Protector

by Laurel Dewey

  “There’s a possibility but we can’t confirm it,” Weyler said wearily. “Chris got a call several days ago that alluded to a possible situation.”

  “When were you planning on sharing this information with me?” Jane pointedly said to Chris.

  “Maybe when you shared what the kid likes to whisper to you!” Chris replied with a mean twist to his voice.

  Jane looked at Weyler. “If Emily is in real danger, I need to know about it.”

  “It was one call,” Weyler said. “Chris tried to trace it but it was from a phone booth somewhere in . . . where was it?”

  “Littleton,” Chris quickly replied.

  “More than likely it was some freak,” Weyler assured Jane.

  “Boss,” Chris said, “I know this guy’s fuckin’ crazy, but we have to turn over every rock just in case it leads to something significant. If we kick him, put a car on him. Find out where he’s going . . . who he’s talking to . . . We’ve gotta figure this out, dammit!”

  Weyler rested his hands on his hips and stared ahead deep in thought. “I appreciate your steadfast determination, Chris. But I just don’t feel it’s worthy of pursuit.” Weyler turned and headed into his office.

  Chris looked at Jane, burning holes of red hot anger into her. “If something happens to that kid, Jane, and it comes back to this guy, it’s on my head, not yours!”

  “He wants a one-way ticket to Atlanta! Or was it Atlantis?”

  “So he’s fucked up! That doesn’t mean there isn’t some weird connection!”

  “Exactly what connection would that be? Have you thought about what you were going to tell the DA’s office when you presented this character to them? Let’s see, he knows a bum who knows another bum who knows a guy who works at Starbucks who found the cigarette case in a dumpster behind Safeway. The one bum stole it from the guy at Starbucks, then that bum traded it to the other bum who then gave it to the guy sitting in there who’s catching the dream weaver train to Atlanta!”

  “We have to solve this crime.” Chris’ voice was tired and hoarse. “You just don’t get it. I’m going to lose every goddamn thing if I can’t put this case to bed. I’m working my ass off while you’re sitting back and chatting up the kid!”

  Jane moved closer to Chris and spoke in a confidential manner. “I never wanted anything to do with this case. I’m just doing what I’m told to do. And you, more than anyone, should understand that!”

  Chris regarded Jane with a quizzical eye. “What do you mean?”

  “Figure it out.” Jane turned away.

  Tension gripped Chris. “If you know something and you’re not telling me—”

  Jane wearily faced Chris. “I know a lot of things.” “That kid did tell you something—”

  “Maybe she did. But if I told you, I don’t know that you’d have the necessary discernment to evaluate it. God, Chris, look at you! You smell like piss and you look like shit. And you have the nerve to say that I’m fucked up?”

  There was an uneasy silence between the two of them. Chris sized up Jane. “You think you’re smarter than me?” Chris asked.

  “Right now? Yes.”

  “You don’t know everything, Jane.”

  “I know a shitpot more than you and that’s all that counts.” She turned on her heels.

  Chris stared at Jane with penetrating anger. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to talk to Weyler alone.”

  “Why alone?”

  “Chris, you really gotta take something for that paranoia.”

  “Like a drink?” Chris replied. Jane froze. Chris knew he hit a soft spot. “What’s it been? Two? Three days? That’s a fucking lifetime for you. Has your skin started to crawl yet? Has your head started to pound? Are your hands shaking? ’Cause I know how addicts get when they’re jonesin’ for a fix. And I’m looking at a walking example of it right now.”

  Jane turned around to face Chris. Everything he said was true but there was no way she would own up to it. “Fuck you.”

  Chris grabbed Jane by the arm. “No, Jane. Fuck you.” His cutting stare lingered before he headed down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

  Jane spun around and made her way into Weyler’s office. She closed the door and stood against his desk in an aggressive stance. “As far as I’m concerned, this case is over. Call Emily’s aunt and uncle in Cheyenne and get her out of this city!”

