The Things We Don't See

by Jessi Brazzell

  They kept their eyes focused on me and I looked to the detective again, “Well, where is he?”

  “Chloe, isn’t it?” she asked, reaching in her pocket to pull out a small black notebook.

  “Yes…”

  “Chloe, where were you Saturday evening?” she asked.

  “What? Why do you need to know where I was on Saturday? I need to know where my husband is now.”

  “I think it is in your best interest to answer the question, Mrs. Damichi.”

  I anxiously looked at the wiry red-haired man. His beady eyes staring back at me made my skin crawl. He was one of those people that just gives you the creeps. Maybe his job in law enforcement was his gateway, his cover for finding his victims. Either way, I was appreciative for Detective Burns being the lead despite her rather unpleasant personality because being alone with that man was not something I would ever want to do.

  “I am sorry, I do not understand. Where is Carson?”

  “Mrs. Damichi, your husband was found about two hours ago,” Detective Burns said.

  “Okay, great. I will call him now.” Their lack of information was starting to annoy me.

  “Chloe, your husband was murdered.”

  I heard what she said but it didn’t settle on me. I pushed her words aside and stepped over the busted phone in the floor to grab my cell from my purse. “No,” I said casually.

  She reached down and rested her hand on mine, “Chloe, I am sorry for your loss.”

  “No, I just need to try him again,” I said numbly, fighting my hand away from hers. My hands shook as I tried to dial his number and I fell to my knees when I listened to his voicemail pick up on the fourth attempt. This could not be happening, not to me, not to Carson.

  “Chloe, I know this is a difficult time, but there are some questions we need to ask you.”

  “You must have the wrong man,” I said, my crying stopping abruptly. I stood up, straightened my dress and wiped away the tracks of tears from my face while she looked at me sympathetically.

  “Why would someone murder Carson? There must be some mistake,” I told her walking to the door. None of them followed me and I angrily looked back at them. “I need to see this man you found. It is not Carson! My husband could be in real trouble right now and you are wasting time. This man you found is not my husband.”

  Detective Burns pulled a picture from the mantle and walked across the room to me. She reached her hand out and I looked down at our vacation picture from Maui. I stared at Carson’s tanned skin and flowered swimming shorts and I felt the tears welling in my eyes again. “Chloe, is this man your husband?”

  I couldn’t find words. I couldn’t make a response come out. My shoulders began rocking and I burst out into tears as I fell back into the door.

  “Chloe, I am very sorry. We will take you to identify the body but we need to ask some questions first. Can you answer some questions for me?”

  Her words sounded so far away from me as my mind filled with thoughts of Carson. Could he really be gone? Who would have done this? Why would someone have done this?

  “Was it painful?” I asked her, cutting off her trail of questions.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Did Carson suffer?”

  “Mrs. Damichi, I understand how hard this must be. But I do not think speculating about the circumstances is going to be helpful to you right now.”

  She was probably right, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. People are supposed to grow old and die, not get murdered. Not my husband. “How did he die?”

  She stressfully rubbed her forehead and quickly looked to the other men. Her pause in giving me an answer was infuriating.

  “How did he die!?” Saying that out loud hit me like a wave of bricks with the very word die sinking in.

  “The actual cause of death is still unknown, Mrs. Damichi. I can tell you that the murder was not random. This was a premeditated and personal murder.”

  “Personal?” I asked, trying to make sense of what she had just said. The actual cause was still unknown, how many possibilities could there be? And aren’t all murders personal?

  “Mrs. Damichi, I need to know if anyone had a personal vendetta against your husband. Was he having any problems at work with clients, or even associates?”

  Oh, my God. I do not even know the answer to that. He and I have been so distant from each other for years that I cannot even remember the last conversation we had about anything other than appearances. I felt my face staining with tears again as I looked at her, speechless. She handed me a tissue before looking to the other men.

  “Mrs. Damichi, if you need some time to process I can meet with you later,” she offered impatiently. Her condolences were short lived and her gruff persona was coming back.

  “I need to see him.”

  Her head fell while she took in what I had said and I knew that she was debating telling me no again. But she didn’t. She glanced to the other men and stood to face me. “I will drive you to the scene, but I need you to be prepared for what you are about to see,” she warned. “This is not an accident, Chloe. This is a murder scene. It is not something I would suggest you see but I will not deny you that. It is ultimately your decision.”

  I looked back to the other men and their eyes danced with the same caution hers did. But I couldn’t stand the thought of him being there alone if it really was him. I couldn’t stand the thought of him just being a center piece in some investigation, displayed like some coming attraction for everyone to see. I needed to know for sure that it was even him.

  “I understand,” I told her confidently before I walked to the front door again. She led me outside to her car and I watched the other men get in a separate vehicle. My feet rested on several different brown drive-thru bags and the lingering cigarette smoke was suffocating. I cracked my window when she lit a long, white cigarette and debated on telling her it was rude to not ask if I minded, because I did mind. But I had too much going on to have a debate about manners with this detective, she didn’t really seem like the reasoning type anyway.

