Crevan turns around and we see Mary May on her knees as though praying for forgiveness, guarded by her three Flawed brothers, who look like they want to put her in the ground at any moment. She is a shell of herself, like her spirit has died and her whole life has fallen apart.
“Sir. Judge Crevan.” She swallows. “It was an … I didn’t mean to … I was trying to … I wanted to … It was Celestine,” she says, the anger for me growing within her again. “That girl. I was trying to get that girl for you.”
“I said monitor her, not kill her,” he yells. “Guide her on the right path, not become a damn murderer!”
“Please, forgive me. This job is everything. This is my life. I always have and always will be answerable to you.”
“He won’t forgive you now, Mary,” one of her brothers says. “You’ve failed. It’s over.”
“There’s nothing left of the Guild,” Crevan shouts at her. “Look around you!” And as she does, she becomes smaller, she shrinks down into her heels.
I cling to Art as he comes and goes, eyes flickering, coughing and moaning.
“Celestine,” Carrick calls out one final time. His voice is hoarse from shouting.
I look up and see him sitting by the door of the castle, the one we escaped from. Rogan is on the ground beside him. Our eyes meet. He looks sad, lost, hopeful. In those green eyes I know he’s asking me a question.
And then the arrival of the ambulance breaks our look, ending the possibility of an answer, which is just as well, because right now I don’t have one.
EIGHTY
I SIT BY Art’s bedside at the hospital, in complete stillness, surrounded by stillness. It’s a stark contrast to the hours leading up to this, and the journey in the ambulance to get here.
Art is stable. The irony is that he was lucky, the bullet missed his small intestine, colon, liver, and abdominal blood vessels. He is going to be okay. Physically anyway: What the scars of a gunshot to the stomach will do to his already wounded mind, we will have to wait and see.
My eyelids feel heavy, like life has given me a rest. Over the past three weeks I have felt that if I didn’t keep moving, then I’d never move again, and yet life has stopped me dead in my tracks as if to say, No more, Celestine, no more. I don’t even feel like moving now. I wouldn’t know where to go if I did move. Here is the only place I need to be.
My skin carries brands; Art has a bullet wound. Our scars and imperfections all have stories. My scars give me strength, remind me how I can overcome the toughest times in my life; his wound will remind him that he protected me, that he did good, that he came to the aid of a Flawed. He redeemed himself and in so doing defended me in more ways than he could realize. He defended my actions, too. Every day we look at our bodies, we live in our skin, and we will never forget.
A nurse arrives, Judy, she’s nice. She removes my cold and untouched green tea from the bedside unit and replaces it with what smells like berry tea.
“I’ll keep trying,” she says, good-humored. “This was sent from the castle for you.” She hands me my backpack, the one that was taken from me when I was brought to the fish-gutting warehouse this morning. I’m grateful for it, desperate to get out of the detainment clothes I was given at the castle to replace the red slip, and not just because they’re soaked in Art’s blood.
“Mr. Crevan, there are some men here to see you,” she says, the kindness gone from her voice.
Crevan lifts his head from the bed where he’s had it buried beside Art ever since we arrived. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, his nose constantly streaming like his eyes. We have been sitting together, quite comfortably, in complete silence for hours now.
“Is it the police?” he asks, sniffing. “You can tell them to come in.” He wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt in preparation.
Two men in suits enter.
“Mr. Crevan, we’d like a word with you in private, please.”
“It’s okay.” He stands, pulling his jeans up by the waist. “Celestine was there when it happened. She’s a witness, too. We’ve already talked to your men, uniformed police, but I’m glad and appreciate you’re taking this so seriously. You’re detectives?”
They nod.
He makes his way over to them to shake their hands.
“Mr. Crevan, we’re here regarding other matters. This is not about your son. Mary May has been arrested and taken into custody.”
“Oh. Then what is this about?”
The two detectives look at me and my stomach churns. This is about me. About the footage that was aired.
“As we said, we think it’s best if we talk to you in private.” This is said more officially, but Crevan is not ready to go without a fight.
“If this is about the actions of the Guild, then I can tell you it’s already been addressed. I no longer work for the Guild, I’ve been removed from my position. There will be an announcement made first thing in the morning at a press conference. I’m also told there’s an inquiry into the Guild’s rulings, so I’m sure you’ll find this is all in hand, gentlemen, it is being dealt with internally. I suggest you talk to the head judge, Jennifer Sanchez, about any matters.”
He is in judge mode, trying to control everything, trying to be above everyone and everything. But he lacks power now, gone is his vibrant red robe, his Purveyors of Perfection crest, replaced with a crumpled checked shirt and bloody jeans. This is off-duty Crevan trying to command control, cleaning-out-the-garage Crevan, wash-the-car Crevan, drive-Celestine-and-Art-to-the-local-farmers’-market Crevan. I never saw the monster in him.
“If it’s about Celestine, then she has been granted her freedom. That, too, has been settled within the Guild. She was due to start a prison sentence, but I think that will be waived. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“This isn’t about the actions of the Guild, it’s about your actions against Celestine North, which are a criminal matter,” the detective says.
The other pipes up, less sensitive than the first. “We’re also investigating the claims of Pia Wang, Nathan Berry, five guards who were present during the Branding Chamber crime, and four teenagers from Grace O’Malley secondary school, among others.”
Crime.
And there it is, the face that I wanted to see for so long. The look of shock, at being put in his place by people in authority, by the law, a realization that he was wrong, that he is not above everybody, that what he put me and so many others through was wrong. I see it flash in his eyes, the confusion, the self-doubt, the self-hate, the apology, the questions. The veil of self-assurance all falls down.