The Morning Of

by S. B. Cody

  “Really? That’s what you’re going on? How it feels?”

  “My instincts tell me it’s wrong.”

  “I am sick and tired of hearing about your fucking instincts. You’re lucky your instincts haven’t cost you your badge. Now, I want you to get out there, find the other piece of shit involved and never say another word about this. Because if the media or his lawyer find out that the arresting officer thinks he’s innocent, then we can kiss a conviction goodbye. And I don’t think this town could take something like that right now, do you?”

  Kara said nothing. She just looked away from his judgmental gaze and stared at the wall.

  “Good. Hopefully you do as I say for once. You can go now,” he said, looking back to his computer. Kara left the room wondering why she even bothered. There was no chance that could have gone any other way. As she headed back to her desk, Brody walked out of the conference room, the tremors gone, but the rage still on his face.

  “Where did you go?” he asked as he sat across from her.

  Kara’s only response was to look over at Barron’s door.

  “You didn’t,” he said, picking up on what happened. “What the hell were you thinking? And why the fuck would you do something like that without talking to me first?”

  “You’re gonna lecture me after the shit you just pulled? Besides, we have talked about it. You know my feelings on it.”

  “Yeah, but I thought you were coming around. But Jesus, I don’t even care about that. But you go and do something like that without me, I end up looking like an asshole.”

  “You don’t need me to make you look like an asshole,” Kara shot back.

  For a moment it seemed like Brody wouldn’t react at all to her comment. His face sat flat, and then as he rose from his seat he threw out, “And fuck you too.”

  That night Brody sat on his couch staring down a bottle of Scotch. It dared him to drink it. He dared himself not to. The scene from the interrogation played over and over again in his mind. He could hear how his voice sounded from when he screamed at the Clements kid. That kid huddled up like some infant. His terror-stricken face. The last time that he’d seen a look like that on someone’s face was just before Mandy ran away and out of his life (out of this world). This time it was some sick fuck who had gunned down his classmates. Next time, it might be someone important. And then he would have driven away everyone in his life. And him being half in the bag all the time now was only making things worse.

  On his lap sat a photo album tracing Mandy from when she had been born to when her life had been cut short. His Mexican standoff with the bottle continued. He knew that with each drink he would drift further from the man who had been Mandy’s father. But without her around, maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

  The showdown cruised towards a climax when a knock came at the door. Brody set the album aside and headed to answer it, revealing Kara. Brody just stood there and stared for a moment, wondering why she would be at his home. He couldn’t remember her ever having been over to his place.

  “Kara?” he asked, wondering if his eyes had played tricks.

  “Hey, Brody,” she said. “Can we talk?”

  “Uhh sure, I guess,” Brody said as he stood aside and allowed her in.

  Kara walked in and came to a stop in the kitchen where she just stood and waited.

  “What can I do for ya?” Brody asked as he took a seat at his kitchen table and motioned for Kara to do the same.

  “I want to talk about what happened today.”

  “I acted like an ass. I know. I don’t really want to talk about it though.”

  “It’s more than just that. Something has been going on with you as of late. I mean, what have you been doing? Taking a shower of vodka every morning?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Past couple weeks you’ve been coming in hungover or just plain drunk. I can smell it on you. What the fuck is going on?”

  Brody sat looking at her for a moment, contemplating if he really wanted to get into this with her. He had always made it a point not to talk about Mandy. Not to anyone. But it started to seem as though he had painted himself into a corner. “Just… this case is…”

  “Brody, I’ve seen you crack jokes while leaning over a dead body. So please don’t bullshit me.” Kara happened to glance over into the other room where she saw the photo album sitting open. “What is that?” she asked. Kara walked over and upon seeing what it contained, her face twisted into a question mark.

  “Umm…” Brody forced out while throwing his hand over his eyes.

  Kara picked up the album and flipped through the pages, stopping on one of Brody holding Mandy when she was just a baby. “Who’s this girl?”

  “My daughter,” Brody said, sighing.

  “Your what?” Kara blurted while turning her head around to look at him.

  “Her name was Mandy.”

  “Was? Do you mean she…?”

  “Yeah. Ten years ago.”

  “Oh my God. Bu… Wh… Ho… How?” Kara could barely get the words out. She had so many questions. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

  “It’s fine. She was seven. Got kidnapped. Killed.”

  “Oh my God…”

  “Yeah.” Brody brushed away a tear.

  “And… And this other woman,” Kara began as she pointed to a picture of Christine. “Is this your…?”

  “My wife. Well, ex-wife. We split up after Mandy died.”

  “But… but you’ve never said anything.”

  “I don’t like to talk about it. No one knows anything.”

  “Is this why you’ve been drinking?”

  “Yeah. Just seeing all those kids. If she was still alive, Mandy would have been there. She could’ve been one of them.”

  “I see.” Kara looked down at her feet, not sure what to say next. They’d been working together for a while now, but they’d never talked like this. She looked over at Brody and saw that it could all come tumbling down for him at any time. Her first instinct said to take a run for it before she had to deal with the grief. Instead, all she did was rock back and forth on the balls of her feet without a word to say.

