by J. L. Hickey
Beauty can be just as powerful as brains; this is something Haylee learned very young, especially if the beauty had the brains to get what she wanted. She may have lacked in the academic department, but Haylee was smart. Headstrong, she understood how to get what she wanted. Her dad realized this too, detective daddy, trying to keep his two daughters safe, and away from evil men. He failed at the end when it was all said and done. His wife’s one wish, to keep their daughters safe, would be his greatest failure, both as a detective and as a father.
Haylee had a long drive back home. She could only go half the speed limit due to the conditions of the road. She didn’t even do that, not topping twenty miles an hour on the highway. So many thoughts swirled in her head, buzzing like a pesky flies, irritating the shit out of her. She couldn’t calm herself from the noisy thoughts. Haylee wasn’t a perfect sister, a perfect girlfriend, and not even close to an ideal daughter.
Haylee was a work in progress. But wasn’t everyone? Then, there was the secret too. Sometimes, she had a hard time keeping the secrets straight. So many secrets, but this one was bad. It could end her relationship with Robbie once and for all, break their engagement. It could shatter everything they worked for over the last five years. When she first learned it herself, she had a breakdown. She’d been alone that day, after the doctor visit. It was roughly three weeks ago, she went alone, not expecting the conversation her doctor was to have with her. She went home; she remembers the drive was quiet. She hadn’t even turned the radio on. She went numb when the Doctor spoke to her as if the words lingered in her brain, not fulling registering.
She got home, and she was alone, her sister out with friends (she’d managed to make a few, unlike Haylee). Robbie was working late, and she poured a club soda, no vodka. She sat there, repeating the doctor’s words. The feeling of losing control, of being robbed of the life she tried so desperately to have. Knowing that Robbie, more than anything in the world, wanted to be a father. She thought she broke her mind, seriously. She thought something in her head snapped.
Haylee didn’t care about a career or money; It had always been about motherhood for her. She was supposed to start a family with Robbie. That was the plan.
Move to Michigan.
Start a Family.
Why did her life always get so fucked up? Why wasn’t she allowed to be happy? That was the only thing she wanted to accomplish in her life, become a loving mother. She’d been robbed of hers when she was thirteen. She’d always had the notion, the feeling, motherhood was her only chance of happiness.
Haylee pushed the thoughts out of her head. She played some music, a random nineties station on Spotify, and cranked it as loud as she could. Too many dark thoughts. She focused on the road and decided that once she got home safe and sound, the first thing she would do is sneak a stiff drink—no reason not to now.
She’d been doing that a lot lately. Since the secret. The secret that begot a secret, that stemmed from a bunch of other secrets. Drinking and drinking heavily. It made matters with Robbie worse. Especially after the first night when she disappeared. The night she’d blacked out for the first time in years. She wasn’t ready to think of that, wasn’t prepared to allow herself to face the humility of the events that transpired that night. Instead, she focused on the song blaring in the car, a terrible 90s boy band, Backstreet Boys. She tapped her fingers rhythmically against her steering wheel. She sang the simple lyrics loudly to herself in the car. Push away the darkness, focus on the now, she told herself.
The driveway was covered with four inches of snow by the time Haylee returned home. She was surprised Robbie hadn’t broken out their snowblower. He was ordinarily quick to combat the Michigan weather. He liked doing things like that, mowing the lawn on the brand-new rider they bought when they first moved into the house. He’d been itching to break out their four-wheeler with the snowplow attached to its front. First heavy snow this year, and eerily, he hadn’t plowed. Perhaps he was too busy. He did work from home a lot.
It was late Friday night, early Saturday morning. He probably got home late from work, finished up a few remaining things from the business day so he could enjoy a quiet weekend with her gone. He must have decided to worry about the snow until the morning. No doubt, it would still be there.
Haylee pulled in behind Robbie’s big Honda truck, and her sisters little magenta-colored Subaru. Both covered with a thick blanket of some of the finest pure Michigan snow. Haylee knew about snow, Ohio had some harsh winters, but the tip of Michigan was like another world. When it snowed, it snowed! Hard, and a lot more often.
She stepped outside her car. The bitter winter air sent chills through her body; it ached in her bones. She locked her car from inside her door, instead of her key fob, which would make a loud honking noise. It was closer to one in the morning, and if her sister and Robbie were sleeping (probably), she didn’t want the horn to wake them. Although, strangely enough, she noticed the basement light was on. Robbie had a workspace downstairs, and maybe he was up late working? Doubtful, not this late. Instead, Haylee rested on the idea that once again, Robbie forgot to turn off the lights in his study. Because you know, electricity if free.
