Unbreak Me

by Alicia Cicoria

  “Can I be pink?!” She asked, holding up a pink-colored game piece.

  “Well, I don’t want to be pink.” I joked with her, picking up the red piece and placing it on the start position of the board game.

  Board games were our thing. It was the quality time we spent together, me trying to catch Delia at cheating and Delia trying to figure out new ways to cheat.

  “I want to be banker.” Delia demanded, though I knew she was going to say that the second we entered the house.

  “No cheating.” I warned her, cementing the threat with a waggle of my finger in her direction.

  She was getting the game set up and my phone rang. I mumbled a few words and her excitement faded when I signaled to her that I had to take it. I answered it but moved away from ear shot as Lucas started talking.

  It was about Wilcox serving me with papers.

  “I’ve got something you’re going to want to see.” Lucas said triumphantly into the phone.

  “Can it wait? Delia’s here and I promised to spend time with her.”

  I heard his sigh. Lucas had zero children. He didn’t understand a family life. He wasn’t used to me being unavailable. He wasn’t used to the fact I took my visitation with my daughter seriously. Of course, he wouldn’t. She had been available to me in constant when I was married.

  “Okay, nine tonight?”

  I agreed and ended the call with him. Once I got Delia tucked into her bed, I’d get the answers I needed. Lucas never called me if he didn’t have something solid.

  “Do you have to leave?” Delia’s eyes glistened with tears.

  It hurt to think I had caused this reaction in her. We hadn’t spent a weekend just us in a while. The last weekend when I had her, I turned my phone off but that hadn’t stopped another friend of mine coming over to have me look at his pickup.

  “No, Penguin, I’m staying here with you.”

  Her eyes lit up so drastically that I witnessed the joy behind them.

  I called Delia Penguin from the day she started walking. Most one-year olds were clumsy taking their first steps. Delia hadn’t been. She had been meticulous, almost to the point that she had calculated her steps before she acted on them. And, when I thought she would be walking like a five-year-old, she had surprised me when she jutted forward, her left side of her body moving with her left foot and the right side doing the same. It’d been the cutest damned thing in the world. She even flailed her arms out to the side like they were wings she couldn’t fly with.

  “Good, because I’m going to kick your butt in this game.”

  I shook my head at her, knowing she’d devised some plan while I had been on the phone with Lucas. I would let her slide, just this once.

  At nine p.m., Lucas’ headlights shone through the curtains in the living room. I had laid Delia down at eight-thirty, just to be sure she wouldn’t be awake when Lucas was here. The last thing I needed was her finding out about what I was doing, considering the fact Lucas and I suspected her mom was behind it.

  I eased the door open, wincing at the creaking noise the hinges made, as soon as Lucas trampled along the sidewalk. His boots crunched the winter mixture flat to the sidewalk. He held another manila folder in his hand, and I had to give him props for following this thing for so long. I was surprised he hadn’t left it on the back burner until after Christmas. No one in their right mind would want that much stress, on top of the stress of what the holiday rained down on you. Well, no one except Lucas, and I wasn’t even sure he had a right mind.

  He bounced up the steps with purpose and held out his hand for me to shake while thrusting the folder into my midsection at the same time.

  “I should just apply for that detective position now.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was in the folder. What it would mean. The last time that Lucas had hit me with the truth, I backed away and focused my energy into my work and into Amberly. Trying to erase her pain was much easier than admitting I had been framed, even if I had known the truth all along. I had left it alone until Wilcox served me with a sealed envelope that demanded my appearance in court. What were the odds that Wilcox and my ex-wife could be behind all of this?

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to see your divorce decree.”

  I shut the door, and twisted to face him. “Why?”

  “Dude, trust me.” He paced around my living room, like he was preparing to give me the mother of all speeches. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he had uncovered who had murdered the little girl who had gone missing from her home years ago.