  “I’m not ready to cut and run. It was one phone call, Jane. One. And it was probably just some nutcase.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve ‘pretty much’ had it with the direction of this investigation. I’ve been lied to. I’ve been spied on. And I’ve been stuck in a house with a kid who’s got a puzzle piece memory and tells me stories of how her daddy liked to drink and how her parents liked to yell a lot.”

  “What else is she saying?” Jane hesitated for a second, but it was long enough to garner suspicion from Weyler. “What did she tell you, Jane?”

  There was no way Jane was going to bring up the whole “third voice” that Emily said she heard on that fateful night. Jane wanted the whole thing to be over and she was determined to do anything to make that happen. “It’s like I’ve said before. There is no justice or righteousness in making this kid remember what happened that night.”

  “That’s where you and I disagree. I say there’s no justice or righteousness without it! And I have the final word on this matter. So I suggest you turn around, go back to that house and continue to draw out what you can from that child’s memory. Do I make myself clear?”

  Jane stared at Weyler, gradually realizing that any attempts to argue were futile. She was stuck. Trapped. Lured into a situation that repelled and sickened her. All she wanted to do at that moment was to get in her car and drive and keep driving until she was a million miles away from that place. She wanted to numb the monster that was waking up inside her. Walking back into that house and facing Emily was like volunteering for torture. And yet, there were no words that would convince Weyler to change his mind.

  Jane instructed the patrol officer to stop by a sandwich shop en route to the Lawrence house. The way she was feeling, there was no way she was going to cook lunch. She arrived back at the house just before one o’ clock. Neighborhood kids gleefully rode their bikes alongside the pathway that edged around the glimmering lake. It was as though the world outside the Lawrences’ house was blissfully unaware of the nightmares that lay within the walls of that dwelling.

  Jane stopped at the front porch, gathering her reserves and turned the doorknob. The door was unlocked. She walked into the house, slamming the door behind her. Emily and Martha were seated at the coffee table. They turned around quickly in surprise. “The door is unlocked!” Jane yelled.

  “Oh,” Martha uttered, half-startled from Jane’s sudden entrance. “I went outside to pick some flowers to brighten up the room and I must have left it unlocked.”

  “Is that your story?” Jane said, moving into the living room toward Martha. “Because if that’s your story, I could get your ass fired for doing that!”

  “Detective! Your language!”

  “Fuck my language!” Jane countered. Her head spun in a disorienting haze.

  “Detective!”

  “Look, Jane,” Emily said, trying to break the tension. “I drew some pictures.” She held up a piece of art paper. “Martha told me to draw a picture of my feelings.”

  “A picture of your feelings? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jane dropped the sandwich bag onto the coffee table. “I picked up sandwiches.” She turned to Martha. “Two sandwiches. One for her and one for me.”

  “Lunch!” Emily exclaimed.

  Jane walked into the kitchen and came to a sudden halt. The back door was wide open. She walked into the living room, hell-bent for action. “Who left this door open?”

  Martha stepped forward. “I did! We needed some cross ventilation!�
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  Jane looked down at Emily who was busily opening up one of the sandwiches. “Did you go outside?”

  “No,” Emily said offhandedly.

  “Why are you causing such a scene, Detective?”

  Jane stormed into the kitchen, slammed the back door and locked it. Martha followed, irritated that she was being ignored. “Detective! I asked you a question!”

  Jane could feel herself slipping. She was seconds away from cold-cocking Martha across the floor. “Listen to me very carefully,” she said pointedly. “You know nothing about law enforcement and you know nothing about this case. I’m not sure what your job is, but as far as I’m concerned, you are a glorified babysitter and you’re not even good at that. Now, I’m back. That means you go!”

  “Detective, I do not know what has made you so upset or why you are demonstrating aggressive postures—”

  “Don’t analyze me!”

  “All I am saying is you need to get ahold of yourself and not project your anger onto that innocent child.”

