"I'll be right back," I said over my shoulder.
I recognized both officers right away. One, tall, with his hands on his hips, graduated a few years after me. His muscles stretched the arms of his uniform, and his short black hair rippled in the breeze. The other officer, a couple of years younger, shifted his weight from foot to foot. He ran his hands through his dirty-blond hair.
As the sirens lured me closer to the house a few doors down, I managed to miss a step and tripped over a hole in the sidewalk. I fell to my knees, instantly feeling the squelch of blood seeping from my legs. I pulled myself up, and the officers quizzically turned their heads in my direction.
"Elle?" the younger officer asked. "What are you doing here?”
"What's going on?" I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
Officer Renlee gazed around at the residents standing near their front doors and lawns, while the older officer, Cameron, stepped away to take a phone call.
Despite his attempts to stifle his voice, I heard him clear as day.
"We've got a murder," Cameron said. "Get here fast."
Four
I looked to the house as a chill ran down my spine. Who lay inside this house, unmoving? What could have happened? For a moment, reality set in, and my heart about stopped. A young girl I babysat many years ago used to live here. Her name was Callie. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed that when I opened them, it'd be a different house on a different street. But it wasn't. You can't will away or pray away the truth. I just hoped Callie and her family didn't live here anymore. We lost touch over the years as time wriggled its way between us.
I stopped for a moment and collected my thoughts as additional sirens drew closer.
Sergeant Morton stepped out of the vehicle and eyed me up, no doubt noticing the blood oozing from my knee as he approached his reporting officers. The breeze parted his salt and pepper hair while he stared at me. His gait appeared slow and uneven, and he favored his right leg.
For once, I was standing on the outside of the yellow tape instead of inside it. I yearned to be next to Cameron and Renlee. To have the power to do something. Anything. Instead of being where I was now: inebriated and powerless.
The sergeant wrangled Renlee and Cameron toward the front of the house. Just like almost all other homes on the block, the house was built two stories high with an attic at the top. I stared at the mint curtains in the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of what or who was inside.
I strained my ears to listen to what Sergeant Morton instructed the officers. "You clear the scene?”
"Yes, sir," Cameron said.
"Any witnesses?" Sergeant asked.
Renlee cleared his throat. "No, Sarge. We got a call into the station from a friend of the deceased, who we’ve positively ID’d. Said she hadn't shown up to work in a while and wasn't answering her phone. Parents were away on vacation, but they're on their way home now. When we arrived, the door was unlocked. We confirmed the victim was not breathing. And, uh, hadn't been for a few days.”
I watched the color drain from Renlee's face. His eyes bulged until he closed them and inhaled. His crewcut startled me at first. In school, he often bragged about his golden locks, which led many strangers to believe he was a surfer. He appeared to be in significantly better shape too. But that was part of the job.
"You two start canvassing the neighborhood to see if anyone heard or saw anything. I'll put the call in for the M.E.'s investigator to stop over."
Renlee and Cameron nodded. The duo set off toward the house immediately on the right of the crime scene. Luckily, most of the neighbors were already outside. They wouldn't have to hound too many people for a statement.
"Dahlia," Sergeant said as he turned to face me.
We knew each other well. Growing up, Sergeant Morton acted as a resource officer at my high school for a short period of time. I spent many lunch periods picking his brain about the criminal justice system, about what it was like to be a police officer. While I'd always been interested in serving my community, it was Sergeant Morton who ultimately convinced me to pursue my career in law enforcement.
"Yes, sir," I said, my voice quivering.
"You know what I'm going to say, don't ya?”
"I know. I'm leaving. Just wanted to see what was going on," I slurred.
The sergeant nodded, then turned on his heels. He pulled out his radio and spoke rapidly into it.
My whole body ached to help. My idle hands were begging to get down and dirty. To find out what happened to the person inside, whom I still hoped was some stranger and not the beautiful girl I once knew. The officers knew who was inside, though. I wished I could ask who it was, but I knew they’d never tell another person before speaking to the family first.
With one last glance toward the house, I turned around. A heavy weight on my shoulders slowed me down, but I strode back to my parents’ house. Concern etched itself across my mother's face. With pleading eyes, she looked into mine.
"What's happened?" she asked.
I swallowed hard. "There's a dead body. Inside the house.”
My mom gasped and flung her hands across her mouth. "No! Did they say who it was?"
Jack wrapped his arms around my mom's shoulders, lovingly and protectively.
"They didn't say who it was specifically, but that the parents were gone on vacation. Who lives there now?”
I held my breath as my nails dug into the palms of my hands. If I could stop time, I'd never have to hear the answer to my question. Part of me felt ashamed, but I hoped more than anything it was someone else's family who lived there. Not the family I spent more than half of my childhood with.
A tear slipped down my mom's cheeks. "You remember little Callie? The girl you used to babysit? She still lives there with her parents.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Callie. The girl I played Barbies with during our time together. The sweet, affectionate thing who would kiss my forehead when I put her to sleep and asked me to stay until her dreams swept her away.
I clutched my chest. "Please tell me you're not serious.”
My mom nodded and crumbled into Jack.
I ran into the house as vomit roared up my throat, threatening to erupt at any moment. I barely made it to the downstairs bathroom before my stomach, mostly filled with vodka, emptied itself into the porcelain bowl.
There was a murderer on the loose in Keygate, and at that moment, I knew I wasn’t leaving quite yet.
Five
That night, I barely slept a wink. The only comfort I found was the fact that my mother never replaced the bed in my room. Though it provided little support, it invited a familiar satisfaction.
I tossed and turned, and for the life of me, I couldn't drift off despite the bottle of wine on my nightstand that I’d emptied a few hours ago. My body shook, and night sweats enveloped me in their grasp. Damn it, I wanted to fall asleep so badly. To escape reality and live in a dream world if only for a few hours. How wonderful would it be to find yourself flying over a castle or dancing with pirates on a ship as tall as the sky? I'd have given anything to sleep, but consciousness pinned me down and wouldn't let me get an ounce of peace.