The Suspect

Chapter 12

His eyes widen, taking in my state and appearance. I scramble off my feet and stand up in one swift movement, wiping my tears in the process. I don't want him to see me like this. All weak; filled with sorrow and pain, no amount of tears can relieve me of.

"What are you doing here?" I faltered, wondering why this man followed me up to a roof usually left alone.

He looks at me and opens his mouth, only to close it a few moments later. He wants to say something, it's at the tip of his tongue. But, we both know he doesn't want to say what he was going to. Hell, even I didn't. I've gone through several episodes alone and I don't need the comfort of someone so foreign and.....mysterious to calm me down.

"Cat got your tongue there?" I take a step towards him, a sudden wave of anger coursing its way through me, "Do I need to repeat myself?" I'm now right in front of him, our lips centimeters away. We're breathing each other's air, and I stare into his deep eyes, with my chest and head held up high.

He raises his hand, and I suck in a sharp breath as I think he's about to kiss me. His hand lands at the side of my face, cupping my left cheek. The soft pad of his thumb touches me, wiping away a stray tear right on my temple.

My body stills at his soft touch, and he feels it too. I know he does because his body stills too. His calloused palm feels rough against my cheek, and I find myself wanting to lean into his touch. We stand there, rooted to the roof again, just staring at each other. Before I can give in and recollect my senses, however, he groans and shoves me away from him.

I stumble back with my hand clasped around my neck, a gasp escaping my mouth at his sudden outburst, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I seethe out with so much rage I'm pretty sure you can see steam coming out of my ears.

"You know what this was a bad idea," he boomed running a hand through his hair, "Fuck this," he bites out and turns, leaving me confused at his demeanor for the second time today.

"Fuck you!" I yell at his retreating figure and all I get in response is him flipping me off.

I officially hate Tatum Black.

~~

In my hands, I hold the file I never thought I would live the day to see. Tyler's name is written on the side of the file on a small tab, and I slowly trace it with my fingers.

The office is empty since it's a Friday and everyone is out early. I place the file flat on my desk and take a deep breath before opening it. As soon as I do, my eyes go from side to side, up to down, and in all the other crazy directions possible for them to get to and I need to close them to stop them from falling out.

"Williamson, Tyler found dead at 5:02 am....."

"Multiple bruises..."

"Strangulation..."

"Stab wound to the chest..."

Words I don't want to see fly at me as I flip through the pages and finally land on the one that makes my heart stop. The one page that I didn't ever think I would look at, don't want to look at but need to. The one that made reminded me of an extension of Brandon's life was now gone.

At first, it doesn't hit me. From a distance, it looks like every other victim's case file I'm going through. But then, I see the dark blue belt he always used to wear around his pants. I see the birthmark he had on the side of his neck, hidden by deep red and purple prints of a hand. I see the ring he always wore—the one everyone in the band did, including Brandon and now myself too. I squint my eyes and see the beautiful blue gem that was; now a deep mauve. And finally, my gaze lands on the tattoo both he and Brandon got on Tyler's sixteenth birthday—which took the most convincing—also covered in spots of blood.