Grown(58)

L. Jones: I was upset! He kidnapped my daughter.

Arnold: But according to interviews you had with Detective Fletcher, you gave permission for your daughter to go with him.

L. Jones: I gave permission for a tour and promises were made. He broke those promises and our trust!

Arnold: You made several welfare check requests with the DeKalb County Police, in Georgia, correct?

L. Jones: Yes. It was all that I could do.

Arnold: And when you didn’t get your desired outcome . . .

L. Jones: I called again and again. You not hearing me. That’s my CHILD. I would walk through fire to get my child back.

Arnold: But during each of those welfare checks, Enchanted indicated she was fine. That she wanted to stay with Korey.

L. Jones: She was brainwashed. You can speak to her psychiatrist. She didn’t know what she was doing.

Arnold: Are you sure this isn’t all about money you were expecting?

L. Jones: HA! Please! Let me see the receipts of the money he’s given us. ’Cause that man hasn’t given us a dime!

Arnold: This isn’t funny at all. A man was murdered! You could show some respect.

L. Jones: When are y’all gonna start showing us some? We went to the police to file a report against him, and them detectives gave my daughter the third degree like she was the one who did something, not that monster!

Arnold: Mrs. Jones, according to E-ZPass records, your car clocked into the toll entering Henry Hudson Parkway, southbound around 11:14 p.m., approximately one hour before Korey Fields was murdered. Care to explain?

L. Jones: What? I . . . that wasn’t me.

Arnold: No? So who was it?

L. Jones: [long pause] My . . . husband had my car that night. We switched since he was picking up the kids.

Arnold: Why would he need to go to the city?

L. Jones: I guess . . . he was looking for Enchanted.





Chapter 74


Peter Pan




The Will and Willow moms hook me up with a no-nonsense lawyer named Seth Pulley. He has jet-black wavy hair, crisp blue eyes, and a lisp. He organizes papers and files on the table as I gently yank at the cuffs chaining me to the chair. The fluorescent light burns my eyelids.

“What’s happening now?” I ask. “Out there. No one will tell me.”

Mr. Pulley sighs. “Out there, the world is taking it pretty hard. Their favorite superstar was killed. They’re in mourning. But I wouldn’t worry about all that for now.”

I can imagine Korey’s memorial news reports. The photo collages on Instagram, top trending topic on Twitter.

“So everyone hates me,” I state, slumping in my chair. “They have no idea who he really is. Was.”

Mr. Pulley takes out a ballpoint pen. “I’m not going to lie to you, Enchanted,” he says, straight to business. “You are public enemy number one.”

I close my eyes and try to float out the room. When I open them, I’m still in a cage, surrounded by metal bars. A cage, not much different from my room in Atlanta, in a uniform just as baggy as the track suits he made us wear. Panic eats through my bones. Trapped again.

This is really happening.

“The good news: it’s been almost forty-eight hours,” Mr. Pulley says as he reads through some paperwork. “Meaning, they don’t have enough for a formal arrest warrant, and they’ll release you sometime this evening. But the evidence they’re gathering is more than circumstantial. Being at the scene of the crime, partial prints on the weapon, and for the number of stab wounds, you would have had to hold that knife pretty firmly. There are also footprints they are trying to identify. They don’t think you worked alone. Could have enough for formal charges as early as next week.”

My tongue is too dry to moisten my quivering chapped lips.

“I didn’t kill him. I swear I didn’t kill him! I wouldn’t.”

Mr. Pulley pats my hand. “I know, hon. But let’s not worry about that for now. How about you tell me everything that you remember?”

Tonight’s movie: Peter Pan.

The Littles sit on the opposite side of the sofa, clutching Shea, sneaking peeks at me every few minutes. They’ve been locked in the house ever since the media caught wind of where we lived, taking over our once-quiet street, circling like sharks.

In the kitchen, Mom and Daddy pore over some paperwork on the table, their backs to us, Mom quietly sobbing.

“All you need is faith, trust, and a little pixie dust.”

Peter Pan kind of reminds me of Korey. Flying high on blissful thoughts, he was fine never growing up, wanted to stay a kid forever. He was also forgetful, self-centered, and cocky enough to put himself in danger, skating by without consequence over and over again.

Meanwhile, all I wanted to do was grow up fast, love him hard, and sing around the world. But the adult world pushed me down a plank and fed me to the crocodiles.

Maybe Korey had the right idea all along.

My phone buzzes. An unknown number.

Gab?

“Hello?”

“You’re fucking dead, bitch!”

“W-w-w-what?”

“You’re fucking dead! If I see you, I’m slicing your fucking throat, you little slut.”

The line drops and I look at Shea. The voice was loud enough for her to hear.

She stares back then sighs, returning to the movie.