Fool Me Once

Officer Duncan gently helps me into the back seat of his police car. He tells me it’s protocol and if he could let me ride in the front, he would. I just nod my understanding. The short ride to the station has me thinking about everything that has happened. Every time Keegan told me he had work to do. When he wouldn’t come over. The way he acted regarding Brenton. He knew I was hanging out with a drug dealer. Oh my God! I let Brenton take my son to Home Depot! With every thought, I work myself up until I’m fuming with anger—at myself, at Brenton, and at Keegan.

My father’s lies led to the destruction of our already broken family. They led to the death of him and my mother, leaving Sierra and me as orphans. And had they not died, we would’ve been in danger by the bad men my father was doing business with.

Lies are flimsy. The truth is strong. You can’t build anything solid using lies. And that’s exactly what Keegan did. He built our entire relationship on lies, and now the safe haven I found in him is falling down around us.

By the time we arrive at the station and I’m brought into an interrogation room, I’m crying so hard—out of fear and anger—I’m hiccupping and nearly hyperventilating. Officer Duncan had taken my phone away when he searched me, so I have no way of calling or texting my sister. I’m left alone in the tiny room that totally looks how they’re all portrayed in the television shows: rectangle metal table, cheap metal chairs, and a honey-yellow light hanging above. The only thing missing is the one-way mirror. There’s a window, but the blinds are closed. The other three walls are all bare.

Keegan’s dad steps into the room with two officers I recognize from earlier. “Blakely, this is Scott Cronin. He’s Keegan’s partner on this case. He’s going to ask you some questions and once you’re done, you’ll be free to go.”

I take several deep breaths to calm myself enough to speak. “Where’s Keegan?”

“Because it’s a conflict of interest, neither of us can be in here with you,” Paul says. “Officer Duncan will remain in here while Officer Cronin questions you.”

“Am I going to be arrested?”

He’s already said I’m not going to be, but I have to ask again just in case he only said that to get me down here.

“No, you won’t be arrested…” he begins, but the officer next to him gives him a look that makes me nervous.

“What? Tell me. Please, I need to know. I can’t handle any more lies.”

This time Officer Cronin speaks. “Our intent is not to arrest you, but I’m going to be honest with you, and it’s not to scare you. If we find that you’ve been involved in any of this, we might not have a choice.”

“Which we don’t believe you were,” Paul adds.

Oh my God! If I’ve been involved? “Do I need a lawyer?” Not that I can afford one, but based on them arresting Brenton and that other guy, I imagine whatever they’ve done is pretty big, and I am—was—best friends with Brenton. What if they feel I was too close? Or what if Brenton somehow sets me up to take the fall? I’ve seen enough of those cop shows to know crazy shit happens.

“If it would make you feel more comfortable, you are definitely allowed to have one.”

A fresh set of tears bursts from my lids and falls down my cheeks. “I can’t afford one.” I look between Paul and Officer Cronin. Officer Duncan is still standing to the side. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll be right back,” Paul says.

When they all leave the room, I cross my arms on the table and put my head down, closing my eyes. My head is pounding from all the stress and crying. I concentrate on slowing down my breathing. I’ve come close to hyperventilating a few times now, and I don’t want that to happen.

A little while later, a gentleman in a black three-piece suit walks through the door and approaches me. “My name is Darryl Berkowitz. Are you Blakely Jacobs?”

“I am.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I hear you’re in need of an attorney.” He extends his hand to shake mine, but I don’t take it.

“As I told Paul, I can’t afford one.” I can’t imagine what this guy costs an hour. Just the watch that shines on his wrist must cost more than our rent for a year.

“I’m friends with Paul and Larissa. You aren’t paying anything.”

His hand is still extended, so I take it and shake it. “Thank you.” Any other circumstance and I wouldn’t take his handout, but if it means I get home to my son and don’t get arrested, I’m willing to push my pride aside and take what he’s offering.