Haylee fumbled with her keys. She found the one she was looking for and unlocked the front door, quietly making her way into the house. There was a sense of relief now as she stood inside the safety of her home. Her car currently parked securely in her driveway. The warmth was swarming over her, like the hug of an old friend. That drive was intense. It was good to be home, to be safe.
She made her way into the kitchen. Set her purse on the counter and slipped out of her jacket. She went straight to the cupboard and pulled a small glass, hit the fridge, she grabbed a handful of ice cubes, dropping them in. Above the sink was her alcohol cabinet, she pulled a bottle of Jim Beam Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. She filled her glass, let it sit for a moment. She took a seat at the kitchen table and took a long sip. Strong, she needed a stiff drink after that drive.
The secrets gnawed at the back of her head. Tomorrow she would have to find out a way to come clean to Robbie.
Her fiancé Robbie. Once, they were happy. A young couple, eager to hold one another. Falling sleep in each other’s arms. She wished she could relive those days.
What would he say if he caught her immediately getting a drink? He’d scold her, no doubt. And he would be right to do so. The truth was, she was drinking too much. He was no saint, though.
Old habits, she thought, they die hard. It was easier for her to drink than to feel, to think about everything going on around her. The reality of it all was too harsh, she took a second drink, another long sip, to ease her nerves. Her mind fell to her purse. Before bed, she had to take care of her weapon, return it to the lockbox in the front closet. When she and her sister graduated from High School, her father took them both out to the gun range. Taught them to shoot himself. He wanted them always to be protected, never to fall victim without a fight. Too many crazies he would tell them, never let your guard down.
On her twenty-first birthday, he bought her a .9mm Glock 47. It was a perfect firearm for Haylee, sleek, rugged, reliable, easy to conceal, and more comfortable to shoot. She kept it in her purse whenever she left the house. She stayed up on her aim, even found a shooting range in her new town. Her and Camille had gone twice already. Her dad hammered gun safety with his children. Despite Haylee not being one to abide by many laws, a natural rule breaker, gun safety was not to fucked around with.
She wasn’t tired. The drive had her adrenaline pumping. She slid her vehicle twice near her home. It got her heart rate going. The house was quiet, settling like houses tend to do. She finished her drink and thought one more should be enough. She worried about another blackout. Waking up somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be...again. What a nightmare that was. It was a week
after that incident when everything began to change when Robbie began the cruelties. It was her fault; she was unraveling and hadn’t even told him why.
“Idiot,” she muttered to herself. “Leave it to me to fuck everything up,” she spoke to herself. She stood up, decided she needed another drink. This time, she wanted a mixer, pop would do just fine. Coca Cola and whiskey, a classic. One Jack and Coke on its way. She made her way to the fridge. Weird, she thought, something was smeared on the linoleum kitchen floor. She hadn’t hit the kitchen light. Instead, she used the glare of her phone to find the glass and drink. She’d opened the freezer for the ice. When she opened the Fridge door for the coke, the inner light lit up the majority of the kitchen. It revealed a strange sight. There a few feet away from her near the basement door was a large smear of what? Ketchup? It looked red, dark, thick on the floor.
“What on earth?” Haylee frowned. She moved to the entrance of the kitchen, flicked on the light. The kitchen fully lit up. There it was, a smear of red liquid, except now there was more. There was splatter on the wall, near the entrance as well. She’d walked right past it when she entered the backdoor into the kitchen. There on the floor beside it was the smear. She had stepped in it, making light footprints.
It was not ketchup.
“Blood?” Haylee frowned. On the far side of the kitchen were the stairs to the basement. It was left partially open. There were large pools of blood leading to the steps. Haylee moved forward slowly, hardly breathing. She softly opened the door. More blood on the steps, a lot of it. Did someone fall? She tried to make sense of what she was seeing. She heard mumbling, heavy breathing from the basement.
Was it, Robbie?
She walked down the blood-stained stairs. She went to feel for her phone in her pocket. She had left it on the kitchen table. Shit, she thought, did she go back up to get it? She was almost at the foot of the stairs when the step let out a loud creak.
That alarmed someone, something. She heard a noise. Not so much a word as it was a deep grunt, inquisitive, almost like a “Whose there? Or What was that? Sort of throaty acknowledgment. Haylee quickly peered around the corner of the steps. There she saw it.
