Taking Connor

Tears fill my eyes. “I can’t believe that I didn’t know; that I was so blind.”

“You’re so good, Demi,” he murmurs as he kisses my temple, “you only want to see the good in people.” He rubs gentle circles on my back before lying back, pulling me with him. I rest my head on his chest and let my fingers dance over the quote tattooed on his chest.

‘Return good for good; return evil with justice.’

“Is it bad I don’t regret killing him?” I ask my voice monotone.

“I’m the wrong person to ask that question,” he replies.

“Looks like we’re not so different after all,” I sigh.

A loud knock on the door startles us, and Co

“Police. Open up,” a deep voice yells as they knock loudly once more.

Grabbing my white robe, he tosses it to me, and I quickly slip it on, my heart hammering in my chest a mile a minute. They’re going to arrest him. Shit. This is happening.

“Say nothing,” Co

“Mr. Stevens, we’re looking for Demi Stevens,” the officer says.

“And why is that?” Co

“We have a warrant for her arrest for the murder of Ned Jenson. Is she here?”

“She’s been charged?” Co

“Is she here Mr. Stevens?”

“Yes, I’m here,” I call as I round the door, tugging my robe closed.”

“This is bullshit,” Co

“Co

The officer pushes his way inside and begins reading me my rights, while his partner more or less, blocks Co

I’m being charged with murder.

And I’m guilty.

I’m going to prison.

“Let her put some goddamn clothes on!” Co

But the officer doesn’t listen. He turns me and pushes me out the door and down the steps where a herd of reporters are waiting, snapping photos, and yelling questions at me. I lower my head, letting my hair hang over my face as I’m led to the car when I hear someone shouting.

“You killed him!” Mrs. Jenson shrieks. “He gave candy to those kids! He was kind to you, and you killed him!” She’s sobbing as she wipes at her nose with her forearm. The reporters are snapping photos, flashes from their cameras blinding me.

“Grab her!” The officer holding my cuffed wrists shouts as he pushes me forward. The other officer grabs Mrs. Jenson and pulls her away, and I’m pushed forward toward the car. This is humiliating. I’m practically naked, being shoved into the back seat of a cop car.

“Don’t worry, Demi,” Co

A vigilante.

That’s what the newspapers were calling me.

Demi Stevens—takes justice into her own hands.

After my arrest, Co

The prosecutor dropped the murder charge on Co

I knew immediately what happened. Co

My mother refused to post bail for me; apparently I’m disowned now. But lucky for me, I have another mother . . . of sorts. Grams came to the rescue and bailed me out. Like I said, God might close the doors, but he always leaves a big beautiful window open somewhere.

As soon as I got out, I came home and hid from the world, refusing to leave the house. Co

Pulling my curtain aside, I peek out my side window. “They’re only three today. At least they seem to be decreasing.”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that. I can’t believe you’re national news.”

Plopping back on my sofa with a huff, I ask, “How is McKenzie doing?”

“She’s doing okay,” Wendy tells me over the phone. “I hate myself for not realizing there was something going on with her. I just thought she was a pissed off teenager; that it was hormones.”

“I’m so sorry, Wendy.”

“I met him several times, Demi. I thought he was the sweetest old man alive,” Wendy admits. “I never thanked you, though.”

“Thanked me?” I ask. “For what?”

“For killing him,” she states plainly. “I know that sounds awful, but . . .”

“I know, Wendy. I know,” I assure her. Co

“Babe, can you come in the kitchen?” he asks.

“Yeah, sure,” I reply. “Can I call you later Wendy?”

After hanging up with Wendy, I head into the kitchen and find Jim seated at my table with a small woman about my age. Co

“Demi, this Leslie Jenson.”

My brows furrow in question.

“This is the Jenson’s daughter, babe.”

I tense immediately, wondering if this woman has come to thrash me for killing her father. What am I supposed to say here? Nice to meet you?

“She’s come forward with information that may help us,” Jim adds.

“Information such as . . . ?”

“My father sexually abused me,” Leslie pipes up. Her blue eyes meet mine for a brief moment before dropping again. “Until I ran away when I was sixteen.”

“You haven’t seen them since you were sixteen?” I ask. I never knew the Jenson’s even had children.

“Not once.”

We spend the next two hours together, where Leslie shares details of a horrific childhood; a father sexually assaulting her, a mother who called her a liar, and a family doctor that never reported obvious signs of abuse.

“We’re meeting with the prosecutor this afternoon so Leslie can share her experience,” Jim informs me before sipping his coffee.

“I appreciate her willingness to share such a painful experience, but how will this help me?”