Christian
Everything was happening too fast.
He was on the front porch with his backpack at his feet when Anoushka screamed as if she was being attacked. The door opened and she stumbled outside, propelled by a shove from his father. “I don’t care where you go. You’re not sleeping under this roof one more night.”
“But it isn’t my fault. Christian—”
The door slammed in her face.
Christian leaned off the column and picked up his backpack. The movement reminded him of the beating his father had put on him less than fifteen minutes ago. “Guess he didn’t buy your story, huh?”
“This is all your fault.” She stabbed the air with one finger, then poked him in the chest and grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt. “You’ve ruined everything.”
He raised one hand to ease her off. “Hey, back up.”
“Where can I go with only the clothes I’m wearing? Radcliff said—”
“I heard him.” Christian rubbed his face, then winced and stared at his kicks. “You’re asking the wrong person.”
He didn’t have a clue what to do next or where to go. If Sancia was around, he could have crashed at her place. Maybe one of the guys would put him up for the night. At least he wouldn’t have to make up any excuses, because everybody would know why he looked as if he’d had a run-in with a trash compactor.
Anoushka wasn’t much better off. Her hair was a mess, her blouse was torn, and she was sniffling.
At least Dad hadn’t taken the key to the Hyundai. Anoushka wasn’t so lucky. She didn’t have so much as a handbag, and he’d heard Dad yelling about her leaving the way she’d come into his house—with nothing.
His father could be cruel when he wanted to be.
He left Anoushka and went around to the side of the house.
Dad had parked his BMW behind the black Hyundai Elantra SE. No way was Christian going to leave in it. Nor could he ask his father to back up. He flexed his hand, which was swollen. It throbbed, adding to the pounding in his temples. The curse he was about to utter dried in his throat when he turned back toward the driveway.
A police car had pulled up to the sidewalk. Two cops got out, approached him, and confirmed the address. Then, the older of the two said, “We’re looking for Christian Skyers. What’s your name?”
He swallowed to bring saliva into his mouth, but didn’t think to lie. “I’m Christian.”
“Christian Skyers, you’re under arrest for the sexual assault of Alexia Leighton. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
His brain had stopped functioning as if was just waking from a traumatic dream. “But…who?”
“Doesn’t the name Alexia Leighton mean anything to you?” one of the uniformed men asked.
Christian gulped, but didn’t answer.
“I see that it does, now turn around.” He continued, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say …”
The roar between Christian’s ears was enough to drown the policeman’s words. This couldn’t be happening. Jamaica and all of that was supposed to be behind him. The videos worried him, but he’d prayed they would stop coming. His approach wasn’t practical, yet everything in his world had fallen in place because of his father and the life he’d been born into. So, he expected that somehow the situation would work out. So much for that. First his football career had been shot to hell, then Anoushka screwed him, and now this.
Anoushka stood gaping on the steps and turned back to beat on the front door. “Radcliff! You need to come out here. The police are arresting Christian.”
The officer guided him toward the car with an iron grip around his arm. Across the street, someone pulled away a curtain and looked out.
Christian hung his head. The reality of Dad’s words hit. He was dead. Radcliff Skyers wouldn’t come down to the station, so he was on his own. Even the word jail freaked him out, and sweat poured off his forehead and stung his eyes. His thoughts raced in circles but didn’t make a lot of sense. What was he going to do? He’d be in lockup forever if Dad didn’t bail him out. The red and blue lights added to the nightmare-like quality of the moment. He prayed he’d awake to find himself in bed and that all of this was the worst dream he’d ever lived through.
But that wasn’t the case when he was escorted into the station, his watch and other personal items removed, and he was seated in a bare room that smelled like the fear of a thousand suspects who’d been there before him.
“This is a mistake,” he said to the large man, whose scalp showed through thin, brown hair. His partner leaned against the wall near the door as though he didn’t have a care in the world, but he watched Christian as if he’d make a break for it.
The plainclothes police officer, who’d introduced himself as James Harrison, sat on the other side of the table and studied him in silence. Then he reeled off Christian’s name and address. A second later, he added, “There is no error.”
“What happened to your face?” the Latino policeman asked.
“Had a run-in with a door,” Christian mumbled.
Harrison smirked and exchanged a knowing look with the other officer, while Christian threw a panicked glance at the huge pane of reflective glass. Who was on the other side? Couldn’t be Alexia. From what he’d heard, she was in rehab. They couldn’t pin beating her up on him. He had nothing to do with that bit of madness. Sancia and he had stumbled on her when they came from the beach, where they’d been smoking weed and fooling around.
Now, he knew why people said hindsight was twenty-twenty. He shouldn’t have listened to Sancia and messed with that bitch. Staring at his swollen knuckles, which were getting stiffer by the minute, he decided to keep his mouth shut. If he stayed quiet, he had some hope of getting out of this mess. He was supposed to have one phone call, but who could he ask to get him out? That’s if the police would let him leave.
The man slid a picture of Alexia across the table, then asked, “Do you know this girl?”
Lying about that wouldn’t help him, so Christian nodded.
“Yes or no.”
His sharp tone made Christian look up. “Yes.”
“And when was the last time you had contact with her?”
He cleared away the rust in his throat. “Months ago.”
“Can you say where?”
“School.” He winced. Wrong answer. He warned himself to hold his silence.
After sharing a look with the other man, Officer Harrison slammed his fist on the desk. “Stop lying. You. Raped. That. Girl. Things will go easier for you if you admit it now and don’t waste our time. We’ll need you to do a DNA test.”
Christian set his jaw and stared at his hands. “I didn’t do anything.”
Someone tapped on the glass and Christian peered at it, as though he had any hope of seeing through it.
The younger policeman left the room.
In the tense silence, the click of the lock raised the hairs on the back of Christian’s neck. He bit his bottom lip, sensing that his situation was about to get worse.
When the man returned, he leaned next to Officer Harrison and said something in his ear. At the sight of his triumphant smile, Christian lowered his gaze. His stomach twisted into a tight knot that made him want to find a toilet.
The senior policeman brushed the hair at the top of his head and announced. “It seems you’ll be our guest for some time.”
Christian stared at Harrison and held his breath.
“You’ve been very busy, Mr. Skyers.” He flipped the file shut as a scowl covered his face. “It seems another woman has accused you of rape.”