Page 2 of Maliea's Hero

Maliea said. “I-I don’t know. I’d just come home from work. When I started to unlock the door, I noticed it was already open. I-I ran.”

“Good,” the woman said, her tone steady, smooth and calming. “Don’t try to go into the apartment. I have a unit en route to your location, ETA five minutes. You can stay on the phone with me until they arrive.”

“Thank you,” Maliea said, clutching the phone like a lifeline. While Maliea waited, the woman on the other end of the line talked with her, asking her questions about her life, what she did for a living and expressed interest when Maliea said she was a Hawaiian dancer. Time passed quickly, and Maliea’s heartbeat slowed closer to normal.

In under five minutes, a Honolulu Police car arrived in the apartment's parking lot, its lights flashing.

“They’re here,” Maliea announced to the woman who’d stayed on the line with her. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“My pleasure,” the woman said and ended the call.

When Maliea started to get out of her car, the police officer held up a hand and shook his head. “Let us check it out first.” He and his partner climbed the stairs and paused outside her door, standing on either side, their weapons drawn. Then, one of the officers slipped inside, followed by the other.

Moments later, an officer appeared in the doorway and motioned for Maliea to come up.

Her pulse quickening again, she climbed the stairs, crossed the landing and met the officer at the door.

“Whoever broke in is gone,” he said. “But I’m sorry to say, he left a mess. You’ll need to go through everything and let us know what’s missing. Be careful not to touch or disturb anything. We’ll have someone dust for prints.”

Maliea entered, her breath catching.

The small apartment was never truly pristine with a three-year-old living there. But this...

She shook her head.

In the living room, the hand-me-down sofa her father had given them lay on its back, the cushions thrown or ripped as if someone had slashed them with a knife. Drawers had been pulled from the end tables and lay in pieces as if someone had smashed them.

Maliea stepped close to the tiny kitchen, where every drawer had been dumped on the floor and the pantry emptied, with cereal scattered across every surface. Shelves were empty, the contents of her canisters strewn across every surface. Flour, sugar and pasta lay on the floor in a thick layer.

The officer reached out to block her entry into the kitchen. He nodded toward the flour on the floor. “Don’t disturb the footprints.”

Maliea nodded and continued through the living room.

The basket of Nani’s toys lay upside down, toys flung in a broad circle. Her favorite stuffed bear was missing its head, the stuffing pulled from its body.

Acid roiled in the pit of Maliea’s belly. Who would do such a thing? Ripping a child’s toy to shreds seemed so...violent.

Leaving everything where it was, Maliea moved slowly down the hall. The photos she’d hung in inexpensive frames had been ripped from the wall, the frames destroyed, the photos left behind crumpled. The picture of her father holding Nani two months ago lay torn and wrinkled. Seeing it like that was like a sucker punch to her belly. Maliea automatically bent to pick it up. She caught herself before her fingers touched the paper.

Tears welled in her eyes. Her heart squeezed hard in her chest as she pushed past the damaged photos and frames to enter Nani’s bedroom with the twin-sized bed Maliea had decorated with a fluffy pink comforter and matching curtains.

The curtains had been ripped from the wall, and the bent rod hung askew from one side. The pink comforter, torn down the middle, lay in a wad beside the mattress on the floor. Again, as if someone had taken a knife to the bed, the fitted sheet and mattress had been ripped down the middle.

As she stared at the savaged mattress, all Maliea could think was that if they had been home when the intruder had made his entrance...

Her stomach tightened, and bile rose up her throat. With nothing of value to others in her daughter’s room, Maliea moved on to her own.

She didn’t own fancy jewelry except for the diamond necklace her father had given her mother on their tenth anniversary. Her mother had given it to Maliea in the last days of her fight against cancer.

As she entered her bedroom, Maliea immediately crossed the room to her dresser. The top right drawer had held her keepsakes and the jewel box containing the necklace. The drawer was gone, the contents spread across the floor.

Maliea looked past her ripped mattress and shredded comforter, searching for the box containing the necklace.

Despite the officer’s adamance about not disturbing anything, Maliea dug through the clothes and documents until she found the black velvet box. When she opened it and found the diamond necklace nestled against the velvet interior, tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks.

She stood, clutching the box in her hands, shaking her head as she looked around the room.

Though the intruder had destroyed items of great emotional value to Maliea and Nani, he hadn’t taken the only thing of any value to anyone else.

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