The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Seventeen

What are they doing here? That’s the woman who’s married to the man who shot the corpse lying in the casket! She can’t be here. She can’t show her face around here. 
    Somehow, she’s managed to come well dressed in a skimpy black dress and dark heels to top off her look. Her black hair is curled and perfectly laying in ringlets. 
    How could someone who knows her husband took advantage of not only one, but two girls-- at least-- and who murdered a teenage boy have the energy to get dressed like that? Her face is coated in makeup for God’s sake! 
    It’s impossible. 
    But I guess some people have more energy than others. 
    “Ms. Taylor?” Larsen says, approaching my window. What could she possibly want? Just let me leave! She knocks on my window and I roll it down, revealing Wes and Keller standing behind her.
    “I was just leaving,” I say,starting to roll it back up. But she stops me by placing her hand in the window.
    Don’t think I won’t smash your hand. Get out of my way!
    “You’re not even going to stay for the viewing?” she says, giving a fake smile just like half the girls in my school. 
    Screw you, Larsen. 
    “You know,” I say, giving an artificial smirk. “What took you so damn long to take the fucking case? Maeve died and you wouldn’t do shit. You know what that says about you? That-”
    “I’d stop while you’re ahead, Ms. Taylor,” she says, leaning in close. “Not here. We can take this to the station if you’d prefer.” 
    She takes a step back and I roll up the window just as Wes crawls in. 
    “I’m not letting you go anywhere alone,” he says as I start the ignition once again. “Not like this.” 
    Even with the fiery rage boiling inside me, the butterflies somehow find their way into my heart as Wesley Kingston speaks. 
    “Won’t your mom-”
    “She’ll understand.” 
    “I just-” I whisper, bringing my head to the steering wheel. “I just don’t know if I can see his body.” 
    I picture it-- his body lying in the casket. It’s the body that belongs to the lips I carelessly kissed so many times that night. It’s the body that belongs to the man who took me on my first date even if it was an investigation. It’s the body I didn’t give a chance… I never gave him the opportunity of trust when I should’ve. 
    And now he has a bullet hole through his heart. 
    What happened when he died?
    I can imagine him finding Mr. Milgram and then before Brandon could ask why he’s there, Milgram would have shot him and he would’ve fallen backwards with blood splattering in every direction with the last thought running through his mind-- why.
    And he never knew the reason was me. 
    “It’s okay,” Wes says, grabbing my hand as I pull out of the parking lot. “You wanna’ go to the city? Let’s go to the city… we can get food or somethin’.” 
    “Okay,” I say, quieting my voice. I need to calm down; I need to get out of here and blow off steam. “Okay.”
    So we do exactly that. We drive twenty minutes until we reach the city and we stop at a milkshake joint. And now we’re sitting across from each other, eating burgers and drinking milkshakes we’ve ordered. 
    “You think Keller really told everyone?” he says. 
    I take a sip of my oreo milkshake, looking up at him. 
    “Can we not talk about this?” I say as his phone buzzes on the table. He doesn’t look down. It buzzes again. And again. 
    We lock eyes. I know exactly whose name is popping up on his phone. 
    So before he can grab it, I rapidly grab it, immediately turning it on. Low and behold, it’s Keller Avery.
    Where are you?
    Is she okay?
    Please tell her I’m sorry. 
    “Quinn.” he says, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “He wanted to know you’re okay.” 
    I slide his phone back on the table, falling silent. Keller and I used to fall onto each other when we needed help. We were inseparable, always gossiping about the latest news. We were the best of friends… we were family. And now-- now I won’t even speak to him. 
    It’s all because of Milgram. Of Joseph Milgram. 
    I stare into my milkshake, swirling the whipped cream into the creamy milk full of oreo crumbs. 
    “I want to talk to Milgram,” I finally say. “I just… I need to.” 
    He glares at me. 
    “I’m calling Keller,” he says, opening up his phone. 
    No. What the hell? 
    “You’re acting insane!” 
    I throw myself out of the booth and stand in front of him, grabbing my keys. If he calls Keller, I’m out of here. 
    Then he does it. His phone dials.
    “Since you’re calling your ‘bestie’,” I hiss, staring deep into his tired eyes. “He can pick you up. I’m leaving your ass here.” 
    And with that, I storm out and start my car… then head for the city jail.
***
Screw Keller. Screw everything he’s done. He can have the time of his life with Wes and I couldn’t care less. 
So maybe I’m doing this in spite of him… to make him angry. Or perhaps I need to clarify-- clarify that I’m the stronger person here. 
So I walk in. 
And head to the front desk. 
“Can I help you?” the officer asks, typing something into his computer. 
“I need to speak to Joseph Milgram,” I say with a pounding chest. 
I nearly tune out every sound around me when I’m told to follow another officer and the walls around me disappear, the floor caves in, and I’m left sitting at a table with a glass divider between Milgram and I.
He’s wearing an orange jumpsuit with his hands cuffed, making it difficult to grab the phone and his brown hair has been shaved, leaving him nearly bald. Behind him, stands an armed officer, watching his every move. 
Is this really what I want? He’s a murderer, a rapist… he’s a sickening, cruel, vial man. 
He picks up the phone, waiting until I do the same. It takes me a moment, but when my hand slides over the chord and reaches the phone, I despise to hear his haunting voice.
“I never thought I’d see you here,” he breaths, sending his vicious voice whispering in my ear, breathing down my spine just like it did the day I went in for a therapy session. 
“Why?” I whisper with a quivering lip. 
“Well because-”
“No!” I exclaim, quieting once I realize the innocent people around me have noticed. All they want to do is simply speak to their damaged loved ones. “Why did you do it?” 
He shuts his eyes. 
“I didn’t do it,” he whispers with agony. Seriously? He’s still trying to protect himself? He’s in jail for God’s sake! Just admit it!
“His funeral’s today,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. 
“He hurt you,” he says, sending tears leaking from my eyes. 
He didn’t. He didn’t hurt me. 
“I didn’t know,” I protest, wiping the tears away. “But you killed him anyway! He was innocent!”
“You don’t see me denying him, do you?” he says. After those last words, he hangs up the phone. 
What’s that supposed to mean? He just did… he just said he didn’t do it. Unless… unless he’s only denying one part. 
But why would he only admit to part of the crime if he’ll rot in jail either way?