  Jane leaned in close to Martha and spoke quietly but directly. “Martha, if you don’t get your fat ass out of here in the next five seconds—”

  “I will not be moved by threats!”

  Jane jerked forward and Martha quickly jumped back. “Get out!” Jane ordered.

  Martha turned around, slightly shaken, and walked into the living room. She gathered her belongings and crossed to Emily who was eating her sandwich. Martha leaned down and touched the flashlight that was still attached to Emily’s jumper strap. “Remember, Emily. Four quick flashes of light are our little signal.”

  Emily, her mouth full of bread and meat, could only nod her head and offer a slight smile to acknowledge Martha’s statement. Martha patted Emily on the head and left the house. Jane crossed toward the front door and locked it. She stood still, feeling trapped like a rat in a maze.

  Emily spoke up cheerfully. “You picked a good sandwich!” Jane didn’t move. Emily put down her sandwich. “Is everything okay?”

  Jane turned to Emily and stared at her. “This is not a game, Emily,” she said quietly. “We’re not here to have fun. We’re not here to get to know each other. They put you back in this house for one reason only. They want you to remember what happened the night your parents were killed so they can catch whoever did it. They know that you know some things based on certain evidence that was found in this house. I was put here to find out what you know. I’m not here to bond with you or tell you stories or play board games. Now, if any of that upsets you, that’s too damn bad. I’m here to do a job. So, I suggest you start thinking real hard so I can tell my boss something that will impress him so much that he’ll give the all clear and get us the hell out of here. There it is. Deal with it.” With that, Jane walked down the hall and into the kitchen, leaving Emily alone in gritty silence.

  The hours dragged on that Saturday afternoon. Shifts changed outside and the Memorial Day holiday weekend patrol went on duty. Two cars stayed out front and the police cruiser made its rounds down the back alley every thirty minutes. The whole thing was monotonous for Jane. With every hour that went by, she could feel herself sinking deeper into a dark pit. By sunset, a slow rain fell outside. It quickly turned into a steady downpour that pelted the windows and added an extra dose of misery to the scene.

  There had been few words exchanged between Emily and Jane after Jane’s abrupt statement to the child. Emily busied herself drawing pictures and later, taking a nap on the living room couch. It was when Emily lay fast asleep that Jane found herself staring with greater interest at the living room liquor cabinet. The longer she went without a drink, the more she couldn’t shut out her father’s berating voice. “You are nothing! You understand me?” There was no escape for Jane and it was driving her into a primal place of existence.

  By 7 p.m., the house felt cold and lifeless. A strong wind whipped the treetops outside the back door. Emily sat quietly on the living room couch, playing with the mini-flashlight Martha gave her. At one point, she was able to get the flashlight halfway into her mouth. She delighted in squeezing it with her teeth and making her cheeks glow red.

  “Stop it,” Jane said tiredly.

  Emily popped the flashlight out of her mouth. She turned on her side and looked at Jane’s bandaged hand. “Do you ever change that bandage?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “It looks real dirty—”

  “I change it, Emily.” Jane lit yet another cigarette. After taking a long drag, she nervously rubbed her fingers across the scar on her right temple.

  “Does your scar hurt?” Emily asked.

  “What?” Jane said, unaware of her actions.

  “The scar on the side of your head. You’re rubbing it.” Jane jerked her hand away from her head and let out an exasperated breath. “You think if you rub it hard enough it’ll disappear?”

  “Emily, stop it!” Jane was at her wit’s end. Emily watched Jane with renewed intensity. Jane stared straight ahead, all too aware of the child’s prying eyes. “And stop watching me.”

  “You’re the only other person in the room. Who am I—”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass, Emily!” Jane’s voice raised an octave. “I said to stop watching me and I mean it!”

  Emily sat up, confused by Jane’s confrontational behavior. She directed her glance across the room and spoke, “Why are you so nervous?”

  Jane turned to Emily. “What are you looking at?”

  “You said not to watch you,” Emily said, her eyes pinned across the room.

