Page 61 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
There is no way to see them, but a feeling prickles my skin. They’re a cop, I know it.
They step into my bathroom, where the shower is still dripping, and condensation is on the tiles, not made any better by the window I’d opened to let the steam out.
“There’s no one in the house. I don’t know what these people think they heard. But the place is empty,” I hear a man’s voice say, maybe into a radio.
Upon exit, he leaves my door open. His heavy footsteps move down the hallway and head to the stairs. I follow secretly.
The thin wall between us acts as my cover as he slips down the stairs, and I shadow him.
Each step has me cringing. I’m in nothing but my shorts, and I can’t stand the feel of old concrete against my just-washed feet.
“No one up there.”
“But we heard the front door.” Shane and his voice still piss me off.
I shrug off the feeling, but it clings to me like the cold sweat still coating my body.
“But it was locked. I told you it must have been something else, Shane. I knew the police wouldn’t be able to help because it’s something else.” The panic in Dollie’s voice slumps my shoulders with guilt.
The noise she’d heard was me coming in. I’d slammed the door a little too loudly—frustration from what I’d seen ruling my actions.
“Something else?” the cop asks.
“Like a?—”
“Do you want to get us institutionalized?” Shane laughs, and it’s as condescending as the way he speaks. “Shush, babe.”
There’s a pause.
Maybe the cop is questioning their relationship, like I’ve done since its inception.
A flurry of anger comes out of my nostrils.
“She’s letting the local ghost stories get into her head.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s a ghost. Old houses just make noises sometimes.”
“Okay. So, if it wasn’t a ghost, what if it was that guy? The one outside who left the bloody handprint?” Dollie tries to explain.
“I didn’t see the bloody handprint. The rain got pretty bad before I arrived. But it’s probably just kids messing around with some ketchup or something. You know what this town is like. Someone is always talking about this house or your brother. The walls here are enough proof of that.”
“Lies about their relationship are all over the house,” Shane says with some bite, and I can only assume the cop nods in response because there’s a pause again before Shane adds, “I bet it’s in every damn room. You know, I have no idea why these fools all think she’d be interested in that freak.”
“Well, lots of these slurs don’t mention a choice.”
There’s a silence longer than the last, and then Dollie speaks up.
“He never forced me to do anything. We were just kids.”
“Good.” The cop steps off the last step. “So, as I was saying, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, aside from that carpet in the hallway that needs changing, or at least, the blood washedout, but if you’re that concerned, it might be wise to close the upstairs windows.”
“An upstairs window was open?” Terror still laces Dollie’s tone.
Another nod, maybe? God, why does this cop hardly say a fucking word? Hypocrite, I am. But I have a reason for my silence.
“But there’s really no one up there?”
“There’s no one up there, hon. I’ll go back up and close the window, and I can take one last look around if you’d like?”
