by Jay Lang
I put her drink and snack on the side table, then cover her with the throw blanket from the bottom of the bed.
I putter around the kitchen, trying to decide what to make us for dinner. Because of how Annie is feeling, I forgo anything heavy and opt for vegetable soup. After about twenty minutes, I tiptoe into the bedroom, finding both Annie and Stinky still passed out cold. I back out of the room and slowly close the door. Then I head to the pantry.
After maneuvering up the wooden shelf, I carefully push the hatch open and hoist myself the rest of my way using my arms. The small amount of light coming from the open hatch provides just enough illumination to see the sleeping bag. It’s flat. “Denny?” I whisper. There’s no response.
As I crawl over to the sleeping bag on my hands and knees, the tips of my fingers hit something hard and cylindrical. The flashlight. It rolls across the wooden floor, making the loudest noise I’ve heard in my life.
I hold my breath and stop moving so I can hear if I woke up Annie or the dog. When I hear nothing, I spread my arms out in front of me and sweep the floor, trying to locate the small flashlight. I’m in the darkest part of the room where the pantry room light can’t reach. I hope to hell there’s no dead rats or anything up here, and I pray my hands don’t hit anything squishy or furry.
Finally, my finger touches something. It’s the flashlight. Grabbing it, I sit up and turn it on.
I shine the light slowly around the room. At one end are stacked totes and a few boxes. At the other end, an old picnic table umbrella and a rolled-up plastic thing that looks like our old inflatable boat. Man, I haven’t been up here for years. Dad never installed a ladder from the pantry room, so the few times I’d come up here I’d done it the same as today, by crawling on the shelf. Usually, my mom had lots of small jars of jam and other things loaded on it, so I’d knock stuff over when I was climbing—hence the reason I was never allowed up here.
I shine the light on my hands. They’re covered in dust. Next, I point the light at the floor. There are many footprints in the dirt leading from one end of the room to the other. I can’t tell which are my brother’s and which are from the cops when they were searching up here.
As I continue to shine the light around the room, I see that one of the boxes is open. Maybe Denny was rooting around in stuff. I don’t blame him if he was. He must have been bored senseless.
I set down the flashlight and grab the sleeping bag to roll it up. As I roll it up, I feel something small and firm inside. I stick my hand between the layers and pull out a square thing that feels like leather. When I shine the light on it, I recognize it right away—it’s Denny’s wallet. My dad gave it to him when he turned eighteen. Stamped into the supple leather is a dragon with Denny’s initials under it. I can’t believe he kept it for all these years. But why would he leave it behind?
Maybe he panicked when he heard the police downstairs talking to Annie. Maybe he left the wallet in his hurry to escape when he had a chance. But if he doesn’t have his wallet, how could he get off the island?
I stuff the wallet in my pocket and finish rolling up the bag, then crawl over to put it in the corner next to the open box. When I set the roll down, my eye catches something behind the box. I shine the light on it. There, propped against the wall, is Dad’s 22 rifle. As far as I know, he never shot anything with it. He just thought that a gun is something real men owned.
I hate guns. I’ve never fired one and have no interest in having one here, in my home, especially if Denny’s around. The last thing he should have access to is a gun. I put the gun beside the hatch so I don’t forget it when I leave. I’ll give it to Tim or turn it in. Anything to get it out of here.
My attention refocuses on the open box. I crawl back to it and peer in.
A reddish-brown photo album sits on top. I take the album and cradle it with one arm while I rummage through the box of old records, greeting cards and a recipe book—nothing else interesting. I take the album and sit in front of the hatch for light, dangling my feet into the pantry. Opening up the album, I see tons of pictures of my parents in the early days of their relationship. My mom’s hair is exactly how I remember it back then; long and brown, with the sides bereted back. I had forgotten how beautiful she was back then. Her face had so much life in it and she was always smiling. At that point in her life, she had no way of knowing just how bad things would get under the dictatorship of my father. As for him, he looked tall and proud, shoulders back, a strong stance. A real man.
I turn the page and a large 8x10 picture takes up a whole sleeve. My father and me.
We were at the mall and Santa was there. I remember it well. I was five and full of piss and vinegar with excitement. Dad stood in line with me so I could get a picture with Santa, but when it was my turn to sit on his knee, I chickened out. Dad stepped up and told the photographer that he would sit with Santa and me. Children in the lineup screamed with laughter while Dad and I got our picture taken. When we were finished, I grabbed my father’s hand and marched right past the other kids. I didn’t feel embarrassed at all. I felt proud.
A tear rolls down my face. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as close to anyone in my life as I did to him back then. We were inseparable. We did everything together; fishing trips, car shows, even poker games with his pals. I’d sit on his knee and hold his cards. My mom once told me that when I was born, he cut the umbilical cord, then held me up and announced, “She’s my precious little gem.” He had named me Jade.
The image of the burgundy colored coffin at the front of the church comes into my mind. More tears run down my face and fall to the pantry floor.
I bled for that man. I tried so hard to win back his love and nothing worked. So many nights, I cried in my bed, wanting my dad to just look at me once like he used to. It never happened. Now, I’ve lost him twice. My mother was always kind and made sure that we had all the necessities, but there was something untouchable about her. When I hugged her, it felt like she was under glass.
