Page 13 of Don't Speak
“My name is Dean Miller. I’m here to see Detective Walsh. She asked me to come down to the station. M…my sister passed away,” I tell her, forcing myself to remain composed as I speak each word.
“Oh. I am so sorry for your loss, Mr. Miller. I will notify Detective Walsh of your arrival if you’ll just have a seat for me in the waiting room.” She sounds sympathetic. I guess that would be a required emotion to have if you’re going to work in a place like this.
My knee bounces uncontrollably as I wait anxiously in this metal chair surrounded by three white walls. I stare off at an empty seat across from me, the voices of the lobby slowly fading away until all I can focus on is the ticking of the clock on the wall. Tick, tick, tick.
My mind is running a thousand miles an hour, but the one thing I keep asking myself is why. Why did she do this? Why did she feel the need to take this route? Why couldn’t she have called me and told me what was going on?
I’m beginning to spiral when Detective Walsh enters the waiting area, and the noises around me come back into focus.
“Hi, Dean. Thanks for coming. I’m sorry it has to be under these circumstances. Can you follow me?”
Detective Walsh turns to walk through the door she came out of, holding it open for me to follow. I stand, only making it a few steps before I turn and look at Stan.
“I’ll be here when you’re done, son,” he tells me, giving me a nod. His words give me the sense of strength I need to move forward, so I do.
Leaving Stan behind, I walk through the door with Detective Walsh. I’m met with a long hallway that suddenly tunnels in front of me. It feels like the hallway stretches for an endless amount of time, and my breathing kicks up, my heart rate beating out of control in my chest. Detective Walsh places a hand on my shoulder, and I jump. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, but we’re here.”
When reality settles back in, we’re facing a door with the word ‘MORGUE’ engraved on a placard stuck to the front. My stomach drops again. This can’t be real.
When the door opens, the mortician stands idly by a table located in the center of the room. A white sheet is placed over the body, covering it from head to toe. The air smells sterile but also like death all at once. I don’t know if I’ll ever forget it. My legs suddenly feel like Jello, but I muster up what little courage I can and approach the table.
The mortician gives me the most sympathetic look before he asks, “Are you ready?”
No. But I’ll never be ready for something like this, so I just nod in response. The mortician pulls the white sheet down, exposing just her face to me. I’m frozen in place. Charlie’s red hair cascades around her on the table, almost like a halo. She’s pale, and her lips have already turned blue. She almost looks peaceful, and I can’t help but wonder if that was her intention. There’s bruising around her neck, and I unconsciously reach out to touch it until Detective Walsh chimes in.
“We found your sister hanging from the children’s play structure by a belt. A passerby walking his dog by the park spotted her and called it in,” she tells me. Immediately, I know that it must have been the park I took her to when she wasyounger. She loved playing on that playground, the swings being her favorite. If I close my eyes long enough, I can still hear her giggles as I push her on the swing, her demands of wanting to go higher filling my ears.
“It’s her. It’s Charlie, my sister,” I say numbly before bending down and giving her a light kiss on the forehead. I turn to walk out of the door, but I’m stopped when Detective Walsh says, “I need you to come with me to my office. We have some important matters to discuss about this case.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
This morning has been relaxing. I have to work tonight, but I’ve been able to do some much-needed chores around here with time left to chill. I went grocery shopping, did laundry, and made sure Simba was set for the week with his essentials. I’ve only thought about the dream three times, and each time I feel my pussy clench.I wonder if he’d be just like he is in my fantasies.
I’m just about to get in the shower when my phone rings. Picking it up off the bathroom counter without checking the caller ID, I answer, “Hello?”
“Hi, Nikkibug.”
Suddenly, the whole room spins. My breathing increases, my vision tunnels, and I start to feel nauseous. I haven’t heard this voice in five years.
“Hi, Mom…” I respond, my chest feeling tight. I thought I had her number blocked.
“Well, it’s nice to finally hear your voice,” she says, her tone laced with a little bit of sarcasm. I know her game. Her phone calls always start out sweet and friendly, but that’s just her MO. It changes fast. Especially if she’s drinking.
“What do you want?” I ask, my tone sounding just as harsh as I intended it to be.
“Okay, you rude little bitch,” she spits.There she is.I skipped the bullshit years ago. After being the world’s worst mother during my childhood and preteen years, for some reason, I couldn’t seem to stand up to her during my teenage and early twenties. She would call, bullshit me, I’d gobble it up, and then she would turn around and stab me in the back. This woman, who was supposed to love me, nurture me, and care for me, chose everything else over me. She made me do the unthinkable, and I still wanted to protect her. I still loved her. But now? Now, I’m done putting up with her shit.
“You have thirty seconds, and then I’m hanging up,” I deadpan.
“I need money,” she grits.
“Of course you do. Why else would you be calling? Is your new flavor of the week up and leaving you again? The fact that I blocked your number didn’t give you an answer?” I really never wanted to hear this woman’s voice ever again.
“I’m your mother. I birthed you. I gave you life. This is how you speak to me?” she rages.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Dana. You may have birthed me, but you were no mother,” I spit, hanging up the phone before she has a chance to respond. I go directly to the call log and checkthe number she called from. I don’t recognize it, but I block it anyway.
Let’s hope she takes the hint this time.