  Brody broke the silence as he approached her, took the photo album back, and said, “Thanks for coming by.” Next, Kara found herself outside, once again cut off from her partner.

  31

  Kara and Brody’s presence at the school was all the student body needed to decide that Dennis must have been the shooter. By the end of the day, they had already tried, convicted, and sentenced him to death. Connor ended up having to spend most of his day telling kids to not discuss it. When the final bell rang he found himself sitting at his desk for a while gazing into nothingness, attempting to reconcile the Dennis he had in class with that of a crazed killer. And he couldn’t seem to do it. He wondered what they could have against him. The whole thing made him feel sick to his stomach.

  After a few more minutes he realized he wasn’t going to be able to make sense of the situation. At least not today. He walked towards the exit, passing Mrs. Turner in the hall. She’d taken Kristin’s classes for another week. Around school no one seemed to have heard anything about her. In truth, Kristin would be leaving her room for the fourth time that same day.

  Diane had attempted to talk her daughter into going to see a doctor to help her, but Kristin made it clear that she wouldn’t go anywhere. After some searching, and hours on the phone with her insurance company, she found a doctor who would pay a home visit. On Monday, Doctor Barrington came by the house.

  “Thank you so much for coming. I just don’t know what to do about her anymore. She won’t come out of her room. She won’t even talk to me,” Diane said in greeting.

  “Well, given her circumstances that’s not surprising,” Barrington replied.

  “But it’s been a few weeks, and there’s no change.”

  “There’s no timeline with this kind of grief. You did the right thing by c
alling me. Why don’t you show me her room?”

  Diane pointed him towards the door and knocked. She got no response, so she called in. “Kristin. Sweetie?”

  “I’m not hungry. Go away,” Kristin called back.

  “No, honey. I have someone here to see you.”

  “Tell them to leave.”

  Diane’s eyes welled up and she looked to Doctor Barrington for guidance.

  He responded with a knowing nod and took over. “Kristin. My name is Doctor Barrington. I was hoping to speak with you.” When an objection didn’t come he pushed open the door and crept in, nodding for Diane to stay behind. The room had been bathed in darkness, the only light being the little that filtered in through the blinds. Doctor Barrington could hardly make out the body that laid on the bed. He grabbed her desk chair, pulled it towards him, and sat down.

  “I understand you’ve been having a tough go of it as of late. You maybe want to talk about it?” he began.

  “No,” she said flatly. She faced the wall and didn’t look back at him.

  “You know, Kristin. You’re not the first person to go through something like this. And people often react to traumatic situations the same way that you have. But the problem with this is that it only exacerbates the problem.”

  “And what would you have me do?”

  “Well, there’s a few things. One thing I would suggest is keeping a journal where you can record your feelings. You might not believe it, but it really goes a long way towards helping us sort it all out. And then you need to find something to occupy your time. Do you have any hobbies?”

  “You’re wasting your time.”

  “How so?”

  “Nothing is going to change for me. And I don’t want it to.”

  “Don’t want it to? What does that mean?”

  “Please leave me alone.” Kristin curled up and hugged the wall.

  “Come on, Kristin. Please talk to me.” But she said nothing. Doctor Barrington would sit there for another half hour trying to get her to talk but the only response was light breathing. “Kristin, I can’t do anything for you if you don’t talk to me. I want to help. If you decide that you do want to talk, then please give me a call.” He stood up and set his card on her dresser before leaving.

  Out in the living room, Diane sat waiting with a magazine on her lap. She pretended to read but had spent most of the time tearing the corners of the pages. Dozens of little bits of paper littered the floor beneath her feet. Once the door to Kristin’s room opened, she jumped to her feet anxious to know how it went. A small shake of Dr. Barrington’s head as they met eyes made it clear that little had been accomplished.

  “I’m sorry, but she didn’t want to talk,” he said with regret in his voice.

  “Didn’t want to talk? Well, what do you do then?” Diane asked.

  “If she won’t talk to me, there isn’t much I can do. I can’t make her open up.”

  “So what do I do then?”

  “Look for any opportunities to get her out of the house. Create them if you have to. And be available for whenever it is that she does decide to talk. And please call if she does. Or if she should happen to take a turn for the worst.”

  “A turn for the worst?” Her face became stricken with fear. “Like what?”

  “Substance abuse. Self-harming behavior.”

  “Do you think that’s a possibility?”

  “I really can’t say. Just keep an eye on her. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” He left the house, leaving Diane with one of his cards as well.

