Page 43 of Porcelain Lies

I slow down, cruising cautiously along the road to where there appears to be a cluster of police cars… in front of my parents’ house!

My breath catches and my heart lurches.

Mom… Dad!

I abandon my car in the middle of the street, keys still in the ignition. My heels catch on the uneven pavement as I sprint toward the flashing lights, toward the home where I spent my teenage years.

Yellow crime scene tape flutters in the evening breeze. Two police cruisers and an ambulance block the driveway. My legs turn to lead at the sight of the coroner’s van.

The coroner!

“No, no, no…” The word becomes a mantra as I duck under the tape. An officer steps forward to stop me.

“Ma’am, you can’t—”

“This is my parents’ house!” My voice cracks. “Let me through!”

A sight up ahead freezes my blood in my veins. My father’s car is half a block up the road, flipped onto its roof. Shattered glass litters the road like scattered diamonds. There’s a pool of something dark on the asphalt, and little yellow evidence markers.

I’m trying to make sense of it when I see two men in dark uniforms wheeling a stretcher. The body bag on top is zipped closed.

No!

My knees give out. The concrete rushes up to meet me, scraping my palms as I catch myself. Bile rises in my throat.

“Miss, are you family?” A gentle hand touches my shoulder. I look up into the face of a female detective, her expression grave.

“I’m their daughter.” The words come out as a whisper. “What happened? Who…?” I can’t finish the question.

The detective crouches beside me, blocking my view of the stretcher being loaded into the van. “Miss Fermont, I’m Detective Martinez. I need you to come with me. There are some questions…”

But I barely hear her. My eyes are fixed on where the body bag is being lifted into the back of a coroner’s van. The sound of the door slamming shut jolts through me like an electric shock.

Staggering to my feet, I push past the detective, stumbling toward our front door where Mom’s hysterical screams pierce the evening air. Two officers block the entrance, but I shoulder between them.

“That’s my mother in there!”

The foyer spins as I take in the scene — Mom crumpled on the floor, her silk robe torn, mascara streaking down her face as she rocks back and forth. Nick kneels beside her, his eyes vacant and unfocused.

“Mom!” I drop beside her, wrapping my arms around her shaking frame. She clutches at me with desperate fingers, her nails digging into my skin.

“My Tomas, my Tomas…” She keeps repeating the words between gut-wrenching sobs.

Nick’s face is ash-white, his usual cocky demeanor stripped away. “Stels…” His voice cracks. “Dad… it’s Dad…”

My chest constricts, vision narrowing to a pinpoint.

“No.” I shake my head, denial rising like bile. “No, there has to be…”

“He’s gone, Stels.” Nick’s flat tone makes it real. “Dad’s dead.”

Mom wails louder at the words, her whole body convulsing. I hold her tighter, my own tears finally breaking free for the umpteenth time. The three of us cling to each other on the marble floor where Dad used to practice his English, where he’d spin Mom around while dancing after too much wine, where he’d helped me with science homework…

My father is dead.

How?

The thought echoes through my mind, each repetition bringing fresh waves of pain. I press my face into Mom’s hair, breathing in her familiar perfume as Nick’s arms encircle us both.

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