“Do any of us know it, really?” Father Luiz asks, finally turning to me. “Can any one of us say that, definitively, we know what we want? Or is what we want simply a figment of our imagination, proven or denied at the point where we thought life would serve us our desire?”
Huh. I never thought of that way. I admit that, too.
“My dear, common sense is relative. Religion is relative. Belief is relative. Life is relative. All we can do is wake up each morning, breathe the air we are given, and take hold of life the way it intends us to, whether that be gently or fiercely.” He pats my hand. “For me, the Lord dictates my life, but he allows me the freedom to make the choices that ultimately end up at his decisions. If you so believe, you will have the same courtesy. If not, then, well, I believe the good Lord will allow you the same courtesy anyway. Like I, He does not discriminate upon beliefs. He fears nothing, not the least free will. If you have free will, you will always have a semblance of belief in the man I and so many others call Father.”
I shift, slightly uncomfortable. I’m not used to such a deep religious conversation. But I can’t stop. A part of me wants more.
“What if I have questions without answers though? What do I do then? Do I stand by and wait for innocent people to be hurt, or do I go with my undecipherable gut feeling and risk losing it all, Father?”
His lips curve. “Ah, Noelle, now are you asking me about your job or about your personal life?”
“If I knew, I could answer your question.”
“Then it’s both.” He shifts just a little. “Personally, I go with my gut feeling. I believe in impulses and righteousness. If your gut is telling you something, you follow it. Our instincts are rarely wrong. If they were, we wouldn’t have lived so long.”
I close my eyes again for the briefest second, allowing his words to wash over me like a cold shower on a red-hot summer day. Everything he said has made perfect sense, and in the strangest way, it has allowed me to organize the chaos of my mind.
“Thank you, Father. I think I know what I need to do now.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Brody declares, slamming his coffee cup down. Dark liquid sloshes out onto the table.
“How am I?” I protest, putting mine down and grabbing a cloth to wipe up his mess. It’s a rare moment when all four siblings can get together outside family dinner, and I’m embracing it. “I’m not getting anywhere looking for the killer, so maybe the killer needs to come to me.”
“Noelle,” Trent says, “do you realize how fuckin’ dangerous this is? What if you’re in the shower or some shit and you can’t protect yourself?”
“I’ll carry my gun everywhere.”
“Dammit, you’re so fuckin’ naïve!” Dev slams his chair across the kitchen as he stands. “You think he’s gonna bring a bucket and a spade to a gunfight, huh? He doesn’t hafta be there to see you die, you fuckin’ idiot. He just had to stand at the end of your damned large yard and wait.”
“I’m not eating salad,” I reply calmly. “So, how can he kill me if his choice is poisoned leaves?”
“And that makes it okay?” Brody explodes. “Jesus, Noelle. Did Drake kiss the ever-lovin’ fuckin’ sense out of you, huh?”
“Leave him the hell outta this!” I stand, my gun burning into my hip and my muscles tensing. “He’s got fuck all to do with this.”
“So, where’d my sister go?” Trent thunders, far too loud for nine in the morning. “Where’d my smart, levelheaded, theoretical sister go, Noelle?”
“She grew up!” I yell. “She grew up into an independent person who can handle all the guns y’all got better than you can and you know it. Your baby sister grew up into the kind of woman y’all wish your wives and daughters could be, because she’s the woman who takes no shit without givin’ it first. And she’s the woman who can solve this damn case, if only y’all would trust her with her theory.”
“Sis,” Brody reasons, “I get it, yeah? The only girl in four kids, the only one to step out of the police force, you have somethin’ to prove—”
“My leaving Dallas has nothin’ to do with this!” I snap, leaning against my kitchen counter. “That was a whole different situation, and one I don’t wanna think about. I don’t wanna think about how my two words killed two people and potentially destroyed the lives of hundreds. Y’all get that, huh? Y’all know how I fucked up! Leave it!”
“Noelle,” Dev says slowly, coming toward me. “Noellie Bellie, forget it,” he whispers, his fingertips brushing my arms.
I’m shaking inconsolably. All I can think of are the lives I lost and the memories I said goodbye to and the families I destroyed.
“Noelle!” he snaps, clasping my face. “You don’t get to go back there. We need you, yeah? Fuck Drake. Fuck the sheriff. We need you—the three of us.”
“You’re the one who’s gonna solve this,” Brody says softly. “I don’t know why or how or when, but you will. You’ve got somethin’ we don’t, Noelle. You’ve got more a desire for the truth than the whole department has. But that doesn’t mean you can be stupid about it.”
I sniff, hugging myself. “You know that the mayor has contacted the Austin department, right? He’s ready to call them in if y’all can’t solve this case.”
“Which is why we need you!” Trent thunders, his eyes falling on mine. “Dammit, Noelle. We need you safe, not in danger.”
“I don’t work with the HWPD anymore.”
“But you work with me,” he argues. “Drake might be my boss, but I’d take my stapler to his fuckin’ face as easily as I’d shoot a man who’d point his gun at you. Noelle, it doesn’t matter, bella. La famiglia e tutto. Family is everything. I can get another job. Can’t get another sister if this goes wrong.”
“You don’t even know what my plan is yet.”
“Do you have one?”
“Aside from make the killer come to me?” I pause. “That’ll be a no. But I figured it was a damn good start, right?”
“Great,” Brody mutters. “Not only is her idea dangerous, she has nothing to back it up.”
I poke my tongue out at him. “Shut up.”
“Well, it’s true!”
“Don’t start fightin’,” Trent groans, rubbing his temple. “Fine, Noelle. For now, we’ll go along with your dumb plan. But if you figure out who our killer is before he finds you, you call me. Right away. I’ll have some guys step up patrols in the street and around your office building. Write it off as standard protective measures.”
“That’s hardly going to make a killer—”
“I don’t care if it scares them off. I just care that it’ll keep you safe for long enough to come up with something to back up your idea.”
“And what if it doesn’t? What if the killer finds me before I find them?”
The look he gives me is so solemn that a lump forms in my throat. “Then it’s your funeral, kid.”
Excellent.
I swipe the brush against the wall with a little too much vigor, and paint splashes onto the dust cover beneath my feet. Perhaps painting my office on a spur-of-the-moment decision and moving heavy furniture alone isn’t the smartest idea I’ve had, but I don’t seem to getting many of those lately, so I figured why not?
What I did think of is that, if I won’t be left alone in peace, I need to keep busy. So busy that anyone who disturbs me will be instantly thrown out.
Which is precisely how I’ve ended up in an old Backstreet Boys concert tee and tiny, floral shorts, painting my office a delightful shade of duck-egg blue. At eight in the morning, no less.
I dip the brush into the can and hum “Clarity” by Zedd as I continue my redecoration mission. Who knows? If I still haven’t figured this out by the time my office is painted, maybe everyone else’s space will get a lick of new color, too.
Lord knows this place needs it. The cream walls were great in theory, at first. But now, they’re just damn boring. It’s a miracle no one has said, “Hey, Noelle, brighten this place the hell up, will ya?”