Chapter 20 (dont let me down)

Mitchel

Mitchel passed his brother as he followed the officer into a room with a single window. The room was the same one that Clinton had been in. It was sterile and cold, but the scent of his brother calmed him as he strode inside. The light streamed into the dark room and he couldn't help but think that it was like a jail cell. After all, it wasn't his first time being at a station for something he did wrong. Only this time, the Police weren't sure.

The detective flicked on the light and pulled a chair out for Mitchel.

"Have a seat," She said and sat down across from him. He gave her a small tight-lipped smile before settling down into his chair.

He kept his hands under the table. He sat back in the chair. He watched her move, flipping through her papers before finally looking up at him.

Mitchel appeared to be at ease. He wasn't but he had to be for his sake and Christian's.

It was a few minutes that they sat in silence until the detective began to speak. Mitchel found himself admiring the lady: she had beautiful curly brown hair pulled back into a slick bun. She wore a perfectly tailored pantsuit and a ring on her finger that indicated her marriage. She looked like a nice lady that had a tiring week. And Mitchel didn't blame her. His was quite exciting as well.

"I'd like to start off by asking what your relationship with Molly Reginald is." She began. She had her notepad positioned in front of her in a way that Mitchel had to lean over to see what she wrote. Mitchel paused slightly before speaking as if not to sound too eager to answer.

"Molly was a nice girl. She and I weren't close but we saw each other often. She was a friendly acquaintance, I guess you could say."

The detective jotted a few things down before looking up at him again.

"And her relationship with Christian... how would you describe it?"

"Wait is Christian seriously a suspect? He wouldn't hurt a fly!"

The detective inhaled sharply. "Answer the question please, Mr. Cave."

Mitchel pursed his lips. "They were in love. They were... perfect, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, no, I know it," Mitchel told the woman. He hated saying the words but he knew that he had to. They stung on his tongue and he felt his heart squeeze a little as he told her. Maybe it was because deep down, he knew that it was true. And he ruined it. Mitchel had been selfish and he ruined what was good for his best friend. But he couldn't go back. And Mitchel knew that if he could do it over, he'd kill Molly again.

"And what is your relationship with Christian Anthony?" The detective questioned.

Mitchel leaned forward in his chair, giving a little laugh.

"He's my best friend. He's family and I love the guy."

The detective stopped briefly and jotted a few other things down before looking up at him.

"Where were you the day that Molly Reginald died?" She asked him.

Mitchel bit his lip before answering. He felt his heart skip a beat as he breathed, his nails digging into the side of his fingers.

"I was at her house," He said finally.

The detective maintained a neutral face but Mitchel could have sworn that he saw her eyebrow twitch.

"Elaborate," She instructed. Mitchel gave a little nod before saying, "I was with her. And Kras- Christian. We were all together. She went out the night before and Christian wanted to make sure she was okay. I went along for the hell of it, and after we saw her, I told Christian that I had someplace to go." It amazed Mitchel how easy it was for him to lie. His heart rate returned to its normal pace as the detective put down her pen and folded her fingers, giving him her utmost attention.

"You left?" She asked. Mitchel nodded, feeling tears prick his eyes. His voice wavered as he said, "If only we stayed! If only we knew what would have happened, I- we would have," Mitchel paused and caught his breath, running his hand under his eyes. "We could have stopped it," He told the detective. When he looked back at her, she was scribbling something down on her pad.

"But we left," he continued. "At around six, we left and we never heard from her again."

"Where did you leave the apartment? Our detectives speculate that the murderer may have entered through the front door."

"We left through the back. Molly said she just cleaned the floors and she didn't want us to dirty it even more," he choked out.

Nothing else was said for another few minutes and all Mitchel could do was look at his hands. It didn't take much effort for him to cry- he'd been needing a good cry for a while and it felt good to finally get it out. Finally, the detective looked at him one last time.

"Is there anything about Molly that I should know? Anything that might help further the case?" She asked.

Mitchel didn't even pause before shaking his head. The detective got up and left. Minutes later, another officer entered the room and instructed him to follow his lead. Soon enough, he was back into the light and saw his two best friends who sat together in the waiting area. Clinton held Christian's hand. He could see that tear tracks had been made on the younger man's face again. He wiped his eyes again.

Christian really was a crybaby.

+++

The drive home was painfully quiet. Clinton drove and the two younger men sat in the back, loosely holding onto each other's fingers. Mitchel looked out of the window and watched as trees and buildings went by. He imagined a person running down the sidewalk, doing flips and parkour just as he used to during road trips with his parents when he was younger. He missed those days. He missed the simple times when he was young with brown hair and a clear name.

As the years went by, the light had faded from the world. It was gray and lifeless and the only sun that he could see shine was the man that sat next to him with his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the headrest.

Neither of the two of them said it, but they could feel an uneasy energy waft off of Clinton. He drove with hands that clenched the wheel. His eyes didn't leave the road and his silence was a heavy weight on their chests.

Finally, Clinton spoke. His voice was quiet and it was much scarier than it would have been if he yelled.

"Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?" He asked. Mitchel peeled his eyes away from the window and looked at his eldest brother.

"What?" He asked. And then Clinton hit the wheel with the palm of his hand. The bang made Christian sit up with a jolt and the two of them shared a worried glance.

"Don't even try to hide it, guys," Clinton told them. "I can feel it. Why won't you be honest with me? Why is it that I'm always the one that's left out?" And then it sounded like Clinton was going to cry.

Through the rearview mirror, Mitchel could see a tear prick his eyes. Clinton sniffed.

