Don't Forget to Breathe

by Cathrina Constantine

  My memories had lived in a polluted smog of imprisonment for a year. After Mom’s murder I disliked Detective Mark Dyl and thought him incompetent. He’d suspected Henry from the beginning, however, Dyl was certain of an even deviant accomplice. Ethan might’ve gotten away with murder if Dyl jumped the gun and detained Henry. If Henry implicated his father, Ethan could’ve easily brought up Henry’s psychiatric evaluations and being a suspect in an unsolved murder of the young girl, proving him legally insane.

  Officer Simmons’s nudged me back to the present, speaking into a microphone. “Detective Mark Dyl stated Ethan James and Henry James confessed to murdering Lillian Nelson on October, twenty-fifth, 2013. And on October, first, 2014, Ethan James and Henry James murdered Skipper Townsend and David Galbraith. For the record, do you corroborate with Detective Mark Dyl’s statement?”

  I said too soft, “Yes.” My deposition was being recorded.

  “You need to speak up, Leocadia.” The officer shifted the mic closer to me. “We have reason to believe that there is another accomplice or person involved.”

  “I…I thought Henry.” Why’d I feel like I was on trial.

  “Leo, this isn’t meant to upset you, but I’d like you to listen to the 911 call you placed to the police on October, twenty-fifth of last year.” Her observant eyes watched me. “It was after you discovered your mother. Can you do this for me?”

  My face went numb, nodding.

  She pressed a button and a distraught female’s voice came through the speakers. “Help! Somebody killed my mom! I’m at 3 Lucien Court!”

  “Leocadia, did you make that call?”

  “I have no recollection of ever making a call.” My anxious fingernails continued to rub over the metal table. “I passed out after, after…”

  “Leo, this isn’t your voice.”

  “What?”

  “Voice analysis proves it to be someone else entirely. Possibly a woman’s tone trying to sound girlish.”

  “How come it took a year to figure that out?”

  “A year ago when you suffered with retrograde amnesia and didn’t remember making the call, we accepted the fact it was your voice. I’ve been studying the case files and decided to test my theory.” Officer Simmons’s tucked her lips into her mouth for a second. “Dyl was thorough, but admitted he didn’t make a voice analysis.”

  Assembling the paperwork, she breezed shut the manila folder. “I think we’re through here, for now.”

  “Is Mom’s murder investigation finally closed?”

  “We found the boots in Henry James’s bedroom which incriminates him to the murders and the dagger.” Officer Simmons’s ended her supposition, expressing a firmly lined mouth.

  “So, what are you trying to tell me?”

  “I’m not ready to close the case.”

  I wanted it to be over.

  Chapter 53

  Approximately a week later, a convalescing Becket and I shared a roast beef sandwich and chips at Earl’s. I smiled into his intense blue eyes. “You’re looking better today.”

  “I thought I looked good yesterday,” he chided with mirth. “Is that your classic eye roll?”

  “Get used to it, bud.” I pulverized a chip with my teeth. “You’ll be seeing a lot of it.”

  “I’ll drive you to the game tonight, if that’s alright.”

  “I thought the doctor’s said you shouldn’t be driving with the meds?”

  “Screw the doctors, I’m fine. It’s bad enough I can’t finish out the season.”

  “The doctor’s won’t let you play?”

  “I’m done for the season, go figure.” He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed before saying, “There’s only two games left anyway.”

  “That’s good. The weather’s going downhill. It’s been freezing lately.”

  He tossed the last chip into his mouth. “Ready to go?”

  “Yep.”

  Since Becket arrived home from the hospital, we’d been spending time together—as friends. I’d talked endlessly with Nona over his change of attitude and, her advice was to give him time to heal. After lunch, I chauffeured Becket to Hallow Saints Cemetery. I clung to a pot of hardy mums as I got out of the car and we meandered to my mom’s gravesite.

  “Come here, I want you to see this cool statue.” I directed him to the Saint Michael statue with his sword piercing the air.

  “Kind of looks like me, don’t you think?” Becket mocked.

  “Exactly like you.”

  His eyes darkened looking down at me. His hand came up and gently held my chin between his thumb and finger. With his eyes open, like he was watching for a sign of rejection, Becket drew near. Our lips bonded, a timeless kiss of perfection setting my heart on fire. Falling into his kiss, my toes curled.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that all week,” he said making a breath of space.

  “And I’ve been waiting all week.”

  With accuracy, he hungrily recaptured my mouth. The potted mum acted as a barrier, yet I gravitated my right arm beneath his leather jacket, gliding up his back. This time, I pulled back. “Mom’s waiting.”

  Breathing shallow, he said, “Oh—right.”

  We passed an inordinate display of headstones, then I halted and knelt, fixing the pot beneath her carved name. “Hi, Mom. I want you to meet Becket.” He loomed over me, and noticed him wince as he squatted, still wracked with pain from his wounds.

  “Leocadia,” he said following a meditative silence. “She wants you to be happy.” He then skimmed a hand under my hair and over my neck and kissed my cooled cheek.

  ***

  On Sunday afternoon, Dad banged the kitchen table with a fist, rife with animosity. “What the hell is wrong with our judicial system? This is over—this is over. They found Lily’s killer. Why did they haul me in asking the same questions over and over?” He shoved from the table, knocking over the chair. “You’re in the middle of this?”

  “It wasn’t me who called that day,” I illuminated again.

