Forgiven (Ruined) (19 page)

             
Someone you love has been harmed because of you.

             
But I can't tell his story for him.  Not yet.  He has to have the chance to do it himself.  For all his talk of recovering and being a light, making a difference in the world he took three lights out of, Kellan is still drowning in guilt.  He still feels ruined.

             
Whoever is stalking him is making it worse.  He's still in prison.

             
He meets my eyes.  The police exchange looks, restive.  Probably thinking one of us cheated on the other, or maybe we both cheated on others who are responsible for what happened.

             
Honestly, I don't care if those are the reactions.  This is what matters.  Right here.  I can worry about the future if Kellan doesn't speak.  Then I will take steps.  I won't let him put everyone he cares about at risk, because they're the same people I care about.

             
But I want to give him the chance. 

             
Our eyes meet.  Kellan takes a deep breath, and turns towards the police officers.

             
There's no reason they would have run his background but he asks them anyway.  The look they give him is total confusion.  So Kellan tells them, briefly, in such concise but thorough detail I can't help feeling he'd make a good reporter himself.  He tells them that he's been out of prison for since September, and what he was in for.  He then tells them about his contact with the families.  I'm surprised to find the police are nodding, apparently in approval. 

             
"If you ever feel like talking to a high school, we can put you in touch with organizations that schedule that kind of presentation," the bald cop says.  He's fishing in his wallet, under the badge, for a business card.  "Our department does sometimes, too.  Puts people in schools.  Usually officers, but we can use people who want to help."

             
I feel tears in the backs of my eyes and blink them away.  The way Kellan squeezes my hand as he takes the card with his other hand, it's affected him, too.  He pockets the card and goes on to tell them about the packages.  Apparently there were two others I never saw, and he's gotten phone calls and texts.

             
"They weren't escalating," he says, and I can hear the way his voice shakes.  I want to do something to reassure him. I'm right here.  I'm all right.  But he has other family to worry about too.  Time enough later to reassure.

             
After he finishes there are a couple rounds of
why didn't you tell the police?
Followed by Kellan making excuses and squeezing my abraded hand more tightly until I lean forward, getting the police to look at me.

             
"David Reynolds was a police officer in Atlanta," I say very quietly.  We've told them everything else and I'm not making an accusation like "Kellan knew you wouldn't help him," just leaving it to them to interpret. 

             
Which they do.  They're both quiet, but no less involved.  They take the information from Kellan, ask about the calls, all of which came from unlisted.  About the packages, which were dropped off.

             
They're about to wrap things up when I take a breath and speak.  "I think it might be Aimee Reynolds' sister."

             
Everyone turns to look at me.  Kellan looks amazed.  I can't tell if he knew.  I don't think he did.  There are enough crazies in the world that someone could have targeted him who wasn't even part of the family, but since he was getting packages of photos, how could he not have thought it through?

             
So I tell them.  About my limited research and why I think it might be Stacee.  Because of the photos, and access to them, and because I believed David Reynolds when he said he forgave Kellan.

             
The blond cop cocks his head.  "Did you have anything to do with those videos? The series – oh, hey, those were on the college TV."

             
I was actually
in
the videos, I think, a little snide, but then, no one says he watched every episode and all the way through each.  "That was our series," I say.  Oh, so modest, Willow. 
That's my baby.
  "I'm the student station operations manager at DCTV."

             
The other cop is tapping a finger nail against his front teeth, a habit that sends more chills up my spine than when I crack my knuckles (my own habit that drives me crazy).  "Wasn't there a break-in there recently?"

             
"You know about that?"

             
"Just exchange of information from college cops.  We keep in touch."

             
I shrug.  "Nothing was taken, just some of the tapes were messed up."

             
"You still use tapes?" the blond officer asks.

             
"Which tapes?" the bald officer asks.

             
"The forgiveness series." 

             
Yep, that's a surprise.  And this would be the time to tell them about the letter I got, not the one from Reed's father, because I'm pretty sure that's over and done with as long as I never see Reed Miller again (and at this point, because I don't care about Henry Tate Miller's threats.  After being pushed into traffic, being told the big-time attorney is going to run and tell people everything I did?  Small potatoes.)

             
The letter from someone who knew me in Seattle.  Or knew about me in Seattle.

             
I don't say a word. 

             
"So before my dad and your mom show up," Kellan says, sitting gingerly on the edge of my bed, "want to tell me what was going on?"

             
I've got a semi-private room that apparently I'm going to be stuck in overnight.  I've known people who had gallbladder surgery and one friend who had weight loss surgery and they've gone in and out the same day.  I break my leg and I'm spending the night.