"Fuck," He mumbled.

"What are you talking about?" Christian asked and Clinton cursed again.

"Not you too, Christian. Come on. The two of you have always been a duo. Ever since we were kids, you guys were close and kept your little secrets and were together all the time. And that's fine. I didn't care and I still don't. But when shit like this happens- when people die, you still leave me out..."

Clinton looked at the two younger men through the rearview mirror.

"That's when it hurts."

No one said anything for a few minutes. Clinton's eyes were still on the road. Trees passed as the boys approached their house and the closer they got, the more painful the silence became.

"You don't wanna know," Mitchel mumbled after a while. Through the corner of his eye, he could see Christian whip his head to face him, his eyes the size of golf balls.

"Mitty!" He snapped. Clinton looked up through the rearview mirror with furrowed brows. His expression was scary but Mitchel took a deep breath. His brother was right. He knew how Clinton felt though he tried to hide it. Clinton had always been the third wheel and he and Kras had done nothing about it.

"Stop the car," Mitchel told his brother.

"What? No, I'm not stopping until we get home-"

"I said stop the car!" He snapped.

He could tell that the way he spoke reached Clinton in a way that it hadn't before. That's why his older brother pulled over, mumbling curse words under his breath. Finally, the car was on the side of the road, less than 7 kilometers from their house.

Any person would have thought that what he had to say could wait but he knew that Clinton was done waiting. He needed answers and it was much too cruel of him to keep them from him.

"What is it?" Clinton demanded with a hint of annoyance in his tone. Mitchel exchanged one more glance with Christian before turning to his brother who was now turned around in his seat to look at the younger two.

"Are you sure about this?" Christian asked, biting his lip in worry. Mitchel nodded.

"Oh my god," Clinton said quietly. "Fuck. It's bad, isn't it? Say something!"

"We know who killed Molly," Mitchel said finally. Clinton's eye twitched but he didn't reply. "It was me," He continued. "I did it and... And Kras knows and he didn't tell."

And then Clinton moved. He turned around abruptly and sat back in his seat. Christian and Mitchel didn't dare speak until Clinton did. They sat there for only a few moments, watching his closed eyes squeeze and his chest move as he breathed. The two younger men didn't know what to expect Clinton to do, but they certainly didn't expect him to be so quiet.

They wanted him to say something. Anything.

"You're not shitting my dick are you?" Clinton asked. His eyes were still closed. The two men shook their heads though Clinton was unable to see it. They knew he knew the answer.

"Fuck," Clinton repeated after a while. Mitchel felt a small squeeze on his hand and looked down to see his best friend's fingers intertwined with his. He looked at him with worried eyes.

"Clinton," Christian began quietly. His face displayed an array of expressions that changed so frequently that Mitchel couldn't read them.

"It was an accident, Clinton, believe me, you know that he wouldn't do it on purpose." Clinton sat up quickly and stared at Christian with a look of puzzlement.

"I know that!" He yelled. It was the first time that he'd yelled in a while. "So who the fuck are you?" He demanded, jabbing his finger at Mitchel. "Tell me!" He yelled when no one replied. His yelling brought tears to Mitchel's eyes and he could feel his heart thump against his chest with such aggression that he thought it would explode.

The thought of Clinton being mad had never crossed his mind when he told him. He thought he would be disappointed- it was clear that he was. Most of all, he never expected Clinton to cry. But he did. Tears sprung from his eyes just as they did for Mitchel as he yelled, "How the fuck do you live with yourself? And you, Christian! How do you live with him, knowing that he murdered the girl you love?"

The way Clinton exaggerated the word, 'murdered' tore his heart apart. He didn't dare speak his name. He no longer looked at Mitchel. He couldn't.

"I'm sorry, Clinton, I didn't mean it, I swear it, it was an accident I didn't-"

"Shut up," Clinton interrupted Mitchel. He ran his hand over his eyes and under his nose as he turned back around and stared out of the glass of the front window.

"Don't you dare apologize to me," He mumbled. His voice trembled as he spoke.

His brother shook and he could hear the sound of him sniffing and trying to keep himself together. His chest squeezed as he looked down at his bloodied fingers. His pants were stained red from where he clenched his hands on his legs. From the corner of his eye, he could see Christian wiping his eyes too.

Somehow, within the span of two minutes, the three men in their car had all begun crying for different reasons.

"Please, Clinton, I know it looks bad but..." Christian trailed off and Mitchel knew that he had no idea what to say. There was no way that he could make the situation better. There was nothing that any of them could say to make Clinton understand. Mitchel wondered how Christian had managed to be so understanding towards him. Once again, Clinton had a point. Mitchel killed Molly. Christian's girlfriend. One of the only women he truly loved.

How could Christian stand to look at him? How did he still love him? Mitchel let out a choked sob as he came to realize that it was simple: Christian was not okay. He hadn't been since the day he saw his girlfriend's body leak onto her kitchen tiles. Somehow, he'd managed to look fine but as Mitchel looked at him then, he could see him fall apart just he had that day.

His eyes focused on nothing, and it looked as if he were staring into the abyss. Tears ran down his face, yet it was neutral then. His hands and legs quivered as if he were cold. Mitchel looked forward at his brother and watched as he leaned forward and started the car. The veins in his hands bulged as he clenched the wheel when he drove.

"Clinton, what?" Mitchel asked quietly. He saw him cringe at his words yet he didn't reply. Mitchel didn't say anything else for the rest of their ride home. Clinton waited for the two other men to leave the car before speeding away.