“Goddamn it!”
This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way for us. We weren’t supposed to be divided. Sawyer was the glue that held everything together. Without her, my world is falling apart.
With one more kick I collapse to the cold, unforgiving cement, pulling my knees to my chest, hugging them tight. My body rocks back and forth automatically. I can’t do this. I can’t live in a world without my family. A few streets away may as well be an entire country. Why not just hop on a plane back to Australia? I won’t see Noah as often as I do now; we won’t have family dinners every night even though Lachlan offered. He’ll start having his own life. Maybe he’ll meet someone new one day, and Noah will have a new mommy and no need for me.
Owen barely looks at me, and when he does, it’s as though he sees an enemy instead of his wife. His partner.
I’ll be all alone.
I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand and take a deep breath. My sight lands on the white garment bag hanging in the wardrobe dresser next to the chest-freezer. The wardrobe door stands open a smidge. Moving my foot over, I kick the door open the rest of the way then jump up and yank on the bag. The old bar gives, sending winter coats and thick sweaters tumbling to the floor. I rip the zipper open and grab handfuls of tulle.
Blood-and-smoke-stained tulle with burnt edges. It smells like death.
A new wave of sadness washes over me, and I cry into the dress that once held promises of the start of a perfect life. But instead, marked the end of the only life I know.
Where the hell do we all go from here?
FOUR
Owen
Sloane’s muffled cries drift through the vents, rising to our bedroom. Surrounding me, tightening their grip around my throat, choking the air from my lungs.
It’s impossible to breathe in this house.
Impossible to relax.
A pill bottle taunts me from the nightstand. I stare at it, thinking maybe I could get better rest if I swallowed the stupid pain medicine. Just one tablet. Or two, or fifty. I’d sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Maybe I won’t wake up…
A little something would help take the edge off of my nerves. Take away the stinging ache from my damn face and arm.
I slowly stretch my neck to the side, away from the scars, rotate my shoulder. It fucking hurts.
I can’t do it. I won’t do it. I’ve seen firsthand what pain meds do to people. Addiction is a cruel, relenting disease. Sleeping pills I’ve made an exception for only because I’d started to lose my goddamn mind. Not that they’re any safer. Every time I take one, I stare at a handful of them, wondering if it would be painless to drift away from this world. I should toss every pill I have into the trashcan or flush them down the toilet. Instead, I continue to take only the sleeping pills and keep the pain meds next to me, within reach, to torment myself. Temporary relief mocks me nightly, and I enjoy it.
I’m a sick fuck.
My cell rings, and I welcome any sound that drowns out my crying wife. Reaching over, I remove it from the charger on the nightstand to glance at the screen. It’s not a number I recognize. I swipe to answer. “Hello?” My voice is so hoarse it’s nearly unrecognizable to my ears.
“Hello, would this be Mr. Owen Matthews?”
“Yeah, who the hell is this?”
“Mr. Matthews, I’m Detective Varnum with the Woodsview Police Department. This call is regarding your late sister, Ms. Sawyer Matthews.”
This is it. The call that will tell me the name of the son of a bitch who took my sister from us.
“Yes, Detective?”
“I was wondering if you could come down to the station here in Woodsview this afternoon. There are some questions we would like to ask you regarding the events of June eighteenth.”
“Questions? What more could you possibly need to know from me? I answered all of your damn questions in the hospital nearly three weeks ago.”
He clears his throat. “We simply have a few more routine questions for you, Mr. Matthews.”
I rise from my bed, unable to listen to any more of this bullshit sitting down. “You mean to tell me it’s been weeks, and you’re calling me back to that godforsaken town to answer more pointless questions because you still haven’t caught the bastard responsible for my baby sister’s death?”
Silence on the line stretches for a beat too long to be followed with good news. “Unfortunately, we have not identified the shooter as of yet, Mr. Matthews. We would like to question the witnesses once more to make sure we’ve covered every angle. Why don’t I come to your town instead of you travelling to Woodsview on short notice? I could be at your local precinct by four this afternoon. Does that work for you?”
I can’t believe this shit. Unreal. “Yeah, that works, I guess.”
“Excellent. Mr. Matthews. Could I ask one other favor?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you please have Sloane Matthews and Lachlan Williams accompany you? We would like to ask them a few more questions as well.”
“I’ll let them know.”
The interrogation room is so cold I can practically see my breath. I guess they don’t want people to feel too comfortable in here.
An older man in black dress pants and a slate-gray button-up shirt enters, stirring colder air, and extends his hand.
“Mr. Matthews, I’m Detective Varnum. We spoke on the phone this morning. We met briefly during your hospital stay, but I’m not sure if you remember me.”
To be honest, I don’t remember much from that time which makes this questioning pointless when they could be out there looking for the guy. Although my memories remain hazed, I’m still kind of surprised I don’t recognize him because I’m usually pretty good with faces, especially a mug like his. The wide and pudgy nose sits between a set of dark eyes. Bushy eyebrows dominate his forehead. He looks somewhere around fifty which means he should have enough experience under his belt to catch a murderer.
“Not really. Sorry, Detective.”