I guess that’s why I need Annie so much. If I don’t have her, I don’t have any love at all.
Grabbing the gun, I lower it down until it sits on the shelf. I wipe my nose and eyes on my sleeve, put the album back in the box and climb down, pulling the hatch closed after me. When I hit the floor, Denny’s wallet falls out.
I should probably leave it in the attic. However, after all the emotion I feel exhausted, too exhausted to climb up and put it back. I stuff it back into my pocket and exit the pantry, closing the door quietly behind me.
Stinky is sitting by the front door doing a pee dance. After opening the door for the dog, I walk into our bedroom. I look over to the bed, but she’s gone. Immediately I feel a stab of nerves. Then, I hear the shower start. I knock on the door. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she says. She does sound better. Stronger.
Over dinner, Annie brings up the money that Denny gave us for a wedding present. I’d honestly forgotten about it. “What about it?” I ask.
“I thought we should take the cash and put it towards building an add-on to this place.”
“An add-on? For what?”
“For the baby’s room, silly.”
Well, there goes the new boat I’ve been thinking about. “Sounds like a wise decision to me,” I say, smiling.
On the way to work, I try Denny’s number. Again, it goes straight to messages, and I let out an impressive string of swears.
As soon as I pull into the lot, Tim walks over to my truck. “How’s Annie?” he asks, concerned.
“She’s fine. False alarm.”
“I covered for you, explained it to the boss. You don’t have to worry about getting in shit.”
“Thanks, man.”
“So,” Tim says behind me, as I walk towards the building, “you had a visitor come by when we were closing up shop yesterday.”
I turn around and look at him. “What do you mean?” Denny.
“It was the police. Older guy. He said h
is name was Dickenson or something.”
Jesus Christ. “Dickson. What did he want?”
“He wanted to talk to you. He was askin’ some pretty strange questions, too.”
“Like what?”
“Like if you ever made mention of Denny.”
That asshole. He’s relentless. “Okay, and what did you tell him?”
“That I’d never heard the name before.”
“Thanks. It’s none of his damn business.”
“I agree. Then, he asked me if you appear healthy or if I was aware of any illnesses you have. I thought, what do I look like, her doctor?” Tim chuckles.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Nope. That’s what the guy asked. I couldn’t believe it. That’s a pretty personal thing to be asking someone’s co-worker.”
What the hell is Dickson’s game? Maybe he was trying to stress me out to the point of illness, then interrogate me when I’m weak. I can’t think of any other fucking reason for his question.
After a busy day, I call Annie before I leave work. She says she’s feeling better. I ask her how her interview went at the cop shop. She says that she’ll fill me in later. “It was nothing to worry about. I think they’re just trying to see if our stories have changed. They didn’t keep me there long. What they really want is Denny. I swear, Jade. It’s all his fault. He’s the sonofabitch that brought Robbie to the cottage in the first place. If you ask me, he’s guilty.”
“Don’t say that, honey. We don’t know what happened.”
“Jade, wake the hell up, would you? I know he’s been all sweet lately, but you’re forgetting what a maniac he was before the cops started investigating. He’s scared, Jade. That’s why the sudden character change. He’s manipulating you because he knows he can.”
She’s wrong, dead wrong, but how can I tell her that? We haven’t spoken about the events of that night because it’s too painful for her to relive and too painful for me to imagine.
“Let’s just not talk about it, okay?” Her voice is calmer. “We’ve done well by not bringing it up.”
She’s right. Now isn’t the time to be hashing this out. I don’t want to upset her so soon after the hospital incident. I tell her I’ll be home soon and then hang up.
I’m last in line for the six o’clock ferry. I sit back and wait for the ship to unload so we can board. I try calling my brother again but it’s useless. His phone is still off. After a seemingly short boat ride to Gabriola, I’m off the ferry and heading up the road when I see a cop pulled over on the side of the road. The cruisers lights are flashing and the cop, a young male, is standing with his arms folded, watching each vehicle that passes.
I’ve never seen a seatbelt check here before. I pass him slowly and wave. In my rear-view mirror, I see the cop jump into his car and pull up behind me, the red and blue lights flashing. I slow down, thinking he’ll go around me. He doesn’t. Instead, he chirps the siren.
Shit. What the hell is this about? I’ve had my seatbelt on since Nanaimo and I definitely wasn’t speeding. When I see the first sign of a shoulder to the road, I pull over.
The cop sits for a while in his car, talking on his radio, before finally getting out and walking up to my door. I unwind the window. “Hello, officer. Do I have a tail light out or something?”
“No. You haven’t committed a violation at all. Is your name Jade Banks?”
“Yes,” I answer, feeling a nervous lump grow in my throat. “Is there a problem?”
“No. Not really. We just have to ask you a few questions down at the station, okay?”
“About what?” I already know the answer.
“Just routine stuff about an ongoing investigation.”
“The supposed murder, right?”
“That’s the one. Ma’am, there’s isn’t an arrest warrant for you, but take it from me—it would look badly on you if you didn’t comply with our request to speak to you.”