             
In answer to Kellan's question, I tilt my head and stare at him.  "Were you not listening to what I told the police?"

             
He nods.  He hasn't shaved in a day or two.  He looks like a surfer, or a rock star on vacation.  He's bronzed and in great shape, but the tension hasn't left him.

             
"I heard.  I just didn't know if you wanted to tell me anything different."

             
Anger flares.  "You want to tell
me
anything?  Oh, wait, no, I have to wait until you're making a police report."

             
He squints at that.

             
"How could you not have figured out who was doing that to you?"

             
"Who says I didn't?"

             
"I do.  It was clearly news to you.  Someone sends you threats and you just assume they only mean you, not anyone around you?"

             
My voice is rising. I've snatched my hand back from his.  Kellan holds his hands up as if trying to calm me.

             
"Someone leaves a box of photos and a threat on your
doorstep
and you don't think to tell anyone in the house that you think you might know who it is?"

             
"Willow, shh, it's all right, shh."

             
"It's
not
all right, you jerk!  It's not all right that you think it's all right if someone
hurts
you!  People love you."

             
"Right.  My dad who – "

             
"Who is a different generation and doesn't understand and probably blames himself and doesn't know how to reach you and who you're so afraid you've shamed that you can't reach him halfway anymore than he can reach you!  You fucking idiot."

             
I can hear stirrings in the corridor but the footsteps pass by. We're both quiet for an instant, as if a nurse might come in and tell us to keep it down, this is a hospital.

             
Like I haven't figured that one out.

             
"Look, I haven't – "

             
"Shut up," I snap at him. 

             
"It's not like you told me everything either."  He looks hurt.  He gets off the bed and paces to the window which offers a stunning view of another wing of the hospital. 

             
I stare at him.  "About Seattle?  About my dad?"  He's bringing that up?  Now?  Really?  "Well, there was the fact that nobody knew where I was."

             
Not true anymore.

             
"And there wasn't anybody coming after me."

             
Also not true anymore.

             
He spins away from the window to face me.  "I wasn't putting anyone at risk!  I didn't think she'd go after anyone else!  I never thought she'd hurt
you
."

             
The look in his eyes would break my heart if it wasn't making me so damn mad.

             
"You f—"  Deep breath.  "You idiot.  Jeez, Kellan."  Holding his gaze.  "You didn't think it would
hurt
me,
kill me
, if she hurt
you?
"

             
He looks stunned.

             
"You didn't get it when I told you I'd never slept with anyone but you and that jerk in high school who actually took advantage of my grief?"

             
"Willow, I – "

             
"Shut up," I tell him again.  "Just shut up."

             
"I didn't think it would."  He stops and runs a hand over his face.  "I wanted to do good here but nobody."  Shakes his head and breathes.  "I killed people, Willow."

             
"So did I," I whisper.  "Does that mean I'm never going to have a life?"  When he doesn't answer, and how could he, when till recently I was busy
not
having a life, I go on.  "I thought you wanted to make up for the lives you took by living the one you have.  Making a difference."

             
He throws his hands up, looking trapped.  "There's so many doors closing now.  I'm a con.  I've got a record."

             
"You've got a second chance," I tell him.  "And you're already making a difference."

             
He just looks at me.

             
"You make a difference to me.  You've already made a difference in my life.  I've changed things that haven't changed in four years."

             
He shakes his head.  "College – "

             
"Kellan?"

             
Shaky breath.  "What?"

             
"You're scared.  You're arguing with yourself.  Because you're scared.  It's easy to tell yourself you're going to live the right kind of life and be the light and make a difference when you're inside still and you can't do anything.  When you get out and it's a day to day thing and not a plan?"  I look at him, holding his gaze when he meets my eyes.  "It's sooo much harder."

             
He lets his breath out and goes back to the window.  I'd go to him except for the stupid leg. 

             
"Kellan?"

             
He holds a hand up without looking back at me, like I should wait.

             
I don't wait.

             
"I love you."

             
He doesn't have time to say it back.  I'm pretty sure that's why he started to speak.  But that's when my parents arrive, Mom moving fast, her hair streaming out behind her, Bruce looking white as a sheet.  Even as my mother wraps herself around me in a hug that threatens to unplug me from everything I'm plugged in to, I see Bruce go across the hospital room, reach out to Kellan and drag him into a hug.  It only lasts a second, and ends with mutual, forceful, masculine back thumping, but it looks like Kellan has just taken the first really deep breath he's had in years.

             
For the next 10 minutes or so we're all talking at once and Bruce doesn't say anything to me about what I was doing there, not that I really care anymore if he does.  I guess if I want them to treat me like an independent adult it's time I stop acting like a teenager who expects to get in trouble.