Chapter 71

Chapter 71
Elise's POV

Julian's car was a dark gray Audi. Old, probably bought back when he was still a junior at the law firm, with the paint worn off around the door handles.

But he drove steadily.

We didn't speak the entire way. The car radio played the midday news, the host announcing weather and traffic conditions in a cheerful tone that formed an absurd contrast with my current mood.

I leaned against the window, watching the streetscape continuously retreat outside.

Half an hour ago I'd been waiting for him on a bench outside the school gates. Now I was already on the road to the police station.

Everything had happened too fast. So fast that before I'd had time to digest everything that had happened today—Benjamin's photos, Liam's violence, the department chair's suspension notice—I was already rushing to the next battlefield.

"We're here." Julian pulled the car to the curb and killed the engine. "If you don't want to go in, it's okay to leave now."

Julian looked at me with concern.

"Thanks, but no need." I forced a smile and headed inside.

I looked up at the building before me. Gray-white exterior walls, barred windows, two police cars parked at the entrance. A blue and white sign read "CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT."

The police station.

I'd actually been here before. Running a tattoo shop meant some clients weren't exactly law-abiding citizens, making dealings with the police station inevitable.

But today, I was a victim about to personally face her perpetrator.

Julian and I walked through the entrance together. Several officers were processing paperwork behind the counter in the lobby, and a few people sat waiting on benches. The air conditioning was running full blast, the air carrying a mixture of disinfectant and stale coffee.

Julian approached the counter, presented his lawyer credentials, and said something. The female officer checked her computer, nodded, then picked up the internal phone and dialed a number.

I stood a few steps away, my palms completely sweaty.

"Elise." Julian turned around, his expression somewhat complex. "There's a situation I need to tell you about."

"What?"

"Benjamin Miller had a bit of an accident during transport."

Accident.

When those words came out of his mouth, they carried a very subtle tone—like, doubt?

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"The transport vehicle was stopped midway. Apparently, other detainees in the same vehicle got into a conflict with him." Julian lowered his voice. "He was injured. Not serious, but it doesn't look pretty."

Other people in the vehicle got into a conflict with him.

Only arrested a few hours ago. And already someone knew who he was, what he'd done, and attacked him?

I didn't speak. But something inside me began to churn.

"Do you want to see him?" Julian asked. "As the victim and party involved, you have the right to know his condition. If you don't want to see him, we can come back another day."

"See him." I said.

Julian looked at me. That look contained a kind of scrutiny—as if confirming whether I was really prepared.

"Follow me."

He led me through the corridor, past door after door. The walls were a ghastly white, the floor covered with gray rubber mats that made a slight squeaking sound with each step. At the end of the corridor was an iron door with two guards standing on either side. Julian presented his credentials again, one of them spoke into a walkie-talkie, then the iron door made a dull sound and slowly opened inward.

Inside was a small room.

A metal table bolted to the floor, two chairs. A surveillance camera in the corner, its red indicator light blinking.

Benjamin Miller sat in one of the chairs.

I froze in the doorway.

His left eye socket was surrounded by a purple-blue swelling, almost completely unable to open. His lip was split, dried blood extending from the corner of his mouth to his chin. A piece of gauze was taped to his forehead, dark red faintly showing through underneath. Several obvious abrasions marked his cheek, as if someone had pressed his face against rough ground and dragged it.

His hands were cuffed under the table, his whole body hunched with shoulders drawn in, spine curved, like a child trying to hide himself.

Was this still the same man who'd scattered photos at the school entrance a few hours ago, who'd knelt on the ground kowtowing and begging for mercy, then suddenly screamed like a madman?

Not entirely.

That man had still possessed something—madness, desperation, a reckless abandon that cared about nothing.

But the person before me now... only fear remained.

Pure, naked fear.

"Elise." Julian's voice sounded beside my ear as he gently pushed my shoulder. "Go in."

I stepped into the room. The iron door closed behind us with a dull thud.

Benjamin heard the footsteps. He raised his head—with the eye that could still barely open—and then the moment he saw me, his entire body violently shuddered.

Like he'd been scalded.

"Elise..."

His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. His lips moved, pulling at the wound at the corner of his mouth, making him gasp sharply from pain.

"You came... you came..."

He was trembling. Not faking it. That frequency, that amplitude, that uncontrolled muscle spasm—I'd never seen on Benjamin's face before.

What expression did he used to have when looking at me? Contemptuous. Greedy. With a kind of ease and mockery a cat has when watching a mouse. Even in his angriest moments, he'd never shown this kind of expression.

But now he looked at me as if looking at a monster.

"Benjamin Miller." Julian spoke. His voice was cold, colder than I'd ever heard it. "You know why we're here."

Benjamin's Adam's apple rolled, but he didn't speak.

"You distributed obscene materials in a public place. Intimidated and threatened a minor. Unlawful detention—and if you're unlucky, the prosecutor will add charges of molesting a minor." Julian enunciated each word. "These charges combined are enough to keep you in prison until you die."

Benjamin's face became even paler—appearing particularly ghastly against the backdrop of bruises and wounds.

"No... it's not like that..." He began to defend himself incoherently, his voice trembling badly. "It was her... she sent people to harm us... those loan sharks... those people..."

"Enough."

Julian cut him off.

"No matter how you try to excuse yourself, the evidence is there. You took the photos. You distributed them. The police have already extracted complete fingerprints and DNA information from your suitcase. You can't deny it."

Benjamin's lips quivered. He wanted to say something, but ultimately only produced a few broken syllables.

Then he turned his gaze to me.

"Elise..." His voice took on an almost pleading quality. "I know I was wrong... I really know I was wrong... can you make them stop? Tell that person to let me go..."

That person.

Those words pierced my ear like a needle.

Tell him.

Not "them." Him. Singular.

Benjamin was afraid of one person.

One specific person.

One person who could, in just a few hours, transform him from an "invincible abuser" into this state.

I seemed to realize who that person was.