Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Akin and his mother sit beside each other.

She looks over at her son—riddled with unease, so restless, one leg bopping—watching the storm stir inside him.

He is wearing an oversized, short-sleeved white top and knee-length basketball shorts. His coarse black hair is trimmed in a fresh buzz cut.

“I’ll be here the whole time,” Jada says to lend comfort.

Akin has to consider the danger. Her absence would likely serve Russo well to antagonize him, whittle down his defenses until nothing but the truth remains.

He has been through this all before and since he was of tender age at the time, a parent’s presence or legal representation was required.

It made keeping quiet easier since if he didn’t feel like answering a certain question, he was entitled to retain his right to silence.

Akin nearly laughed at the thought—the memory of that time and how they were treated so delicately, akin to a priceless artifact or a precious porcelain set.

As if even the slightest tap of aggression would cause it to shatter completely.

Akin looks back at his mother. Her eyes overwhelm him with her love.

He looks away, forcing a nod—unsteady. “Thanks, ma.” Soft but still heartfelt.

He leans forward to plant his elbows on his thighs.

“Where’s Dad?” Resentment corroding each word, he says, “I thought his kid being investigated by police,~ again~, would attract at least some interest.”

Jada pivots her shoulders to face him with a chiding look.

“Your father had an executive meeting with the board of directors. He wanted to be here. I was the one who told him to go.

“This is…Erin all over again. Your father didn’t have to sit in and hear how you know nothing and remember even less.”

All valid points and yet he cannot concede to them.

To end the topic, he says, “I’m glad you’re here.”

She reaches out and gives his back a quick, soothing rub. “Always.”

He meets her gaze again, his eyes set alight by something new. “Think I can visit the restaurant soon?”

She eyes him down curiously. “You said you never wanted to go eat there again?”

“Because the food is too bougie.”

“Meant for bougie people,” she says with a small laugh. “Sur la Mer is meant to lure a certain breed of people with a particular taste. Why do you want to go? Craving some seafood?”

“Nah.” He massages his chin thoughtfully. “Was thinking about inviting a friend over.”

Jada inches closer with palpable intrigue. “Is this friend a girl?” she asks, eyebrows wagging.

Akin smiles—a flash of light. “It’s Mia Trinket. She came to watch my game, we talked, and it didn’t end so well. So I want to make it up to her, and start again.”

Jada’s face becomes serious, and she nods. “I’m surprised…you haven’t spoken to her or the others in years.”

A confused look creases her face. “And so you want to take her to a stiff, fancy restaurant?”

Akin raises a shoulder. “She hasn’t seen it since the open house. Hasn’t seen any of the new renovations and extensions—”

A knock on the door cuts him off. Akin sits up, lips barring shut. Jada rises and makes her way to the door, patting his shoulder on her way. She walks down the foyer and opens the door with a fraught welcome.

“Detective Russo.”

“Mrs. Ballo, a pleasure.”

Jada draws back and widens the door for his advent. He comes inside, and she closes the door behind him. The foyer is awash with a fresh wave of heat, nothing punishing but not pleasant either.

“This way.”

Through the entrance hall, which has been done with a breezy, streamlined fashion with abstract carved-plaster paneling, warm and bright, Jada leads him to the archway of the formal living room, allowing him to enter first.

His eyes scan the room, the exquisitely crafted decor, the bronze cocktail tables covered in a mother-of-pearl-like finish. The walls and ceiling bounce back the soft reflections.

The taupe taffeta curtains are hand-painted and embroidered with Japanese-style flowering branches.

“Akin.”

He sprouts to his feet and extends a hand. “Detective Russo.”

Surprised at the chivalry, they clasp hands in a firm handshake.

“Good to meet you.”

“Likewise, sir.”

Russo claims the Emeline velvet armchair. Akin sits back down on the long couch.

“Mr. Russo, can I offer you something? Some water or juice?”

Knowing full well he won’t have even a sip of it, he says, “Do you possibly have coffee?”

“Yes.” Adding, “Though it’s quite warm for a hot beverage. How do you take it?”

“With milk, two sugars, please.”

Jada nods and leaves through the only entrance. Russo sets his beady eyes on Akin. Fear crosses the boy’s face, fast but not fast enough. Russo’s eyes gleam with something resembling captivation, but darker.

“You’ve become quite the rising star, Akin. A prolific player.”

“Br—” Opal’s chiding comes to mind. He makes a verbal retreat. “I try.”

“You certainly do. And do your friends support you? Watching your games and cheering you on from the stands?”

“Persistently,” he says with half a smile. “Though most of the people I call my friends are on the soccer field with me.”

“Oh,” he says with fraudulent shock. “So Opal Chiang, Aries Black, Mia Trinket, and Keila Venus, are they not your friends?”

After a tense moment, Akin says, “They were.”

“And why is that?”

“Shared trauma doesn’t bring people together, as you would think, Detective,” Akin says with raw honesty. “It tears them apart.”

Russo tilts forward, clinging to every word.

“Why?” A damning question. “Surely you would want comfort from the only people in the world that understand your plight?”

Akin can see what he’s doing.

“Being around each other reminded us of what we had lost. We were never the same after Erin. There’s a…tangible empty space, you know?”

