Page 45 of My Fallen Saint

Ronan digs into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a wallet. He rifles through, then hands me a business card. As he does, I notice a raw, red welt on his right palm.

“Ouch. What happened?”

“Stupidity,” he says with a shrug. “Listen, I’m fine with talking, too. But I have a meeting right now. If it won’t make you file your story too late, give me a call.”

“I don’t have to file until midnight, so I will.” I look between the two of them. “I appreciate this.”

“People hear about it and know it’s a tragedy,” Devlin says. “But they can’t truly grasp the horror that man perpetrated unless it’s happened to them. Sharing more than just cold hard facts gets them one step closer.”

“I agree.”

He cocks his head toward the exit. “Come on. I’ve got someone else you can talk to. Thorne, we’ll talk later. And thanks for your help yesterday.”

“Anytime, man. You know I’ve got your back.”

“Always.”

They fist bump, which since they’re both in suits, amuses me more than it should.

“What?” Devlin asks, looking at me sideways.

“Not a thing.” I try to keep the amusement out of my voice.

He grins, and it’s a nice moment, because I know that he understands exactly what I’m thinking. Just like he always did before.

Then he looks away, and just like that, the connection snaps. And although I know I should be glad, I can’t help but feel like I’ve lost something crucial.

He’s already halfway to the exterior door, and I hurry to catch up with him.

I push through onto the plaza just in time to see a skinny little blonde-haired nymph race across the tiles to Devlin and launch herself at him. She wraps her arms around him and giggles as he swings her up. At the same time, another girl—an older version of the little one—comes forward and meets Devlin’s high five.

“Mom’s over there,” she says, nodding to a fragile-looking woman sitting on a stone bench, her eyes swollen from what must be a now-staunched flow of tears.

Devlin moves to her, and I follow, understanding that he’s invited me to this reunion even though I have no idea what’s going on.

He sits next to the woman, the little girl still clinging like a leech. “I didn’t see you in there,” he says.

“I thought I could.” She shakes her head. “Couldn’t make it through the door.” She grabs his hand. “But I’m so glad he’s dead. I can’t—” She scrunches her lips together, her face tight with the effort to hold back tears.

“My friend Ellie is a reporter. She’s doing a piece on Myers’ death. I thought it would help people to understand if they know what Sue—what you all—went through. Will you talk to her?”

Closer to her, I see that she’s not as fragile as I thought. She has a strong face and sharp eyes, and after a moment’s consideration, she turns to me and gives me one simple nod.

“Thank you,” I say, even though the words feel like an intrusion.

“I—well, I came because of Sue.” The little girl lifts her head from Devlin’s shoulder at the sound of her name.

“Come on with me,” the older girl says. “I bet you need to go potty.”

“I don’t,” the girl says.

“Well, I do. Keep me company?”

Sue nods, then takes the girl’s hand. Her sister, I’m guessing.

The woman watches until they’re inside, then flashes a wavering smile at me. “I’m Laura,” she says. “Laura Tarlton.”

“Ellie,” I say, even though Devlin’s already told her that. “Nice to meet you. Is it okay if I use my phone to record this?”