  “Hey!” Jane slapped her hand across the couch. Emily slightly jumped and turned to face Jane. “I also said don’t be a smart-ass.”

  Emily felt cornered. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a—”

  “Don’t argue with me!” Jane felt the walls closing in on her.

  “Okay,” Emily said almost inaudibly. “How come you’re scared?” she whispered.

  “I am not scared! Stop asking me that!”

  “But your hands are shaking . . .”

  Jane looked down and saw that, indeed, her hands were trembling. She stood up and walked across the room, taking hard drags on her cigarette and stealing a peek at the liquor cabinet. “I’m fine!”

  “Maybe you should change that bandage. Maybe your hand got infected—”

  “My hand is not infected!”

  “Tell me how you got hurt.”

  “You want to know?!” Jane screamed. “I fucked up! Okay?! I tried to save her and I fucked up!” Jane felt light-headed.

  “Who were you trying to save?” Emily said in a hushed tone.

  “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t save her.”

  A wave of fear hit the child. “But you can save somebody, right? I mean, if you had to—”

  “She died, Emily! She burned to death in a fucking car! And it’s all my fault!” Emily froze. “And this,” Jane held up her bandaged hand, “is what I’ve got to show for it!”

  Emily stared at the living room floor. She wanted desperately to explain what she felt inside but she knew Jane was too angry to hear it.

  Her mind drifted to her best friend, A.J. She wished A.J. was still in town so they could talk. No matter what the problem was, Emily felt she could always share her troubles with her. It wasn’t fair. Emily thought. A.J. and her family quickly moved away and didn’t even say good-bye. For a moment, Emily felt anger toward her chum but that soon dissipated into sadness and a longing to know why she left so suddenly. Emily fell back against the couch, fighting the loneliness that tugged at her heart. “I wish my mommy was here right now.”

  “You and me both, kid!” Jane nervously adjusted her shoulder holster.

  “Everybody is going away. Are you going to go away and not come back?”

  “Well, yes. This is not a permanent situation!”

  “Right,” Emily said dejected. “You want me to remember something big so we can get out of here—”

  “Exactly!”

/>   “So I can go live with my aunt and uncle in Cheyenne—”

  “When did you hear that?”

  “When you were on the phone this morning with your boss.”

  “So, you were eavesdropping?”

  “I go live with my aunt and uncle and then you can have a drink.”

  Jane stopped dead in her tracks. She turned to Emily, rage boiling underneath her skin. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You keep looking at Daddy’s liquor cabinet—”

  “So what!”

  “I saw you open it up this morning—”

  “Now you’re spying on me, too!”

  “I smelled it on you the first day I saw you. You’re just like my Daddy.”

  “Who in the hell do you think you are? Where do you get off judging me?”

  “Mommy said she could smell Daddy across the room when he drank—”

  “You think you’re so smart? Well, you’re not! You think you know people? Well, you don’t! You are way out of line! You hear me?”

  “I just know—”

  “You don’t know anything!” Jane screamed, her voice vibrating against the living room walls. “Get away from me!”

  “Why?”

  “Go upstairs!”

  Emily got off the couch. “I’m sorry,” she pleaded.

  “I don’t give a shit!” With that, Jane kicked over the coffee table, sending all of Emily’s art pictures scattering. “Go upstairs!”

  Fear gripped Emily. “Please, don’t. You’re the only one who can—”

  Jane cut her off. “Upstairs! You hear me?”

  Emily skirted the periphery of the living room and scooted up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  Jane’s pulse raced. She ran her fingers through her hair and let out a loud grunt of anger mixed with frustration. She plopped down onto the couch, sucking the last bit of life out of her cigarette. Jane briefly turned toward the liquor cabinet. Her head pounded in punishing syncopation. If she could sleep, maybe the pain would subside. Sleep. What a wonderful concept. To sleep with no dreams, no nightmares . . . if that were only possible. Jane felt herself slipping away as the couch embraced her body. Within less a minute, she was fast asleep.