as he approaches. He’s wearing jeans and a Towson University sweatshirt and scarred Doc Martens, looks like he hasn’t shaven in a while, his hair all bent up and to the left as if it’s been growing toward the sun.
He approaches, then stops and stands in front of me, blocks my view of the city, shadows me like a tree.
“You,” he says.
“Have a seat.” He does not comply. I stare at him for a few seconds before my words cripple him: “She’s gone. I killed her.”
I feel a dizziness at having confessed to something that, if the rest of my plan goes awry, might have me executed—but I can’t unring the bell: I reach over and hand him Melody’s bloodstained sundress, the result of her being tossed among garbage cans in the alley barely a mile from where we are at this moment.
Sean reaches for the dress and sits at the same time.
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
“She was trying to get information from me, wanted me to give her all sorts of details about my family. I tried to reason with her.” I lower my voice as a couple passes. “She just wouldn’t listen. It got… out of control. I just lost it.”
Sean looks at the dress, spots the biggest bloodstain, avoids touching it. “I don’t believe you,” he repeats weakly. What he really means: I can’t believe it.
“You keep DNA samples on all your witnesses?”
He sniffs hard, then mumbles, “Of course.”
“It’s gonna match. This is real.” I take a deep breath, can barely speak the lie because it could’ve so closely been the truth had I not spirited Melody away. “She’s spread all over the East River. She’s gone.”
To the dress, he says, “You’re full of it. You don’t have it in you, Bovaro.” Then to me: “Anyone else in your family, but not you.”
“Why do you think I’m here talking to you? I can’t live with this. You think I’m confessing for entertainment?”
Sean studies the stain again, slowly turns the dress and sees another red blotch. He swallows and looks away, focuses on the drunk. I read his demeanor as nothing other than his own perceived failure, a witness lost because he couldn’t contain the danger, couldn’t sell the dream.
I swallow, almost gag on my request: “I want to talk to Justice. I have information they’ll want, but one thing in particular they’ll need.” Sean does not seem moved. “I’ll confess to killing Melody, no reneging.” Fake sigh. “I have to live with what I did. I’ll also give up all the details on how the McCartneys were killed. I was there, and I’ll tell them exactly what happened. But most of all, I’ll supply you with information that will give Justice headlines for a year straight. I’m not exaggerating.” And then, another ring of the bell: “But I want to go into Witness Protection. I want to start over.”
Sean turns back and looks me in the eye; it takes so much strength to return his stare, to convince him that my actions are genuine. Though I quickly realize that the way he’s looking at me might have something to do with my poor choice of words: Start over. My guess is the utmost concern of any witness entering the program is being kept safe, not getting a new identity, the mere means for achieving the safety. He stands up, gently places the dress over his shoulder, waves for me to get to my feet. His repugnance for me has carved a sneer into his sullen face; I recognize when an adversary can barely contain himself.
“Let’s go,” he says. I slowly stand, feel a little vertigo at the realization that I’ve not only surrendered Melody, but I’m about to surrender myself, that whoever I become, Jonathan Bovaro will soon disappear forever.
Sean glares at me, for the first time comes across as something more than an unqualified marshal. “I hope your family kills you,” he says, “I really do. I hope you don’t make it another twenty-four hours.”
He turns slightly and waves his hand for me to walk next to him. As we get to the edge of the hill, one of the streetlights catches the metallic edge of the handcuffs clipped to the side of his jeans, partially tucked into a back pocket. The fact that he’s not using them is a bad sign.
We descend the staircase together, not a word between us. When we arrive at the bottom of the hill, he escorts me to my