It Starts With Him

Epilogue

With a trembling breath, I shakily wipe my damp palms on my skirt, my toe tapping furiously against the tile floor. My eyes are glued to the ceiling as I try to distract myself from the fact I'm going to be replacing the D.J. on that stage any minute now.

Just do what mom always told you to. Deep breath in for four seconds, hold it for eight, release for nine. Repeat five times.

I do exactly that, closing my eyes, and try to block out the sound of the music and of the laughing, chatting people. I can't see any of them from where I am backstage, thankfully. I'd probably throw up if I could.

A bit less than a week ago, Ace and I curled up together against the sand under the protection of the cove. Neither of us slept that night. Too many emotions and intruding thoughts plagued our minds, making it impossible to do anything even close to relaxing.

As soon as the sun barely rose over the peak of the cliff when dawn came, we were shaking Max awake and making our way back to my truck, thankfully well hidden among the multitude of trees.

The whole drive out of the hidden area, Ace was quiet; staring at the dash as if something incredibly interesting was plastered on its surface, and chewing his nails so vehemently it was like watching a dog chow down on its favorite food. He and I both knew what his plans were: finally turn in his dad once and for all, so that he - and my mom - can get the justice they so rightly deserve.

I took Max and Ace both back to my house. There was nowhere else for them to stay. I actually debated trying to hide them from dad, but decided against it - we were going home to Madison soon, and I didn't know how long exactly Max and Ace would have to be here. So after some explaining - with only half of the story told - I convinced dad to let them both stay; as long as they sleep on the pull-out couch.

The Outlaws hadn't found us yet. Whether they were waiting for the right time to come or didn't know where we were, we didn't know, nor did we care. The only thing that mattered was that they weren't there.

The day after, I went downstairs to find Ace standing near the front door, files from his room in hand. Max was still out cold on the couch, the blankets wrapped around him tightly. Without any words spoken, Ace and I left together, taking my truck down to the police station. I offered to go in with him, but he said it would be best if he went alone. I waited in the car, and a painful hour later, he joined me again in the passenger seat.

There was something different about him.

His shoulders were no longer sagging as if an immense weight was lifted off of them, and his cheeks were pink with excitement. His eyes though, while sparkling with elation, also had a dimness to them I couldn't decipher. He explained to me that after going through the files with the officers, his mom was called in. She's sheriff, so information such as this was to be told to her immediately.

She had stared at Ace as if he was someone she'd never seen before. As if he was someone not related to her, not connected to her at all.

"This boy said his father was the one who killed that woman last summer," the chief of police had told the sheriff. His mother looked down at Ace, a disappointed but fascinated look in her eyes, and took the files from his hand. She knew what each of them said - she was the one who had taken them from the station in the first place - but she looked through them as if they were completely new to her.

"We need to take your father into custody, then," she had said to Ace. He nodded silently in return. "Can you give us his address?" she asked even though she'd once lived there for years, but Ace obediently wrote it down for her.

As he was leaving, and as the police were readying themselves to finally arrest Aaron once and for all, his mom pulled him aside to where no one could see.