  I jumped up in the seat when I saw Mila and Brian’s house. “This is it?” I asked, anxiously looking around at all the police cruisers and unmarked cars parked in the park entrance across the street.

  “Yes, I suggest we make a brief appearance and get you back home. This place will be swarming with pedestrians and news crews in about an hour. Are you certain this is something you want to do?”

  “Yes…” I said slowly with the reality starting to settle on me.

  She pulled to a stop and I could feel my breath growing thinner as I looked around at all the yellow caution tape.

  “Do you know this place?” she asked.

  “Our friends live right over there,” I told her, pointing back to Mila and Brian’s house. They bought their house because of this park, specifically because of how close it was.

  Her car door opened and suddenly, I didn’t want to get out. I wasn’t ready to see what was behind the tape. If what she said was true, I wasn’t ready to face it. She pulled my door open slowly and watched the conflict building on my face. “Are you going to be okay? We can still leave, Chloe.”

  I looked out through the windshield and watched while a black, unmarked van pulled away. I gasped at the small glimpse of a white sheet just inside the tree line.

  “Carson!” I jumped out of the car and ran passed Detective Burns. “Carson?” I cried out as I fell to the ground next to him. My eyes fixed on the blood that was staining through the material of the white sheet and I looked over it as the entire torso seemed to be stained with different shades of red.

  My lungs were fighting to let air in as I sat next to the body and I couldn’t steady my hands enough to move the sheet away from his face.

  Detective Burns knelt on the other side of him and she fought to get my attention. “Chloe, would you like me to remove the sheet?”

  I looked up to her then and sat frozen, waiting for her to p
ull it back. She hesitantly motioned for the cameras to back away and then looked back to me. My eyes followed her hand as she slowly reached for the corner of the sheet.

  I could see his sandy blonde hair still perfectly styled as she started to move it away. I choked on the air when the sheet revealed his face to me and I fell onto his body. This was my Carson. This was my husband, my life.

  I could feel her pulling me away from him but I didn’t want to let him go. I looked down to his motionless face again and the blood smeared on it made me nauseous. “No,” I said quietly, staring down at the blood. He was so vain that he would never want his face to be blemished and I frantically wiped away at it as I cried harder from the coldness of his skin.

  “Mrs. Damichi, I am so sorry,” I heard over and over but it was like the words were a million miles away from me and all I could see was my dead husband laying in front of me.

  I broke free from her grip on my shoulders and crawled away from him to vomit. There was a small yellow marker next to me with the number one printed on it. The two men that were at the house rushed over and pulled me to my feet and ushered me back to the car. I looked back to Carson and watched a young woman snapping pictures all around the area who would most likely get a close up of my stomach contents with my vomit not so conveniently landing right next to an evidence marker.

  “Chloe!” I heard someone yelling repeatedly and I numbly looked around.

  “Mila…”

  I could feel her body trembling, she too was crying heavily while she held me in her arms telling me how sorry she was over and over again.

  “Why would someone do this?” I asked in almost a whisper.

  Her head shook against mine and I felt her arms squeezing me tighter.

  “I will take her with me,” Mila offered to the detective.

  “Is it okay if I come by for a few minutes?” she asked Mila and she looked to me for approval.

  I nodded to the detective and let Mila lead me away. My feet were moving but I didn’t even feel present. I didn’t feel anything. My mind was completely blank, apart from the repeated whys I kept asking myself, as we made our way across the street.

  We walked into their house and I stopped to look at Brian sitting with his head in his hands at the dining room table. His shoulders were rising and falling heavily but no sound was coming from him. He didn’t know we had even walked in and I watched Mila rush over to comfort him.

  He quickly wiped away at his face and looked up at me. I stared into his blood shot eyes and couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He had been Carson’s best friend since high school. They had gone to college together and started their own firm together, he was a much bigger part of Carson’s life than I ever was.

  “I need to use the restroom,” I said when Brian’s apparent devastation started to get to me. Mila pointed to the guest bathroom and I stood looking at the door, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the presence of company.

  “Oh, go ahead to ours, sweetie,” she said when she saw how much I just wanted to get away.

  I made my way down the hall and through their bedroom. I looked at their four-poster bed trying to imagine what their marriage must be like. Were they happy? Did they even share the same bed anymore? Or were they like me and Carson, just going through the motions and not really stopping to pay attention to the person who was sharing the same life? My weight pushed the bathroom door shut behind me and I slid to the floor. I hugged my knees to my chest and let myself cry. There was no denying it now, my husband was dead.

  I know that death is inevitable, but when it happens so suddenly, it is an unimaginable reality. I don’t think a person is capable of fully comprehending the fact that the very existence of their loved one has just completely seized to exist. Their very presence is completely retired. The reality of death is that the person is simply nothing more than a memory and comprehending that fully is unbearable.

  I finally stood and stumbled to the mirror. My reflection was almost unrecognizable from the smeared mascara that stained my face, mascara that was left over from my dinner make up the night before. I shuffled through the vanity, three overflowing drawers of make-up and one drawer of jewelry, before finally finding a hand towel to wipe away the evidence of my break down. And I exhaled before turning to walk back to the dining room.