  I retrieved the decree from my safe and presented it to him. He wasted no time in combing through it. The wheels in his brain turned with so much speed, I could see the smoke lifting off of his scalp.

  “Beer?”

  “Sure. I think you’re going to need one too.”

  I handed him a beer from my fridge. “I’m straight.” I hadn’t had a drop in a few months, though I stocked up for the random visits I got from Lucas.

  Lucas looked up from the stapled papers that hung loosely over his knees. “Get you a damn beer. When I say you’re going to need it, I mean it.”

  I shrugged and withdrew another beer, throwing myself onto the couch, waiting until he gave me permission to open the folder.

  Lucas pointed to a page and an uncontrollable smirk broke out across his face. He tilted his head back to let the beer fall to the back of his throat as he lifted the can. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve before saying anything. “Mac was entitled to half of your retirement and your savings plan, right?”

  When I confirmed what he had so obviously read in the paperwork signed by the judge, he continued, “what you overlooked is that the only way for her to touch your retirement plan was if you retired or quit.”

  I failed to follow where he was going with all of this. “I didn’t have a choice but to quit.” My eyebrows lifted up in confusion.

  “Exactly.” He took another gulp and stood up, one hand wrapped around his can and the other gripping the papers in a fist. “You’re not following me, are you?”

  I validated his question with a shake of my head.

  “Bryant, how bad would you say Mac would want your retirement sooner than when you retired?”

  “I haven’t thought about it.” I lied. I had thought about it. I'd thought about it since she blindsided me with the request of child support, even though she had promised she wouldn't ask for it as long as I continued making payments on our bankruptcy and she would agree to shared custody.

  Mac had promised that our assets and debt would be divided evenly. When her promise fell like a deflated balloon, I had to pretend like I had expected it. Rewinding time to all the times she was coming home with something else she had bought, it made sense. And—fuck spending money on myself. If it ever happened I got bitched at for no less than a couple of hours, followed by an ignore Bryant session that same night and maybe a night after. It took me much longer than I wanted to realize that Mac was a total conniving bitch.

  Lucas finished off the beer and crushed it in his hand before tossing it in the direction of my trash can. It bounced against the wall and then spiraled down into the plastic bag. “I have a theory that I’m pretty sure I proved with what’s in that folder you’re holding.”

  I inched closer because at this point, it didn’t seem like a fluke any longer. Lucas had something.

  “Go ahead, open it.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. I had no idea what I would pull out as I slipped back the lip of the folder, but I was sure it was going to shift my life in some way, shape, or form. The contents slid out and onto my lap. I stared at them like an idiot because I hadn’t an idea of what any of it meant. The top page showed a death certificate belonging to Sadie Wilcox. I flipped it to the back of the stack, going through paper after paper until I came across a familiar face. A copy of a driver’s license that was delivered to a Sasha Wilfred. It didn’t click. No matter how many times I studied eac
h page, wishing Lucas would just fill the silence with something other than the shuffling of the documents.

  “Why does Sasha Wilfred look like Sadie Wilcox?” Twins? My throat constricted and I swallowed painfully, my mouth lacking the saliva I needed to prevent cotton mouth.

  “Because, Sasha Wilfred is Sadie Wilcox.” Lucas sat beside me and fished through the papers I was holding. He laid the driver’s license and death certificate copies down on the floor, side by side. Then, he fished out a newspaper clipping and read the printed words. “Motorcycle accident claims the life of a beloved daughter, mother, friend, and lawyer.”

  When it hadn’t dawned on me what Lucas was getting at, he slapped the clipping against my palm and stood up. I took a drink of the beer I was holding, trying to relieve the feeling in my throat.

  “Sadie Wilcox was a lawyer who practiced in California. She died at the age of 32 when a motorcycle veered in her lane and to avoid it, she smacked into a cinder block. Killed instantly. Please tell me you get it.”

