Spin: List 5

Hidden lights flashed behind the grill of the unmarked police car. The sun backlit it, all we saw was alternating red-blue, red-blue. Like lewd winks from a creeper you didn’t want to be left alone with.

Kya said, “What’s going on, Detective?"
“Oh, I think you have a strong inkling. If you don’t mind, let’s do this over lunch. I’m going to get in my car, and I want you to follow me. Are we clear?”

I let her have her moment until the light changed, and the driver behind us leaned on their horn, reminding us our pain was limited to the confines of this compact hybrid.

The #MadScientist moniker I slapped her with may not have been too far off.

I was not built for covert operations.

Then I flipped to a new page, prominently featuring a photo of Tracy—emaciated-looking now, her hair unkempt, the signs of her long, arduous sickness just starting to show—holding an eight- or nine-month-old Paris on the porch of this very house.

Then I flipped to a new page, prominently featuring a photo of Tracy—emaciated-looking now, her hair unkempt, the signs of her long, arduous sickness just starting to show—holding an eight- or nine-month-old Paris on the porch of this very house.

Then I flipped to a new page, prominently featuring a photo of Tracy—emaciated-looking now, her hair unkempt, the signs of her long, arduous sickness just starting to show—holding an eight- or nine-month-old Paris on the porch of this very house.

Miss Elsie shrank, and I was a little mad at Fuse for sapping her energy.

I’d seen the other DMs. A strangely Fuse-appropriate mix of apologies, ALL CAPS YELLING, and unsolicited advice.

An anchor insignia was faintly visible on the wall opposite where I’d be setting up.

The horror of what we’d surmised—the gigantic nature of it—couldn’t be in close proximity to any other people, like toxic waste.

You can’t finesse me into wanting it again, your anger’s not going to make me feel guilty or obligated.

Over the course of a ninety-minute triage session, I strategically slashed her jeans, did her nails with three different polishes, applied some makeup, got that hair poppin’, and as a final touch, removed the bottom third of a NASA hoodie to show off her totally ripped abs.

She hugged herself, bashful.

I saw a couple of recognizable local reporters primping while their crews set up lights and cameras.

A pale concrete path ran between a green knoll that served as “cheap seats" for anyone partial to a picnic blanket, their personal folding chair, or cool grass brushing their backsides.

As the meandering crowd spilled toward their seats for the opening act, there was less camouflage and opportunities for misdirection.

He didn’t see us—yet—going for this fake cool aloofness as he glanced up from Fuse’s fake messages.

#ParSecNation shocking new audio from the maestro herself.

I’ve already tried. No one’s even paying attention to me. They’re rabid.

Slowly, I ventured from my hiding place, visualizing my path and identifying all threats.

I rushed to the door and turned the dead bolt I’d neglected earlier. Trapped myself inside. Mere seconds before the pounding started. Heavy fists like drumbeats, playing a song I didn’t like. A danse macabre.

Then she sidestepped, swept an arm in my direction with a show woman's flourish, as if to say, “Be my guest.”

He was a stark contrast to Paula in his black-on-black ensemble.

The bridge in our forced separation was Florian, who remained on the outer rim of the memorial concert debacle while benefiting the most from it.

I thought the apprehension of a rising music star’s alleged murderer, who might also be her estranged father, by what was, essentially, a fan cult, would’ve been more newsworthy.

That he had it in him to joke at all was disturbing and had me shuddering over the time I’d been alone with this unhinged man.

“See, when we got access to your phone, we put an app on it”—I cocked a thumb at Kya—“one she designed. SoundChek.” I made sure to give it the same gravitas Kya did when she spoke of it.

“I broke that phone,” he said, slightly incredulous.

The coda was always going to be the same, though.

“There won’t be a trial. Your questionably obtained evidence won’t get ripped apart by some sleazy defense attorney. You girls will never have to sit on a witness stand. The man you know as Winston Bell is pleading guilty to his involvement in your friend’s death. He told his lawyer the day after we met him. He’s been deposed. The paperwork is being finalized. You got him."

“There won’t be a trial. Your questionably obtained evidence won’t get ripped apart by some sleazy defense attorney. You girls will never have to sit on a witness stand. The man you know as Winston Bell is pleading guilty to his involvement in your friend’s death. He told his lawyer the day after we met him. He’s been deposed. The paperwork is being finalized. You got him."

Opening the next two boxes yielded the same results.

School ended. As did my illustrious career at Cooke High.

I had the ugly, fleeting thought that he’d set a timer on our emotional moment.

“Can I switch up some of that boring elevator music y’all crank through the building?”
He mulled it over. “Maybe on Fridays.”

Since the concert, Florian started several sites that seemed to scoop every major tabloid site when it came to news on some very specific artists.

Fuse closed the balcony door, lopping off that breeze.

“This was your plan the whole time. Wasn’t it, Mad Scientist?"
“My machinations are too complex for you to understand, Super Groupie!”