He waves a hand dismissively as he takes a seat across from me, a narrow steel table resting between us. It’s cold to touch, so I cross my arms.
“Like I said when we spoke on the phone, I just want to ask a few more questions regarding what you may have seen or heard that night. I want to make sure we didn’t miss any important details.”
“I’ll help any way I can if that means you finally identify the person who did this.”
“Okay, well I already know the basics, so if you don’t mind, I’ll jump right to it. The Marshall officially filed his report and the fire was ruled as arson as we suspected. We know it originated in the back room where Miss Matthews had been shot. We assume the shooter started the blaze to destroy any prints. As we suspected arson initially, an analysis of residual accelerants was performed where we determined that butane and alcohol were the likely cause. Someone intentionally lit alcohol on fire. The fire quickly spread to the kitchen where the full propane tanks exploded. Due to the extent of the damage, we’re unable to lift any traceable prints.”
“Do you have any suspects at all?”
“We’ve been questioning and investigating intensely, as you can imagine. Could you tell me once more what exactly you saw as you entered the burning building on the night of June eighteenth?” He clicks on a tape recorder, places the device on the table between us, and sits back in his chair, tenting his hands.
Nicely avoided my question. I clear my throat and straighten my back. “Lachlan and I were together outside. We noticed a commotion, then saw smoke coming from the building. He told me Sawyer and Noah were inside, so we ran in without thinking about anything besides getting them out. Immediately inside the building, we passed by a man on his way out. He kept his head down and didn’t make eye contact with either of us. I didn’t recognize him, and nothing was familiar about the man. His hand covered his mouth, and I assumed he was trying to get out of a smoking building. We kept going towards the back area w
here we thought Sawyer and Noah might be. That’s when we entered a room and found Sawyer laying on the floor, Noah standing next to her.”
“How tall would you say the man who passed you was in relation to you? Did he have any distinct characteristics or articles of clothing that stood out to you, such as a hat or jacket? Noticeable tattoos?”
“Do you think the guy that passed us is the shooter?”
“We’re just trying to see every angle and that is one possibility.”
Not only did I not protect Sawyer by not getting to her in time, I also let the person responsible for her death literally walk right past me. This nightmare keeps getting worse. I’m beginning to think I’ll never wake from this.
“He didn’t have a hat on, and, like I said, his face was down and his hand covered his mouth.” I close my eyes and attempt to visualize the person. I can’t remember anything, no details register. I slam both fists against the table, causing the water in my Styrofoam cup to ripple. “I wish I could just remember something about him. Fuck!”
“Maybe we’re focusing too much on the man that past you. Could you tell me anything about the room where you found your sister and nephew? Anything unusual inside you might have noticed?”
Yeah, my nephew standing next to his nearly dead mother.
Question after question, and, by the end of our conversation, nothing has been resolved. I don’t feel like we’re any closer to uncovering new details about that night. I’m beginning to think we never will.
Detective Varnum rises, hands me his business card, and tells me to contact him immediately if I recall anything that might be of help to the investigation.
In the police station waiting area, Sloane and Noah slump in plastic chairs. Sloane holds a steaming cup as she watches Noah play on his IPad. The sight of them together twists my stomach.
Not long ago, I pictured her and myself having a child of our own. I imagined talking to her big round belly and picking out colors to paint the nursery. Hell, I wanted to have ten kids with her. Our daughters would have long red hair just like their momma. I would teach our sons to work on cars like their old man. We’d grow old together, living next to Sawyer. I even made room for Lachlan in the picture just recently. I never thought my sister would be removed from it.
Without Sawyer, the picturesque future is blurry. I can’t see anything past today. Even getting through one day at a time seems too overwhelming.
Sloane notices me watching her and rises as I approach. “Hey, all done? What’d they say?”
“Probably the same thing they said to you. Jack shit. This whole investigation is a fucking joke.”
Lachlan comes down the hallway a few minutes later, and, as soon as Noah sees his father, he rushes to him with open arms. Lachlan scoops the little boy up and hugs him tight.
“Hey, mates. Are you finished as well?” Bags under his red eyes and a worried crease seems to permanently be etched on his forehead. He looks beaten.
I nod.
Detective Varnum approaches us, flanked by an officer I’ve never seen before who looks to be about my age.
“I wanted to thank you all for coming in once again. I can’t image any of this is easy for you, but your cooperation is very much appreciated.”
No one says anything but shuffles awkwardly, fiddling with keys, purses, any distraction within reach. What the fuck do they want us to say? Do they think we’re going to tell them it’s no problem? Take your time, no rush. Come on. I can’t help but think if this was someone else, not a troubled young mother, the law would care just a little more.
The detective motions to the cop next to him. “This is Officer Nash Hudson.”
Now that I get a good look at him, he really doesn’t look to be much older than I am at all. This douchebag looks more like he’s playing a role in a made-for-TV movie than he does an actual law enforcer. “He’s going to be my eyes and ears here while I return to Woodsview for further investigations. If you can’t get ahold of me or need personal assistance ASAP, I want you to reach out to him.”