  It fell together like an impossible jigsaw puzzle. Sasha Wilfred stole the identity of Sadie Wilcox and was now portraying herself as a lawyer. Which meant, what she was doing was illegal. I let Lucas in on what I had figured out so far and he filled in the blanks for me.

  Sadie, aka Sasha, planted the drugs in my car so Mac could get my retirement money now versus years from now when I would have actually retired from the force. She knew I would never quit that department on my own. It also meant the court hearing was a bust. Once the judge found out that Sasha didn’t even hold a license as an attorney, Mac would have to go through the pain of finding another lawyer and setting another court hearing. If Mac knew about the entire ordeal, she would be held liable as well.

  The one great thing my lawyer had done was wording the decree so Mac couldn’t touch my retirement until I could. There was no chance of an early withdraw because she had signed off on the entire thing. She had figured it out though and now she would cash in sooner than the decree stated. She had gotten the process going of withdrawing my retirement, which meant there was a huge chance I could prevent it.

  Chapter 21

  Black

  Amberly

  Black Toyota Corolla. On the highway with a black Toyota Corolla. Now I needed to find the who behind the mystery and I’d be the winner of the game. A winner that won nothing but what? Peace of mind? The ability to approach the murderer and say, I forgive you even if he or she hadn’t asked for that forgiveness? A part of me wondered if they had laid awake at night and pondered what they could have done differently. Did they (man or woman) feel any sort of remorse? Or did they laugh triumphantly with the fact they got away with it?

  It’s not like I had believed the person who did it was an actual murderer. My exact definition of one was someone who had done it with intent, not by a split-second choice that ended in catastrophe. Still, what could you classify such a person? One that maybe had too much to drink and got behind the wheel instead of calling someone to come get them?

  I would never be able to live my life knowing my choice ended someone else’s. I’d have groveled at the feet of the person’s loved ones, asking for forgiveness and trying to find ways to help them cope—even if that meant moving so they’d never have to chance seeing my face again. I think that was what bothered me the most about not knowing who was responsible. It could be anyone. It could be someone I talked to every time I went to the grocery store. Someone I had to look at each and every day. What if they recognized me? I had to know.

  The report didn’t show any names and that aggravated me more than anything. I sifted through more clippings, none of them screaming out to me that they held the truth. That they held a name of any sort as to who was responsible. It was as though the entire town was conspiring against us.

  “It’s been an hour and nothing.” I slumped against the couch, tossing the papers I was holding onto the table.

  “Let’s get out of here then. Let’s go shoot.” Cricket offered, standing up. “Ten minutes. Time to get the aggression out.”

  I agreed and stood up to get dressed.

  The shooting range we always went to was a mere fifteen-minute drive. The pros of living in town didn’t go unnoticed by me. It fit the activities that Cricket and I always planned.

  I bit my lip as we entered the building, the same anxiety rushing over me as it always did. The unknown. The not knowing who had been the other party in the wreck. I didn’t want to continue living my life wondering if it were every single person I passed on a daily basis. For all I knew, that person could even be Cricket.

  Or it could be the one we greeted as we waltzed up to the counter, the one that was handing Cricket and I a receipt for the ammunition we purchased.

  I stared at her for a moment too long, almost to the point of me being creepy, before following Cricket to our designed shooting bay.

  The gun range was assorted into different categories. Younger kids shot in the first bay where there were five lanes. The middle bay was for law enforcement and others trying to obtain their conceal and carry. Military were also allowed in that bay. The third one was for recreational use. It was the bay you could use to shoot out your aggression. I had planned on doing just that.

  I positioned my earmuffs over my hair and placed my clear eyeglasses on my face before opening the second door to the bay. The first area was so you could prepare yourself before being met with the sound of gun shots. It was a tiny area that fit maybe ten people at best in it. After this, I wouldn’t be able to hear Cricket unless she spoke rather loudly, but you could bet I’d still be able to hear my gun go off.