“Can you just ask me what you want to know now?”
“It’s not my investigation. Detective Dickson is at the detachment now and would be thankful for just a few minutes of your time.”
Dickson. That asshole who showed up at my work, who could have made me look bad in front of my boss. Thankfully it was only Tim when Dickson visited.
“I guess I might as well get it over with.”
The cop returns to his car and waits until I pull back onto the road before following. I guess he wants to make sure that I actually keep my word.
I turn on to South Road and park in the lot in front of the RCMP station. The young cop that was following me parks in marked stalls off to the side of the entrance. I quickly call Annie and tell her where I am before I turn off my phone and drop it into my hoodie pocket.
Inside, the same cop meets me at the counter. He makes a quick call and then directs me to a small white room just off the lobby. As soon as I walk in, I feel a cold shiver come over me and I start to shake.
There are four chairs and a table in the center of the room. It’s a room I’d only seen in movies; a room I had never dreamed I’d be in.
The cop leaves and shuts the door behind him. What the hell could Dickson want to know now? I’ve told him almost everything. Thank God Tim had the wherewithal to say that he didn’t know Denny. If Tim had told the truth—that Denny had been at the reception, that Denny had stayed and drank and laughed= the cops would know that I’m a lot closer to Denny than I’d let on.
Still shivering, I put my hands in my hoodie pocket. I feel something firm and square. I pull it out. Denny’s wallet. I’d forgotten that I’d put it in my pocket.
I quickly stuff it back in my pocket and hope to hell this room isn’t monitored. What if I stand up at some point in the interview and the wallet falls out? Worse yet, what if they do a routine pat-down and find it? Aside from it solidifying very obviously my connection to Denny, I don’t even know what’s inside it—what if he keeps a little tinfoil ball of coke or some other drug?
My palms are sweating, and my face is starting to feel flushed. The second the detective sees me, he’s going to know I’m freaking out about something. Every possible scenario speeds through my mind, all of them ending with me in handcuffs.
God, how the hell did I get into this mess. My life was so quiet before my father died. Ever since then I feel like I’ve been in a tornado that carries me, kicking and screaming, from one disaster to another.
I hear the doorknob rattle. Even my knees are shaking now. Dickson walks in, clipboard in hand. He’s wearing blue jeans and a blazer with a light blue turtleneck underneath. In this outfit he looks more like a professor than a cop.
He grabs the back of the chair across the table, pulls it out then sits down. The whole time, his eyes are fixated on me. “How are you, Jade? You look like something’s bothering you.”
“Well, that would make sense,” I say, keeping my voice tight and firm. “I was on my way home after a long day of work when I was pulled over and asked to meet you here. So, yeah, I guess I feel a little bothered. I thought we already cleared up all of the questions you had.”
He smiles and puts his clipboard on the table in front of him. Taking a pen out of the pocket of his blazer, he clicks it and then taps the end on the paper. “You did answer the questions I had. At the time.” He leans forward, as though to tell me a secret. “However, this is an investigation and as new things come to light, we need to look at other things a little closer. Turn over every stone, so to speak.”
“What new things have come to light?”
“I don’t want to burden you with that. Plus, we’re trying to piece everything together before we disclose any information. However, we’re getting close.” His smile vanishes and he stares right through me. “Did your wife tell you that she was here today?”
“Of course. We tell each other everything.”
“Do you?” He nods and jots something down on his clipboard.
What the hell does that mean? I fold my h
ands on the table, squeezing them tightly in case he sees me shaking. “Detective Dickson, you called me here. What is it I can do for you? I’m really tired and I just want to go home.”
He taps his pen on the paper again. “After you missed the ferry the night that your brother and Robbie were at your house, what time did you get home the next morning?”
“I don’t know. I took the first ferry over. I would’ve been on Gabriola by seven A.M. ish, and home about fifteen minutes later.”
Dickson writes 7:15 and then circles it. “Did you notice anything different in the yard when you came home?”
I frown. “No. I mean, I was groggy. I had just spent the night in my truck with a strange dog. I wasn’t really focused on the yard.”
He nods.
“Why?”
“Oh, it’s just standard stuff. Process of elimination.”
Next, Dickson asks me about what I saw when I first entered the cottage. Were their signs of a struggle? No. Was Annie bleeding or calling out for help? No. Were there drugs around her, pills, pot or anything else? No.
“All right, Jade. I just have a couple more questions for you.”
I look at him.
“Were you ever made aware of what your brother Denny’s condition is? His state of mental health?”
“Denny’s mental health issues?” I repeat his words, so I have time to think of an answer that isn’t too incriminating. “I don’t really know. He was okay when he was young. I think he just has bad anxiety. He saw a lot of therapists growing up. They gave him meds for when he had panic attacks. I think he still takes them.”
“So, he’s had debilitating mental health issues since he was young, and you grew up in the same house, but were never made aware of what exactly his condition was?”
There’s no way he’s buying it. Just by the way he’s squinting his eyes at me right now, I can tell he knows I’m lying. I’ve got to give him something.
“Well, he did have a doctor that said he was bi-polar, but my father never believed it.”