Chapter 242: Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Two
The heavy doors of the Criminal and Justice Division building closed behind them, shutting out the cold, tense atmosphere of the interview room.
Eric took a deep breath of the outside air as he led Delia down the stone steps. As they reached the bottom of the steps, a figure hurried towards them. It was Catherine. She looked as though she had rushed out of her house without a second thought. Her hat was slightly crooked, and her shoes, two different shades of brown, were mismatched. One of her gloves was lace while the other was plain leather. Her face, however, was etched with concern.
"I heard what happened," she said, her voice breathy and anxious. She reached for Delia’s arms, her eyes scanning her daughter’s face. "Are you hurt? Are you alright?"
Delia, still processing everything, gave a small, stiff nod. The shock of Augusta’s confession and Prescott’s revelation had left her feeling numb. She looked at her mother’s flustered appearance. "How did you know we were here?" she asked, her voice quiet.
"I have been coming here almost every day since I heard Mr. Garrison was out of prison," Catherine explained, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her reticule. "I’ve been submitting every piece of evidence I have, every memory I wrote down, begging them to listen. An officer told me you were all brought into an interview room today." She looked at Delia again, her motherly worry overriding everything else. "Are you sure you’re alright? You look so pale."
"Yes, I’m fine," Delia replied, the words feeling empty. She was not fine, not really, but she did not have the energy to explain the storm of emotions inside her.
Catherine managed a small, relieved smile. "Okay, that’s good then. That’s good."
An awkward silence fell between mother and daughter. They were still strangers in many ways, connected by blood but separated by twenty years of pain and secrets. Eric sensed the slight tension, the unspoken words that hung in the air between them. He stepped forward slightly, placing a gentle hand on Delia’s back.
"Excuse me," he said to Catherine, his tone polite but firm. "Delia went through a lot today. We are going to head home now."
Catherine’s face softened with understanding. "Oh, I didn’t even realize. Forgive me," she chuckled, a sound that was a little sad. "Of course. Go ahead."
Eric smiled kindly. "We will make time to say a proper hello sometime. Mother."
The word hung in the air. Catherine froze for a second, her eyes widening slightly. "Mother?" she repeated, the word a soft whisper. A small, genuine smile touched her face, a look of pure, unexpected joy. It was a title she had longed to hear for two decades.
Eric nodded once. "Yes."
"Okay," she replied, her voice a little choked with emotion. "Please do." She glanced at Delia, hoping to see some reaction, some sign of connection, but Delia’s face remained blank. She was looking away, lost in her own thoughts.
Eric gave Catherine a respectful bow as he took Delia’s hand in his. "Let’s go."
Catherine watched as they hired a carriage and left, a mixture of hope and sorrow swirling in her heart.
~ ••••• ~
The ride home was silent. Delia stared out the window, watching the city pass by in a blur, while Eric simply watched her, his own thoughts a tangled mess. When they arrived home, the quiet of their house felt both comforting and heavy.
Eric removed his coat and hung it by the stand. "I’ll be right back," he said softly, heading towards the kitchen. Delia walked into the dining area and sank into one of the chairs, feeling the weight of the day settle upon her. She heard the sound of running water as Eric washed his hands. A moment later, he returned and saw her sitting there, looking small and lost at the large table.
"You haven’t eaten all day," he said, his voice gentle. "You must be hungry."
Delia shook her head slowly. "I don’t have the appetite for a meal right now."
Eric nodded in understanding. He walked over to the dining table, took the glass pitcher of water, and poured a full glass for Delia, then one for himself. He placed her glass in front of her.
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible. She picked it up with both hands, the cool glass a steadying presence.
Eric smiled as he sat down opposite her, taking a sip of his own water. The silence returned, stretching between them.
Finally, Delia broke it. "Is Mr. Prescott going to be okay?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the water in her glass.
Eric’s smile tightened. He scoffed lightly as he put his glass down on the table with a soft click. "Are you worrying about another man in front of me right now?" he said, his voice laced with a jealousy he couldn’t hide.
Delia looked up, surprised. "What are you talking about? He helped us so much. He risked everything."
"And you helped him too," Eric countered, leaning forward. "You gave him the opportunity he’s been waiting twenty years for. You gave him the clue that solved the mystery of his father. Don’t worry about him anymore." He let out a long sigh, his expression softening as he looked at her. "You have enough to deal with on your own. If you get involved with some other thing and are in danger again..." He paused, shaking his head as if to clear a terrible image from his mind. "I don’t even want to imagine it."
Delia’s heart warmed at his obvious concern. A small smile touched her lips as she reached for his hands across the table. She held onto them tightly. "Augusta is caught and we are safe. It is finally over," she said softly. "I know you are worried about me, but..."
A thought suddenly struck her, a memory of his panicked words from earlier. She let go of his hands and pushed her chair in, her expression turning serious and inquisitive. "Oh, yes. What did you mean earlier, on the road? You said, ’I thought I might lose you again.’ Which means you have lost me before. Or even more than once. What did you mean by that?"
Eric’s posture stiffened. He let out a short, nervous chuckle. "Did I say that? I don’t remember saying anything like that."
"You did," Delia insisted, not letting him deflect. "And you gave me an answer then, which was, by the way, very unsatisfactory."
"Well, maybe I just spoke out of fear," he said, his voice a little too quick. "It was a chaotic moment. People say strange things when they are afraid."
He looked at Delia, at her beautiful blue eyes which were now looking sad and filled with doubt. He couldn’t stand that look. He felt a sharp pang of guilt in his chest for the lie that had just come out of his lips. He knew he was caught, he couldn’t hide it anymore, and he hated himself for it.
He forced another smile. "I’m tired. Let’s go take a bath." He stood up, trying to end the conversation. As he reached to take Delia’s empty glass, his elbow clumsily hit his own. The glass tipped, teetered on the edge for a second, and then fell, shattering on the floor with a loud crash.
Delia jumped at the sound. She immediately stood up to help pick up the pieces. "Be careful!"
"No, stay back," Eric said quickly, stopping her with an outstretched hand. "You might get hurt. I’ll do it. I’ll do it."
He bent down and began carefully picking up the larger shards of glass. As he gathered them, his fingers brushed against a smaller, sharper piece. He hissed in pain, pulling his hand back.
"Ah!"
"Are you okay? Let me see," Delia said, rushing to his side and carefully avoiding the broken glass on the floor.
He stood up, looking at his hand. A thin line of blood was welling up on his index finger. "It’s nothing, just a small..."
She took his hand gently, turning it over to inspect the cut. "Oh, it’s not that..." Her words trailed off. She stopped breathing. Her eyes, which had been focused on the cut, had drifted lower, to his wrist.
And there, on the pale skin of his inner wrist, was a small, delicate tattoo. A dwindling rose bud, identical in every detail to her own.
The color drained from her face. It was as if all the blood in her body had rushed to her feet. Her breath caught in her throat.
She quickly let go of his hand as if it had burned her. She stumbled a few steps back, her eyes wide with a dawning, horrified understanding. She stared at him with shock.