  “Well it sure as heck wasn’t me.” He turned, fire flaring in his eyes. “It was probably Henry disguising his voice. That’s what I told them.” He pointed a finger in my face. “I ordered you not to hang around with that flaky kid. I ordered you!”

  “Dad, stop it.” If he wanted to play that harassment game, I was done pussy-footing around. Rallying courage, I aimed for maturity. “Admit it. Just admit it!”

  His fiery expression extinguished.

  “Dad, please. Then it’s over.” I remained seated afraid my legs wouldn’t support me. “I’ve remembered for a while now. You were there.

  “I don’t know why you were there—at that time of day, especially with Regina.” I guessed about the woman, and a palpable splotchy complexion gave me my answer. “Unless…unless you knew Mom was in trouble.” Internally I prayed—no, it’s not true—prove me wrong.

  Emitting a twinge of grief and grasping for absolution, he deflated and collapsed in on himself and the chair.

  “It was horrible—gruesome—my God,” he yowled with a desolate whimper. “There was nothing I could do—Lily was dead. I couldn’t handle it. I just want this all to go away.”

  I wasn’t through interrogating. “Why didn’t you tell the police you where there?”

  “I…I didn’t have time to think. I was scared. I was being audited at work for financial discrepancies…and…and they’d have me pegged as her killer because of…of…” Riddled with guilt, his eyes pleaded for sympathy which wasn’t forthcoming. “You saw how they treated me…afterwards.”

  “Because you were screwing your business partners? And your secretary. You decided to leave me alone? For a whole year, you knew.”

  “That’s unfair.” Two handedly he clutched his head. “Lily hooked-up with that demented neighbor, it was her own fault. And I never suspected Dyl. I swore to you she was no saint, remember?”

  My stiff fingers keyed in Officer Simmons phone number.

  Epilogue<
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  Somehow he finagled it, Dad had been granted immunity. He would not be prosecuted for withholding evidence and systematically exonerated by a voice mail message he’d saved on his cell: “Paul, when Leo gets home from school we’re leaving for California. It’s been over between us for a while and I’ll retain a lawyer to discuss custody. I can’t stay in the Hallow another day. I should’ve explained sooner. I’m worried and…scared.” She pauses here, breathing raspy. “I thought I could handle it. There’s someone…he’s—” Then a clanging doorbell and pounding and Lily’s frightened whisper, “Oh God, he’s here.” The message ended with a click, and Lily’s phone was never recovered.

  Dad, completely shaken and couldn’t drive, hence Regina drove him home. They found me passed out in the hallway and Regina phoned 911 from my cell. He hadn’t provided the evidence when he was being grilled by the police. He thought it might incriminate him as a partner in crime due to his work discrepancies. He’d fled the murder scene, traumatized, dazed, and scared shitless.

  It had been Ethan who tackled me in the attic that day when I unexpectedly showed up. The day I’d found Mom it had been Henry who said, “I’m not going to kill you. Not yet.” The feel of his clammy hands that covered my mouth and the tangible marijuana odor had been prevalent then and, the day Detective Dyl died. If the vase hadn’t broken in the Lucien mansion, deterring Henry, it makes me sick to think what would’ve happened. I deemed Mom had a hand in that. She’d been with me the whole time, and knew I’d be the next victim. She saved me and helped to uncover her killers.

  It was over. Case closed.

  People are flawed—big time. I learned it the hard way, a lesson that sliced a cavernous scar into my heart. A scar that swells and blisters on occasion.

  In Dad’s defense, I’d been a prime witness to his self-punishment. He loved me. Would I ever forgive him for remaining silent, for leaving me alone, for being a coward? It had been complex to shorten Mom’s saintly pedestal. My love for her would be everlastingly.

  ***

  The brisk autumn afternoon and Losson Park was aglow with the last vestige of colorful leaves. We’d gathered for the traditional Turkey Bowl, tag football game. My first year competing and I was hyped, much improved than cheering on the sidelines. Participating in the game I set my sights for my boyfriend.

  “C’mon, Becket.” Reggie acted as defensive linebacker. “Throw the ball. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re hurting, bro. My teammate will take it easy on you when she comes in for the sack. Won’t you, Leo?” He rascally winked.

  “Sure I will, Reg.”

  Becket shouted to his teammate, “Nona, go long.” The petite spitfire sprinted downfield to our makeshift goal, cans of soda lining the zone.

  Reggie was hot on her tail and I made a bee-line for Becket. He lobbed the ball and crouched low, taking the full impact of my body into his arms. We tumbled and rolled onto pliable grass, laughing.

  Crutched on his elbows, Becket gazed into my face, eyes vibrant and alive. He delicately plucked a piece of hair from my lips and whispered, “Leocadia, I’ll always love you.”

  I smiled and shivered in anticipation, and to seal his promise, he kissed me.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  I was ecstatic when my publisher, SJ Davis at Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly, emailed me saying how much she loved ‘Don’t Forget to Breathe.’ It’s such a wonderful feeling to see your hard work coming to fruition. I’m truly grateful and indebted to SJ Davis for offering me this opportunity. Her ‘Yes’ made Don’t Forget to Dream a reality. To Elizabeth Anne Lance for her expertise in editing Don’t Forget to Breathe, which I know wasn’t any easy task. To Rue Volley for creating a phenomenal cover, which I absolutely am in love with. I’m indebted to everyone on the Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Team for their hard work, support and encouragement!

  To my family who put up with me when I turn into a zombie at the computer. To all my friends and support group and especially all my readers, I wouldn’t write without you!