Russo does know; for him, it feels a lot worse, like a gaping void that will never see its fill, and will never cease to torment him.

However, solving cases and finding the ones who can be found blunts the brunt of his anguish, even if it’s for a little while.

Jada returns and places the tray of steaming coffee and treats on the cocktail table.

“I hope you don’t mind, Detective.” She pinches her glass of orange juice from the tray. “I’d like to sit in.”

He nods his approval. “I’m only here to ask Akin a litany of questions, and then I will leave.”

Jada settles down beside Akin, sipping on her juice.

“Akin, did you and your old friend group like to play in the woods as kids?”

“Almost every kid in town did.”

Russo nearly smiles at the similarity. “Yes or no,” he says patiently.

“Yes, sir.”

Holding the boy’s gaze, Russo asks, “What did you like about the woods?”

Akin blows a breath. He runs a smooth hand over his shaven head. “It was like a giant green playground, I guess. We’d run, play, and make up games.”

Russo nods solemnly, his mind comparing notes.

“I want to do a trauma-focused cognitive behavioral technique with you. I want to stimulate your brain and bring to light any repressed memories. Is that alright?”

Akin gives an uncertain nod, heavy black brows rumpling.

“I need you to close your eyes for me.”

Akin complies without complaint.

Russo leans back into his seat, dropping his elbows on the arms of the chair. “Breathe in and out.”

Akin needs no further instruction. Visibly acquainted with breathing exercises, he becomes calm and tranquil all on his own. Russo nods with contentment, interlocking his fingers.

“What is your strongest core memory of Erin: sight, sound, smell? What do you see?”

“Aries, anti-birthday.” Feeling the need to expound, he says, “Aries never wanted to celebrate his birthday, like ever. The guy had serious anger issues for a kid—he ignored us for a week because of it.

“After that, Erin threw him an anti-birthday party. It was kinda sweet that she went so out of her way.”

“How so?”

“Erin has only worn all-black twice for as long as I’ve known her. The first time was that day because black is Aries’s favorite color.

“And the food”—a smile tugs at his lips—“those stuffed hotdogs that Aries likes that they only sell in the Badlands. Erin must’ve forced her mother to take her all the way to Edgemond.

“The event was a band-aid over a gunshot wound.”

The significance to him is clear enough.

“What is your favorite group memory?”

“The open house for my mother’s restaurant. It was a special time for my family, and I was grateful to share that with my friends.”

Jada smiles softly to herself, holding the glass of juice on her lap.

“What brought you all together back then?”

Akin thinks it over, his eyes still closed.

“Erin,” he says with another halfhearted smile. “Everyone says everyone likes me and I’m so this and that. But they forget how~ everyone ~treated me before. A black kid—as dark as me—in an all-white school.

“Yeah, I wasn’t liked back then. Before I reached stardom in soccer, I was a pariah. Erin was the only one that treated me with kindness from the beginning. And so did the others.” ~True friends~.

“So, she was like the leader of the group?”

Akin shrugs, then nods flippantly.

“And so did she lead you into the woods, where you share all those~ fun~ memories?”

Akin’s eyes open, and he frowns. “She didn’t lead us anywhere. We went when we wanted.”

“And did she have other friends that time, perhaps another person who joined your games?”

Akin’s head shakes a no as if suddenly not trusting his voice.

“That night you told one of the on-scene officers that you killed Erin. Do you remember that?”

Akin’s jaw unhinges, lips parting, horror-stricken.

Jada gapes at Russo.

“Excuse me?” Fury fills her voice. “I thought you were here about Keila, not to prod my son with old conjectures?”

“It is believed that in order to find Keila, we must first find Erin.”

“Erin has been missing for nearly a decade, which is why it was declared a closed case. At this point, sadly, it’s about finding her body.”

“Rather grim, Mrs. Ballo,” he remarks, his eyes shining with dark humor. “My objective is not about finding her per se but finding out what happened to her, whether she is alive or not.”

He makes direct eye contact with Akin in a way that makes him squirm.

“It’s about the cause of her disappearance and who led her to it.”

Jada’s head is on the swivel, observing their tense stare-down.

“Are you implying that he or any of the others had something to do with it?”

Russo ruminates, inhaling deeply.

“I think much time has passed, memory fades, and trauma gets repressed. But I believe, even subconsciously, your son and his friends know more than what they have spoken.”

“Excuse me? So—”

“Mom,” Akin interrupts as respectfully as he can, not wanting to worsen the matter. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it as an insult.”

Russo looks upon him with fondness, increasingly impressed by his equanimity. “I did not,” he agrees.

“Though it is offensive.” Akin’s composure begins to unravel, and he grasps at the slippery ends.

“If my friends and I knew something, even if it was something small, we would’ve relayed that information—we did relay it—all that we knew to those officers back then and our physiatrist.

“I may not know where Keila is, but I know this isn’t the way to find her.”

Russo nods solemnly. “Can you walk me through that day? That night from when you entered the woods.”

Panic sweeps up in him, and he looks to his mother for a lifeline.

She casts him a mother-bear look, fixing Russo with a warning glare.

“Detective Russo, I think that’s enough questions for today. Asking him that would be asking him to relive that trauma for a third time. If you have any more questions to ask, it will be through one of our lawyers.”