Jessie Humphries - Killing Ruby Rose

She didn’t even say good-bye or reassure me that it would all be OK. Not that I expected her to. But that didn’t mean that I’d forgotten the days when she did.

Now, I sat on the stairs and clutched my phone, wondering when my mom would call to give me an update. A shred of info, a scrap of hope. I’d already called her four times with no answer.

I scrolled down my contact list until I saw my backup mom’s name—Mother Teresa. I hit “Send” knowing I wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone today, but Dr. T probably wouldn’t answer anyway. She’d blocked me at every turn. She left the hospital before I was granted permission to leave my room. And she hadn’t answered one of my calls or texts since. Whatever her “SECRETS” were, she was hanging on to them like they were still duct taped inside. She had to know something that would help Liam’s case, but she was staying silent. The call went to her voicemail, and I hung up.

I considered writing a letter to Liam, telling him how sorry I was. But what was I going to say? Sorry I got you framed for the murder of a police officer. I hope your family’s hearts aren’t broken and that Tug doesn’t cry himself to sleep at night. Oh, and I trust the guards aren’t beating you too badly.

He didn’t belong in there. He belonged out here with me. Except, I worried he would finally come to his senses and decide to distance himself from me entirely. I wouldn’t blame him, but I would miss him more than I wanted to admit. I ran a finger over my lips, remembering the last time we kissed. The taste of him was gone, but the memory of him would last much longer. Maybe forever.

I scrolled down to the next favorite on my contacts list—Alana. I pressed “Send” knowing she wouldn’t answer, either, but just hearing her voice on her outgoing message made me feel connected to her again:

Aloha, you’ve reached Alana. I’m either at the beach, at the mall, or…at the beach. Leave a message at the beep.

Instead of hanging up, I inexplicably started to cry. Right there on her voicemail. My voice cracked as I tried to say, “I miss you.” It cracked again as I sobbed, “I really need you.” And then my heart cracked along with my voice as I begged, “Please call me back.”

I hung up wondering what I’d just done. I’d never been the pathetic, pleading kind of girl. After all that time of pushing Alana away, all I wanted was her friendship back. As I held my head in my hands—ashamed as well as alone—I tried not to admit to myself that all my “irrational fears of abandonment” had been realized.

I was completely on my own. Just like Liam would be for “twenty-five to life” if my mom didn’t pull a miracle out of her hat.

Out of complete desperation, I went to the family room and turned on the TV, flipping through the local news channels to see if my mom was being interviewed. The last few days I’d been avoiding the news like the plague, imagining all sorts of terrible headlines.

“Ruby the Death Rose—Involved in Yet Another Murder”

“Ruby Rose: Hot Damsel in Distress or Cold Psychopathic Killer?”

“Incumbent D. A. Jane Rose Drops Twenty Points in the Polls to Bill Brandon—Wayward Child to Blame”

Instead, what I saw made my heart plunge with sorrow. Coverage of Detective Martinez’s funeral service showed huge crowds of uniformed police officers, decorated Marines, and hundreds of civilians dressed in black among the flags and flowers. So much sadness, so much pain. A fresh set of tears came to my eyes, and I wiped them away with both hands like windshield wipers, remembering my dad’s funeral. The sight was so morbidly similar.

With a dark emptiness in my chest, I wondered whether Dad would’ve been there today. Had he and Martinez really put the past behind them? In any case, I should have been there. I should’ve been standing there next to his family, telling them the truth of what happened.

And then I spotted my mom at the head of the procession, walking through the graveyard with two Latina women. One was older, like grandma old. And the other was young, like my age or a few years younger. She looked vaguely familiar. Some part of me felt like I knew them. Martinez’s mom and daughter, perhaps?

They were followed by Sergeant Mathews, who I didn’t even realize knew Martinez. But there he was. At six foot six, he looked more like an NBA center than a cop. Then, of course, Bill Brandon and his perfect hair and teeth came strolling in last with his entourage.

I watched it for as long as I could. When the commentators came back on and began smearing Liam, I switched the channel. I couldn’t watch anything anymore.

I paced up and down the staircase like a caged animal, trying to figure out how Silver had pulled this off. Even when I’d thought I was being clever with the license plate clue, he’d seen it coming and used it to lure me into another kill. He punished me for getting Detective Martinez involved with the cell phone tower signals by killing him and framing Liam for it. I wanted to run but had nowhere to go. And even if I had a destination in mind, two guards were stationed outside my house.

My heart was practically beating out of my chest—not only from climbing the stairs over and over again, but also from a growing sense of claustrophobia. I stopped at the top of the stairs and looked out the one window that wasn’t blinded by drapes, the half circle of glass above the entryway. All I could see were blue skies, palm trees swaying—and an angel, walking up the driveway. A brown-skinned angel dressed in Daisy Dukes with a bright yellow flower in her hair.

Alana.

I rushed down the stairs and opened the door before she even had a chance to reach the front steps. She stopped when she saw me and cocked her head sideways with a Don’t jump on me look .

Too bad.

I ran and threw my arms around her. I couldn’t care less that the guards were probably freaking out about my unauthorized exit.

“I’m so sorry, Ruby,” she said as she nuzzled into my neck. “I’ve been the worst friend ever. I just got your message. I totally sucketh—”

“Stop. You don’t suck,” I assured her. “You’re here.”

“I heard about Liam and that Detective. I just can’t believe it.”

“I know.” I pulled back to face her. “Don’t believe it, because it’s not true. Come on, let’s get in the house before those paparazzi leeches get any more ammunition. You never know if your butt will make the front page tomorrow.”

“You think so?” she asked, sounding flattered. “It could be the start of my butt-modeling career.”

“Miss Rose,” Buff Security Guy Number 1 said, blocking the entrance. “We don’t have clearance for anyone but you to enter the premises.”

“Yeah, well, she’s coming in whether you like it or not. She’s my best friend. So go ahead and try to stop us.”

Buff Guy Number 1 gave Buff Guy Number 2 a nervous glance.

“What are you going to do? Fight me?” I led Alana through the two of them and grabbed the front door. “Call Warden Jane if you want. We’ll be inside.”

Slam —that felt good.

As soon as we got to my room, Alana handed me a thick stack of papers.

“Your makeup work,” she said. “Well, most of it. I actually got this two days ago and was going to bring it over yesterday, but I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me.”

“Oh my gosh, thanks.” I wasn’t allowed to go back to school until this was all “cleared up.” Not just my lungs, but the allegations piling up around me. But if there was a chance I could still graduate with perfect grades, I’d take it. I plopped it all down on my desk before joining Alana on my bed.

“So,” she said warily, her eyes roaming the room as if looking for body parts.