But the officer doesn’t listen. He turns me and pushes me out the door and down the steps where a herd of reporters are waiting, snapping photos, and yelling questions at me. I lower my head, letting my hair hang over my face as I’m led to the car when I hear someone shouting.
“You killed him!” Mrs. Jenson shrieks. “He gave candy to those kids! He was kind to you, and you killed him!” She’s sobbing as she wipes at her nose with her forearm. The reporters are snapping photos, flashes from their cameras blinding me.
“Grab her!” The officer holding my cuffed wrists shouts as he pushes me forward. The other officer grabs Mrs. Jenson and pulls her away, and I’m pushed forward toward the car. This is humiliating. I’m practically naked, being shoved into the back seat of a cop car.
“Don’t worry, Demi,” Connor is right beside me all of a sudden. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I love you,” he whispers in my ear before the officer leading me shoves him away. His words slice right through me. Here, we just found one another, finally came together, and now I’m probably going to prison.
A vigilante.
That’s what the newspapers were calling me.
Demi Stevens—takes justice into her own hands.
After my arrest, Connor went straight to Wendy and Jeff’s and told them everything. McKenzie reluctantly came forward, confessing her part in Mr. Jenson’s death, and she also shared the horrific details of what he did to her years ago. Mary-Anne also came forward. Just as I had suspected, McKenzie had coached her, made her swear not to tell what happened that day, terrified she’d go to jail.
The prosecutor dropped the murder charge on Connor and for me, but then I was charged with voluntary manslaughter. The coroner’s report showed that ultimately Mr. Jenson died from suffocation. Jim showed me the photos from the crime scene, and I was immediately confused. Nothing looked as I remembered it. Mr. Jenson was positioned differently, and there was blood in places there wasn’t from what I remembered.
I knew immediately what happened. Connor and Dusty had altered the crime scene. They did their best to make it look like there was a struggle between Mr. Jenson and me; and that I killed him out of self-defense.
My mother refused to post bail for me; apparently I’m disowned now. But lucky for me, I have another mother . . . of sorts. Grams came to the rescue and bailed me out. Like I said, God might close the doors, but he always leaves a big beautiful window open somewhere.
As soon as I got out, I came home and hid from the world, refusing to leave the house. Connor has stayed with me, and Lexi comes by to visit every day. Wendy and Jeff have stayed away, but Wendy does call every day. The prosecutor didn’t charge McKenzie as she hit Mr. Jenson in an attempt to defend me. But with Mrs. Jenson living across the street and the horrid things she’s been saying to the newspapers about us, they have no choice, but to avoid my home. Not to mention the reporters circling my house like buzzards about to feast on a dead carcass.
Pulling my curtain aside, I peek out my side window. “They’re only three today. At least they seem to be decreasing.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with that. I can’t believe you’re national news.”
Plopping back on my sofa with a huff, I ask, “How is McKenzie doing?”
“She’s doing okay,” Wendy tells me over the phone. “I hate myself for not realizing there was something going on with her. I just thought she was a pissed off teenager; that it was hormones.”
“I’m so sorry, Wendy.”
“I met him several times, Demi. I thought he was the sweetest old man alive,” Wendy admits. “I never thanked you, though.”
“Thanked me?” I ask. “For what?”
“For killing him,” she states plainly. “I know that sounds awful, but . . .”
“I know, Wendy. I know,” I assure her. Connor walks in the living room where I’m curled up on the couch, wiping his hands on a shop rag.
“Babe, can you come in the kitchen?” he asks.