Chapter 59

Chapter 59
Ben

I practically threw myself into my car. The engine roared to life, a desperate sound in the quiet night. I punched the gas, speeding through the empty streets. My thoughts were a blur of panic and pure rage. Dave. My best friend. How could he? How could he have fallen so far?

When I pulled up to the apartment building, my tires squealed on the asphalt. I jumped out, leaving the car running, and sprinted to the door. I had my key, a spare Gracie had given me months ago, just for emergencies. This was definitely an emergency.

I burst through the door. The apartment was dark, except for the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. Papers were still everywhere, even more scattered now, like a fresh tornado had hit. A low, guttural sound, like a rough snore, came from the living room. It was Dave. Passed out. Just like she said. My stomach twisted into knots, looking at him, so still, so out of it. He looked like a wreck, but a dangerous wreck.

"Gracie?" I called out, my voice loud in the eerie quiet.

A faint whimper came from down the hall. The bathroom door was slightly ajar. I walked quickly, my heart pounding.

She was huddled on the floor, leaning against the cold porcelain of the toilet. Her face was even paler than before, clammy. Her hair was messy, stuck to her forehead with sweat. She had a towel pressed against her temple, and when she slowly pulled it away, I saw it. A deep, ugly large gash, just above her eyebrow, still bleeding slowly, staining the white towel a sickening red. Her eye was already starting to swell, turning purple.

"Shit, Gracie," I breathed, dropping to my knees beside her. My hands hovered, not sure where to even touch her. She looked so small, so broken.

"He just… he got so angry," she whispered, her eyes wide with fear, staring past me, like she was reliving it. "I tried to tell him to rest, that he was pushing too hard. He just… screamed. And then…" She trailed off, a fresh sob shaking her whole body. She didn't have to say anything else. The cut, the fear in her eyes, it told me everything. He’d hit her. My best friend had hit her.

"We need to get you to a hospital," I said, my voice thick with emotion, trying to be calm. "Right now. Can you stand?"

She nodded weakly, pushing herself up with a shaky arm. She swayed, and I quickly put my arm around her, supporting her. She felt fragile, like she might break. Her clothes were a bit messed up, too, a tear in her shirt, and I thought I saw a bruise forming on her arm, though she tried to hide it.

"He won't remember," she whispered, leaning heavily on me as I guided her out of the bathroom. "He never does. Not really. When he's like that."

We slowly made our way through the living room, past Dave's unconscious form. I barely looked at him. All I could feel was this cold, hard anger rising inside me. He was my friend, but what he’d done… there was no excusing it.

Getting her into the car was quick. I drove faster than I ever had, breaking every speed limit. Mercy General. The same place Dave had been just days ago. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth.

The emergency room was quiet at this hour, a few tired-looking people in the waiting area. I practically carried Gracie in, her weight light against me. "She needs help," I told the triage nurse, my voice tight, pointing to the cut on her head. "Domestic incident. She's been assaulted."

The word "assaulted" felt like a punch to my own gut. But it was true. It was exactly what happened.

They took her in quickly. I sat in the waiting room, alone, the fluorescent lights humming above me. My hands were shaking. My mind was reeling. Dave. My partner. The guy who fought for justice. He was a monster now. He was hurting the woman he supposedly loved. And I had just witnessed the proof.

What was I supposed to do? Call it in? Arrest him? My best friend? The city’s hero, now a victim himself, twisted into something ugly. But Gracie… she was hurt. Really hurt. Physically. Emotionally. She needed protection.

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the cold sweat on my forehead. This whole case, this whole damn city, was just falling apart. And Dave, the man who was supposed to fix it, was now at the heart of its darkest secret.

Gracie

The hospital felt like a dream, hazy and far away. The cold bright lights, the hushed voices, the sting of the antiseptic as they cleaned the cut above my eye. They gave me some pills for the pain, and for the shakiness. I nodded when they talked, answered their questions in a dull voice, but my mind was stuck back in that apartment, seeing David’s eyes, full of that awful, dark rage.

Ben was there the whole time, a solid wall beside me. He didn’t say much, just held my hand or squeezed my shoulder. His face was grim, tight with worry. He’d seen it now, seen the proof of how far David had fallen. That was important. Ben would understand.

When they finally said I could leave, Ben didn't even ask where I wanted to go. He just knew. "We're going to get your things, Gracie," he said, his voice low, gentle. "You're not staying there tonight. Or ever again, if you don't want to."

My stomach clenched at the thought of going back. Seeing David again, seeing the mess, feeling that cold, heavy air. But I needed my clothes, my ID’s, my personal stuff. My life. What was left of it.

The drive back to the apartment was quiet. The city was still asleep, but even the empty streets felt tense, humming with some unseen electricity. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath. I kept glancing at Ben, his hands tight on the steering wheel, his jaw set. He was trying to be strong for me, but I knew he was hurting too. This wasn't just my pain. This was his best friend breaking.

When we got to the building, it looked the same, but it felt different. Darker. Like a monster was waiting inside. Ben got out first, looking around, checking everything. He didn't say it, but I knew he was thinking about the Killer, about how they’d gotten into the precinct, about how easily they could get anywhere. The irony of it, being scared of some unknown person when the real terror was inside, already.

He pushed the door open slowly, letting me go in first. The stale air hit me, thick and heavy, same as before. Papers were everywhere, even more scattered than when Ben saw them a few hours ago. It looked like a whirlwind had ripped through the living room. Just a total mess. My eyes went straight to the couch.