson, have a shot at being a good man, the kind of man Shy deserves, I need to own who I am. I peer up at him and hope what I’m about to say doesn’t get me locked up in prison, or worse, an institution. “Yes and no.”

“Care to elaborate?”

I shift in my seat, my hands completely numb from the handcuffs and my arms well on their way. “I . . . um . . . I was abused as a child. My mind isn’t like most people’s and because of that I black out. It’s like sleepwalking, only I’m awake, but I’m . . . not there. So I myself can’t remember having any kind of a sexual relationship with Sam, but I’ve heard we . . . hooked up.”

He doesn’t say anything but I sense shock in his silence.

His eyes narrow. “Employees at Pistol Pete’s who saw you together, they said the two of you got into some kind of fight and that you”—he flips through a few pages on a small spiral notebook—“threw her to the ground.” He makes eye contact, daring me to lie. “Is that true?”

I swallow, knowing how bad this must look. “Yes, sir, I think it might be.”

He lifts his eyebrows.

“I’d had a few beers and Sam started kissing me. I didn’t like it and wanted her to leave me alone. I . . . um”—blacked out—“I don’t remember what happened after that.” I huff out a breath. That was harder than I thought.

The deputy’s judgment is evident in his glare. “According to people in the bar, after your altercation with Sam, you left with Shyann Jennings.”

I nod, not because I remember, but because that’s the story Shy told me.

“You and Shyann seem pretty serious.”

My eyes tighten and again, I nod. “I’m in love with her. For me, that’s as serious as it gets.”

“You know Shy and Sam were friends a long time ago. Sam’s now with Shyann’s ex.” He shrugs. “Jealousy’s a powerful motivator.”

“I didn’t beat up Sam.” I just can’t prove it.

He slaps his hands on the table. “Right. Okay, it’s late and I need to get home. I’m going to put you in a cell and we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

A cell.

My heart pounds as he guides me out of the questioning room and into one of six or seven holding cells. The barred door swings open to a padded bench and a single toilet. I freeze, my body rejecting my command to move. With a firm press from Gary, I step inside and my skin pricks with anxiety.

The door closes and I jump at the loud clank of metal on metal.

“Back up, stick your hands out, and I’ll remove those cuffs.”

I do as I’m told and the blood flow returns to my fingers.

“Lucas.” Gary tilts his head, studying me. “The thing with your mind, is it something you can’t control?”

“I can’t. When it hits, I’m helpless.”

He nods and avoids my eyes. “Get some sleep.”

The lights go off and I’m able to calm just a little at being alone in the dark. The smell of disinfectant and stale air swirls around me, and claustrophobia pricks at my skin. I lie down on the bench and throw my forearm over my eyes and imagine I’m in bed at the river house, and it helps to ease the panic.

No matter what I do, I can’t seem to keep myself out of trouble.

Witnesses say they saw me at Sam’s and I can’t deny it because my memory is a blank spot.

Whoever said they saw me at Sam’s has to be lying, but it’s my word—the word of an accused and acquitted felon—against eyewitnesses.

Once the news gets out that I’m split, not even my innocence will save me.





SHYANN


I push through the door to my dad’s house well after midnight to find him in a familiar spot in the kitchen. After Lucas was arrested, I hung back at the river house with Buddy, made sure he was fed and warm before I sat talking his fluffy little ears off. I pretended I was talking to the dog, but I was really talking to my mom. Asking her for guidance and praying she’d hook Lucas up with some divine intervention to get him free of this ridiculous charge.

My dad is leaning into the table on one elbow, his head in his hand and a short glass of amber liquid in front of him.