  Smith & Wesson semiautomatic pistol. It had felt like ages since I had held it, though I know it wasn’t too long ago. After all, shooting was what Cricket and I passed our time with when it was too cold to enjoy much of anything else.

  She hung my target up and sent it down our lane. We always took turns shooting, we didn’t want to take up another lane since we needed breaks here and there throughout our time at the range. It made us feel less guilty for not being able to shoot our guns as much as someone more skilled could do.

  “Ready?” She mouthed, stepping to the side to let me load the bullets into my gun.

  It wasn’t anything fancy, though I had engraved Haylie’s initials onto the handle. I was shooting for her. I was letting out my aggression for her. It was a healing process, as if shooting took my pain away…….one bullet at a time.

  For the first few rounds, my hands shook. I was able to steady them by my fifth shot. I wasn’t careless with the gun, though it made me nervous. That was a habit I was trying to free myself from. Cricket had said the more time I spent shooting, the less I’d feel nervous about it. I’d feel more in-tune with my weapon.

  My shots rang out, hitting the target where I aimed. I was a decent shot. If someone ever broke into my home, I was confident I could score a shot at their leg, if nothing else. It would slow them down and their threat level would dwindle with that one shot.

  Cricket had been shooting a lot longer than me, so I knew her target would be obliterated. She enjoyed that more than a target kept in one piece with a few shots on the bullseye.

  I hung my first target on my wall, behind a frame. No one but Cricket knew the secret behind it. I had felt free for the first time since Haylie’s death. I had pretended the target was the person who’d taken Haylie away from me. I had broken down, fallen to my knees and my face became an instant home for a rainfall. It poured out of me with purpose, as each tear fell one more piece of me was being delivered back to complete myself. I had been lost and those tears piled upon the one before it, like they had frozen and were building a brick wall inside of me.

  I shot at the Corolla. In that moment, the flimsy paper target had transformed itself into a heaping mold of metal. The headlights beamed down the range, flashing me with a cyclonic pattern of taunt. I wasn’t scared. I wouldn’t be scared…even as it bounded down the lane looking for its nex
t victim.

  I screamed and shot at it, my shots ringing through the air in a symphonic procession. I didn’t stop, aiming for different areas and hitting them with precision. I kept pressing my finger against the trigger, even as the bullets emptied to a bare chamber.

  Cricket’s hands clamped over my outstretched arms, bringing the gun down to aim at the floor. My chest heaved with indignation, to the point I had to slow down my breathing, otherwise I’d be on the brink of hyperventilation.

  She strained to pull the gun from my grasp. Surprise clouded her eyes as she stared me down. Something clicked in me. I could feel the thirst for revenge pulsing through my body. It felt similar to a song where the bass was calibrated to the point of shaking you out of your seat.

  She dragged me from the range. “What the hell was that?” From the tone of her voice, I could sense her anger. Instead, when she turned around I saw nothing but elation pricking her features.

  “I... I... I d-d-don’t know.” I stammered, clambering for the appropriate words to describe what I was feeling. Not a single word would be deemed accurate. “We have to find that car.” I said with finality. It was the beginning of retribution for me.

  My enemy would be punished for what they did. Fuck forgiveness. Revenge felt so much easier. It fueled me in a way no other emotion could compare. I was dying for the surge of energy it surrounded me with. The mere thought of delivering punishment to someone who had slipped by the system and gotten to go home to lay down at night, had me reeling with excitement.

  “We will. Give it time.” Cricket reassured me, packing our guns back into their cases. “I’m going to get your target. We can come back next weekend.”

  I didn’t object, though I knew next weekend there would be a date with Bryant. Thinking about him had me feeling guilty, the date didn’t sound as appealing as it had before I’d envisioned my target as the weapon used in Haylie’s demise.

  We emptied out into the parking lot where I inhaled a huge burst of crisp, icy air. It coiled on its way into my lungs, taking residence where it was most needed. Eventually, the air would reach my brain and I might be able to think with clarity.