Page 74 of Twisted Truths

My call log showed twenty missed calls, all by her and some new voicemails. I had no desire to listen to any of it. We were done.

When I got to the message about my friend being a better lay, I barked out a laugh that woke Dillon up.

“Sorry, little man.” I got out of the car and then got him out. I wrapped part of my coat around him to block some of the wind as I ran to the building.

I knew she slept with Ethan in high school. Hell, I knew she slept with everyone, but as long as we weren’t dating, I didn’t care.

Shit, I didn’t even care when we were, because she left me alone. She was the only one who couldn’t get it through her head. I didn’t want to be with her.

Dillon’s head rested on my shoulder as I walked down to the apartment and found the door cracked open.

A pit formed in my stomach as I pushed it all the way open to see every light on. When I stepped inside, I saw the television had been ripped from the wall and the plastic was broken. Turning my head to the couch, every cushion had a tear or cut and stuffing covered the floor with a knife laying in the middle.

The wooden coffee table lay in two pieces, and someone had knocked all the pictures and trinkets from the shelves to the floor.

Walking over to the kitchen, I saw pots, pans, and utensils all over the counters. Every bit of food in the house was dumped, thrown, or dropped, and it all was covered in white powder.

“Mess.”

“It sure is.” I patted his back as I traveled down the hall, my feet squelching on the wet carpeting. Holes littered walls of all different shapes and sizes. In the bathroom, water ran over the edge of the tub and the shower was on.

Shielding my son’s eyes, I turned to my son’s room and saw the baby furniture splintered and in shambles. His clothing looked like dogs used it for tug toys and something red made a shooting stripe on the wall.

Turning to our bedroom brought more destruction. The furniture was in the same state of disrepair being splintered and broken, clothing torn and shredded in pieces with more red splotches.

In the middle of the destruction, sat one nightstand without a scratch on it. On top sat a small mirror, razor and lines of white powder.

My head snapped when I heard a knock in the living room.

“Hello?” I called out, unsure who would be here at this time.

“I’m looking for Henry Walsh.” A deep voice responded, and I poked my head out of the bedroom to see an officer standing there. “Mr. Walsh?”

“Yes.” Confusion and fear went to war, making me uneasy.

“I’m Deputy Gentry.” He swallowed and took a breath. “We received a call about a domestic altercation earlier this evening.”

“I … I told my wife I wanted a divorce. Our voices got loud. She threw some things at me and I took my son and left.”

“What time did you leave?” His eyes were busy scanning the destruction.

“Around four thirty.” I switched Dillon to my other side. “My dad was celebrating one year sober at the Post Stella Rehab Center.”

“And after?”

“Deputy, this is the first time I’m seeing all this.”

He nodded and took off his hat. “I’m just asking some questions.”

“After the ceremony, we went to That One Place.” I felt like the world was spinning out of control. “We closed the place down. The family that owns it are old friends.”

“Good burgers.” He smiled. “And then?”

“I dropped my dad off at home about thirty or forty minutes ago and came back here.”

Another officer appeared, and they spoke softly between them before looking back at me. “Would you mind coming down to the station?”

“Um, no.” I tightened my arms around Dillon. “But could you tell me what’s going on?”

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