  “I am so sorry, Chloe,” Brian said shakily as I walked in to sit at the table with him. I wanted to tell him I was sorry too. I felt like I owed that to him. But I couldn’t. I knew that if I attempted to speak, I would break down again.

  I stared down at the swirling wood grain in the mahogany and let myself get lost in the design. My thumb ran across the glossy finish, recognizing the resemblance in some of the shades to those that stained the sheet covering Carson. I jumped when I felt a hand rest softly on my shoulder and I looked up to see Detective Burns. She forced a smile and sat down between me and Brian.

  “I am going to make us all some coffee,” Mila mumbled before she rushed off into the kitchen.

  “Brian, were there any high-profile cases that you and Carson were working on? Was there anything that would have caused conflict for Carson?” Detective Burns asked.

  I looked to Brian but he sat staring off at the wall. “We handle business and corporate law, nothing that would really gain the personal interest of an individual,” he finally answered. “I can give you a list of all our clients if that would help.”

  “Yes, it would. So, Brian, as of right now, you are the last person who saw Carson alive. Is there anything you can tell me about his behavior? Was there anything out of the ordinary?”

  He shook his head slowly and I could see him searching for anything that would help. “No, we talked about dinner for his birthday and he told me he was going home. He went to the restroom and I left. We usually walked out together but I didn’t wait for him that night,” he trailed off with a creased face that was an apparent sign of guilt for not waiting.

  “Did you and Carson have any conflicts?” she asked.

  “Never. We have known each other for fifteen years and never even had a disagreement. He was like my brother,” he said before he quickly looked back down at the table.

  He was right. They were like brothers. I had never heard either of them even hint at saying a negative thing about the other, but I also didn’t speak with either of them. Not really.

  “I understand. I am just going to go ahead and cover all bases now.”

  “Was he shot?” I asked abruptly. If he had been shot, a gun should easily be traceable. And surely there would have been a witness. Someone would have heard that.

  “Uh, no. He was not shot,” she said looking between me and Brian.

  “What happened to him?” Brian asked.

  “He was stabbed.”

  I gasped in air so hard it caused a deep pain in my lungs and felt myself growing sick again. Murder is murder, but stabbing? That is what she had meant by it was personal. “Was he robbed?” I finally ask, fighting to steady my breathing.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no? Then why?” Brian demanded, clearly trying to find his own explanation.

  “This murder was not random. Whoever did this to Carson was someone who knew him, probably closely,” she said as she studied both of us again.

  “But Brian and I are really the only people he associates with on a personal level,” I pointed out.

  “Well, we will question each of you further to eliminate you as suspects. But please understand that right now, everyone is a suspect.”

  Isn’t that ironic? The people who are the closest to the victim are the ones who get put through the most hell on both accounts. First, you have to deal with the absolute devastation of losing someone but then, you are forced to be the center of the blame for something as savage as murdering them? Some justice system this is. “Okay, that is fine. But I would like to get any questioning out of the way as soon as possible so you can work toward finding the person responsible,” I said a
nd quickly straightened my posture to give her the impression that I was mentally prepared. I couldn’t stand the thought of them wasting time focused on me and Brian when the person responsible was still roaming around freely.

  “I understand. We can go to the station now if that is okay.”

  “Yes.”

  “I would like to come as well,” Brian said, and he stood with us. “Mila, can you come here please?”

  The coffee cups were clattering together as her shaking hands carried them into the room. I could see her red eyes that were fresh from crying and I slowly reached out to take the cups from her. She was clearly taking this very hard as well but then again, who wouldn’t?

  “Mila, we are going to the police station,” Brian explained.

  “Chloe, if you would like to ride with me then we can get some of the questions out of the way on the drive,” Detective Burns said. I forced a smile to Brian and Mila and followed her out of the front door.

  “Do you mind if I call you Chloe from now on?” she asked, buckling her seatbelt.

  “No, please do.”

  “Okay, Chloe, did your husband visit that park often?”

  Again, my face burned, realizing that I didn’t even know him that well. Not as well as a woman should know her husband. I couldn’t answer her truthfully on whether or not he visited the park because I had no idea.

  “Detective Burns, this may not sound like the best answer to your question, but I do not know,” I admitted and I felt another tear falling from my face.

  “That is okay, Chloe. I am more interested in the proximity to your friends’ home.”

  “Brian would never hurt Carson,” I said, shocked. I couldn’t even allow the possibility in my mind.

  “Okay, would you like a lawyer present at the station? We can provide one for you or you can call your own to meet you there.”

  “No, that is not necessary.”

  She was quiet the rest of the drive and I figured it had something to do with the conversation not being recorded.

  The entire station quieted when we walked through the lobby. The smell of burnt coffee was strong, but the feeling of being the object of everyone’s stare was much stronger. Some people like to be the center of attention, not me. I never even played sports because the idea of eyes being directly fixated on me made my stomach queasy, much like it was walking through the crowded station.