Aged 26
Jesus, I smell bad. Thirty six hours of questioning at a police station will do that to a guy. I'd sell my shrivelled little soul for a shower.
I've been jostled to the phone by two bored, stale-looking officers who are enjoying feeling superior to me. One has a crooked nose and a beer gut; the other has a moustache like rolled up carpet, its grey tips stained yellow with nicotine. When they finally release my hands, it takes all the willpower I possess not to choke the pair of them.
"You've got a minute," says one in a strong Boston accent. "Sixty seconds and not a fart more. You understand me, sir?"
I try not to glare.
"One minute," he says, edging away.
Thank fuck for that.
My fingers shake as I dial the number. My new lawyer got me this extra call, though I barely have the energy to make it. Blaring artificial precinct lights sting my eyes. My mouth tastes like ass. I'm surviving on adrenaline and sub-par coffee.
Tuija picks up after a couple rings. She sounds exhausted. "Hello..?"
"It's me," I say quietly. "Still at the precinct."
"Aeron?" Tension pulls her voice tight. "Oh my God, are you okay?"
"Been better."
"Have they stopped questioning you? What's happening?"
"They aren't charging me. I should get out in an hour or so, my lawyer says."
She heaves a sigh of relief. "Goddamn. They saw sense, right?"
"Harvey came in with my alibi. One of his neighbours confirmed she saw me at his place, so...yeah."
"I knew it. We all know you're not a murderer, for crying out loud—I—I'm shaking. Oh God."
"Listen, firecracker. I need to know what's going on with the media. How bad is it?"
"We're containing it as best we can here. We ran your lawyer's statement. But Montgomery—"
I ball my fists, almost enjoying the ache of muscles filled with old fluid. "I bet he's having a fucking field day, isn't he?" I can see the headlines now: young media mogul arrested in connection with his mother's murder. Maybe they'll even throw in some cheesy crap like Aeron Lore Not above the Law. Great. Just the kind of publicity I need right now, when I'm bidding to buy a bunch of fucking newspaper brands. And this from an asshole who magically made his last wife disappear when he happened upon a new one.
"I'm sorry. I'm...I'm so sorry." She trails off, beginning to sob. Since this is Tuija, each sob is almost snorted back in. "Your mom, Aeron. I'm so sorry..."
"It's okay," I grind out.
"It's not. It's not. Why the fuck would anyone do that to her?"
Yellow Moustache Officer leans over from the front desk and cocks his head at me. "Twenty seconds. Wrap it up," he calls.
"I have to go," I mutter to Tuija.
"We're taking care of everything, I promise. You don't have to come back real soon. I'm liaising with Ash's social worker, like you asked. He's fine, a little weirded out but fine..." She chokes out another sob. "But he's so young, and he doesn't know, does he?"
Leaning forward, I press my face against the cool tiled wall. Closed eyes are blissful, even if they're nothing close to ignorance. "I'll take care of him. As soon as I get out of here and all this shit is over, I'll move someplace..." With enough room for a kid. A baby. Jesus. What am I going to do with that?
"Aeron," she whispers. "Aeron. I'm here. You okay?"
"I have to go." I slam the phone down, and press my forehead to the tiles again.
If I close my eyes for long enough, perhaps this will all melt into nothing and I won't wake up tomorrow to some circus about me being a fucking murderer.
Who am I kidding?
If I want to control the news...I'm gonna have to own more of it.
#10
Holy fuck (noun): the moment you come inside a woman and believe, for a split second, that there is a god
Mathletes.
Ash's teacher wants him to join. I stare at the letter on the kitchen counter, fighting the urge to literally sneer.
Think this through, Aeron. Ethan's watching for your response with his fucking Bazinga t-shirt again. Okay.
Scenario one: Ash grows up to be some kind of Mark Zuckerberg mecha brain who conquers the world of social media and becomes a billionaire. He then marries Yoko and settles into a life of selling other people's souls for money. I kind of like this one. Besides Yoko, obviously, but we all have our vices. Mine is prickly girls who are too smart for my own good; maybe Ash's will be plain tiger bitches.
Likelihood of scenario one actually happening: about 0.5%.