  The rest of the night she would check in on Kristin every half hour, but she never got more than a couple words out of her. She would fall asleep on the couch at around 10:00 that night. At 7:00 the next morning she got pulled from her slumber. She looked around the room in confusion at first not realizing that she’d fallen asleep there. But even when that passed, something still hung in the air. She couldn’t place it, but it felt as though she had maybe just woken from some vivid dream that had stayed with her. She looked around the room as though she might find someone else there watching her, but found nothing. As she scanned her surroundings her eyes settled on the door to Kristin’s room. The door screamed out to her, beckoning her forth. As she peered at it she started to feel that familiar ice pick drive into her heart again. She knew what the feeling had been. She ran towards the door, almost barreling through it. Standing in the room she saw Kristin laying on the ground, a razor blade sitting next to her. Diagonal slashes had been made on both arms. Blood flowed from the wounds.

  Diane leapt to her daughter’s side and clenched Kristin’s arms in her hands attempting to stop the flow of blood. A rush of blood seeped through her fingers as she screamed her daughter’s name. She just laid there as limp as a sock. And from what Diane could tell, she didn’t seem to be breathing. Over on the desk, sat Kristin’s phone. Diane clawed for it, and after a quick fumble, she got it under control and called 911.

  “911. What is your emergency?” the operator said.

  “My daughter has slit her wrists! She’s bleeding everywhere!” Diane screamed into the phone.

  “I understand. What’s your address?”

  “1438 Wintergreen Avenue.”

  “Okay. Emergency services have been dispatched to your location. In the meantime, you want to try to slow down the flow of bleeding. Grab some towels and wrap them around her wrists as tight as you can.”

  Diane scrambled to the bathroom, knocking into walls the entire time. She snatched up a couple of towels and was back at her daughter’s side in less than a minute. She wrapped a towel around each wrist and tied both ends together.

  “Okay, the towels are around her wrists! What do I do now,” Diane asked as she picked the phone back up.

  “You want to check to see if she has a pulse. Can you do that?”

  Diane reached out and tried to feel Kristin’s neck, but her fingers shook and slid all around from the blood that soaked her fingers. “I don’t know! I can’t tell!” she cried.

  “Okay, that’s fine. Paramedics should be there shortly. I’ll stay on the phone with you until then.” Two minutes later, two paramedics came through the door and took over. They loaded her into the back of the ambulance, and Diane climbed in with her. She looked down at her daughter’s face which had gone pale. The towels had gone beet red and been traded out for bandages. Her breathing became labored and she started to hyperventilate, feeling like she may pass out. What had she done? What hadn’t she done? Would this be the last she saw of her daughter? The short drive to the hospital seemed interminable.

  32

  Wednesday morning, Connor sat in the teacher’s lounge knocking back his third cup of coffee already. He had taken to walking into school the moment that the doors were unlocked. His house had become one long uncomfortable silence since his and Brandy’s latest spat, so if he could spend his time elsewhere he took the chance. Last night the silence ended, however.

  The two of them ate dinner, the only sound being the scraping of silverware and the sipping of their water. Connor avoided looking over at his wife for the most part, but he could feel her gaze the whole time. From the corner of his eye he could see her open her mouth every few minutes as though she were trying to work up the nerve to speak. Then right as Connor finished up eating, she broke the silence.

  “So did you know the student that got arrested?” she asked.

  Connor looked over at her, taking a final drink of water. “Yeah I did,” he told her.

  “Wow. What was he like?”

  “Quiet. But a good kid.”

  “Well I guess he wasn’t that good of a kid.”

  Connor got ready to respond before thinking better of it.

  “What is it?” Brandy asked, noticing his hesitation.

  “Nothing. It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  “I have a hard time believing he’s the one behind that whole thing.”

  “Why do you say that?”


  “He just always seemed like such a nice kid. Just a fragile thing.”

  “Sometimes you never know.”

  “It doesn’t feel right. I feel like they must have made a mistake.”

  “Well if you feel that strongly about it, why don’t you say something?”

  “Say something? To who?”

  “The police. Let them know they could have the wrong guy.”

  “I don’t really think they care what I have to say.”

  “You don’t know unless you actually say something.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m just saying that imagine if he really is innocent. He’s probably waiting on someone to help.”

  Connor opted to say nothing else. He told himself that he just needed to accept that Dennis hadn’t been who he thought. But the next morning the same nagging feeling scratched at the back of his brain. It didn’t go away as he got ready for work or as he sat and drank his coffee. He tried to refocus his attention, but it would always snap back. It so occupied him that he didn’t notice as Lance Milton dragged his feet, coming to sit across from Connor.

  “Hey,” he forced out as he eased himself down onto the chair. The subdued nature of it all managed to shift Connor’s focus. Typically, Lance would slide into a room announcing his presence as though he were in a sitcom. Right now, he seemed to have swung to the other extreme.

  “Hi, Lance,” Connor said. “You okay?”

  “Did you not hear?”

  “About Dennis Clements? Of course I did.”

  “No. About Benson.”

  “Kristin? What about her?”

  “She’s in the hospital. She tried killing herself yesterday.”

  “She what?!”

  “Yeah.”

  “Holy shit. Is she going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know. I just read something about it in the paper this morning.”

  “Oh my God. I knew she wasn’t coming to work, but I didn’t imagine she’d end up like this.”

  “Had you seen her since the shooting?”