We nod and Officer Dick-face steps forward, giving Sloane, Lachlan, and me all business cards which I’m assuming have his contact info on them. “Nice to meet you all.”
Ignoring him, I shove his card inside my back pocket then turn to leave the station. Sloane and Lachlan politely mumble good-byes behind me.
We reach the parking lot just as the sun begins to set. I’m so exhausted from being in there I should probably go home and sleep, but the lack of progress that has been made with this case has my mind working overtime.
Lachlan helps Noah into his booster seat in the back of his car, gives him his IPad, and closes the door. The three of us stand outside, unsure what to say about the last few hours. Where are we supposed to go from here?
“Well, I couldn’t imagine a bigger waste of fucking time.” I’ll be the first to speak.
“Babe, they’re just trying to do their jobs.” Sloane has the power of calm. Like a superhero. She’s really great at diffusing intense emotional situations which I used to love about her. Used to. Now it irritates the piss out of me.
“No, if they were doing their jobs, they would have a lead.” I face Lachlan. “Did you remember anything else about the guy that passed us as we were going in?”
He lowers his gaze and frowns, head shaking slightly.
“Fucking great. This piece of shit is going to get away with it. You know that, right?”
Sloane lets out a puff of air. “I just don’t understand any of this. Who would shoot someone in front of their child? What kind of monster was at our wedding? Why would anyone want to hurt Sawyer?”
“What if…?” Lachlan’s quiet words nearly escape me.
“What if what?”
“I’m just thinking about something Sawyer told me once. She said one of the reasons you all left Woodsview was because her ex-boyfriend, Darren or whatever, had threatened her. How bad was it?”
“You mean Drew?” Sloane almost chokes on his name. “No. There’s no way he’s capable of doing that to her. Besides, he’s in prison.”
“Did you say anything to the cops about him?” I question Lachlan. He shakes his head.
Her ex-boyfriend may not have been the most standup guy, but would he really shoot her? I can’t see him pointing a gun and taking her life. The douchebag and I got into fights on a few occasions and he always backed down. He’s a big pussy. Plus, Sloane’s right, last I heard, he’s still locked up behind bars. So, who else does that leave as a suspect?
“Lach, can you take Sloane home?”
“Where are you going?” she asks as I turn to head for my truck a few spots over.
I’m glad we took separate vehicles so I don’t have to sit in a small space and pretend to be anything but pissed off. “For a ride. I’ll see you later.”
We thought about burying Sawyer in the Woodsview Cemetery where our grandparents were laid to rest, but having her close to Noah matters more, so we chose a plot here.
I stroll through the rows of headstones. Names, dates, and a few choice words. That’s what our lives are reduced to in the end. Everything we accomplish, every moment we breathe, every decision we make, every relationship we ruin. None of it matters when this is all that awaits you.
Sawyer Matthews
Beloved mother, daughter, sister, and friend
1993 - 2016
Fuck, Sawyer, it still doesn’t register that you’re resting below me and not standing beside me ready to kick my ass with your snarky attitude.
I bend and run my hand over her name etched in the granite. Then I sit on the cool grass, resting my back against a tree just in front of her plot.
“I’ve been trying to figure out the point to everything. Why we went through what we did as kids during our shitty childhoods. The point of it all. Why we always had each other. Why you were taken away from me. From Noah. That boy…he’s a wreck without you, sis, he really is. He was always a momma’s boy. But…Lachlan…he
’s trying real hard to be a good dad. To be the kind of father that Noah needs right now. I think you’d be proud of him. You’d be proud of both of them.”
The trees around me sway in the warm breeze.
“I’m going to find him, you know. If the police won’t do anything, then I’ll do it myself. I don’t know how, or when, but I promise you, I will find who is responsible for this and I will make the motherfucker pay.”
A shift in the air has me looking up to see one of the last faces I’d ever thought I’d see again.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I wanted to put these here for her.”
Nathan Fucking Cain crouches to place a bunch of wild flowers just below Sawyer’s name. I stand, taking a step back and attempt to wrap my head around what’s happening. Looking left then right, I can’t see anyone else, or cameras, because this sure as shit has got to be some kind of sick joke.
“What in the fuck are you doing here?”
He rises, taking a deep breath and holding it for a beat before letting it out. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you. Which I’m not going to.”
“Are you the one who left those flowers last week, too?” I thought Sloane had done it. She had a hard time leaving Sawyer’s gravesite after the funeral, and I just assumed she comes visits her like I do.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t offer any further explanations, and I’m coming up short for one on my own.
He pats his legs until he finds what he’s looking for in his pockets. Taking out a small package, he flips the lid open and pulls out a cigarette, wedging the stick between his lips, then reaches into the other pocket for a lighter. Once lit, he holds the pack toward me, offering me one.
I don’t smoke anymore, haven’t since Sawyer and Sloane both gave me hell for it years ago, but I can’t think of any other time that would call for one more. So, I take one out, and he passes the lighter.
We stand in silence, smoking and staring at her name etched before us. The weight of the situation creeps into me, and I find myself trembling. I take another drag of the smoke, and it calms me some.
Edges of Gone (The Gone Series Book 2) Page 3