The horror, a scene from a slasher movie playing out right before her. In her very own basement. The blood, so much blood. She felt faint, her head spinning. She was going to pass out. She grabbed the railing on the steps before she lost her balance
My god, she thought. What horror!
TWELVE
The Bad Luck Lager House was Lewis Pike’s favorite dive bar. It wasn’t fancy, he’d didn’t quite care for fancy. He liked the cheap, strong drinks, away from the glitz and glamour of the clubs the young kids visited, and far from the price a drink will cost you at one of the national chain steak restaurants. He also liked the regulars, the low-key drunks, usually older folks who did more sittin’ and sippin’ than talkin’ and spittin’. Basically, less drama, fewer distractions, made it much easier for him to think. The last thing he wanted to deal with on a night off was some local drunk building up his liquid courage.
He also liked that a lot of the boys frequented the small hole in the wall establishment. It wasn’t in the city, not quite in the country. The perfect little hideout for his brothers and sisters in blue to enjoy a few drinks and talk shop or shoot some pool. His wife left him years ago, he disowned his son, hadn’t heard from him in over fifteen years. Pike didn’t have any real friends outside of the force. So, it was nice seeing his coworkers out of the office. Made him remember he was more than just a Detective.
Tonight, was different though, he asked officers Clent and Vanessa out for drinks. Two nights ago, they shared an experience that would haunt them for quite some time. A lot had happened in the last forty-eight hours. He wanted to share a few drinks with them. Discuss some stuff off the record. There were a lot of pieces to the puzzle, and the more Pike dug up, the weirder the case got.
He also needed a few friendly faces so he could vent.
Keep his sanity.
Pike walked in the bar a quarter past nine in the evening. The bar was quiet, a few solo drinkers at the front of the bar, knocking back their beers. They sat around watching the Lions game on a small flat-screen television behind the bar. Sherry, the owner, waved, gave a friendly smile offering her toothless grin. She looked closer to sixty, then her real age, which was in her mid-forties. She hadn’t aged well. Pike was aware she had a hard life. She shared some of her more depressing stories with him during slower nights at the bar. Abuse, lots of abuse. Mostly from the men in her life, and her favorite substances. She was clean now, proud of it as well. Still smoked a pack a day, still drank, but the hard shit was behind her.
Sherry was a natural talker, and thus she made an excellent bartender. She had the ability that allowed people to open up to her. That was the trick for tips. Same for Detective work, let them feel safe, work them, get them to spill their guts. She was sharp too, smart as a whip, born under different circumstances. Pike thought she might have been able to do bright things with her life. Yet, all those hard years left her less than stellar to look at. She brought him over a napkin, a bowl of salted peanuts, and an Old Fashion on the rocks just the way he liked it with the plastic sword skewering a maraschino cherry and an orange slice.
“Thanks, Sherry, you always know how to make a man smile,” Pike smiled. He grabbed the skewer, plopped the cherry into his mouth.
“Always, Detective, first ones on me,” her voice was raspy, more manly than feminine. Years of smoking, hard drugs, Pike thought. He sat alone, drumming his fingers at the table. He sat as far away from the main bar as he could, privacy for him and his companions.
He ate a few peanuts and enjoyed his drink. Vanessa and Clent entered the bar around a quarter past ten, dressed in civilian clothes. Clent, a dark pair of Levi bootcut jeans, a blue Nike zip-up hoodie that hugged his muscular frame. Vanessa, outside of her uniform, was much more attractive than Pike had noticed. She was young, vibrant. Her dark black hair was curled; he could tell she took her time doing her makeup. Her jeans clung tightly to her ass. Not bad, he thought, but immediately pushed the thought away. She would make a man much younger than he happy, at least for a while, before they inevitably grew apart.
“Evening officers,” Sherry was quick to welcome.
“Howdy, Sherry,” Clent waved, nodding to her. He pulled a chair out for his partner, who took a seat at the far end of the table.
“I was wondering when my tall, dark, and handsome man was going to come back in for a drink,” Sherry placed her hand on Clent’s shoulder, her raspy voice almost echoed inside the bar.
“Don’t let my wife know,” Clent winked.
“Always wanted a strong black man to keep me safe,” she placed two extra bowls of peanuts down in front of them.
“How about we start with a drink?” Clent chuckled, his eyebrows raised in a bit of shock from her forwardness.
“This ones on me,” Pike waved his hand, signaling for the tab.
“You sure?” Vanessa frowned. “I’m a rookie and all, but I’m a big girl.”
“One-hundred percent sure, I asked you two out for my own selfish reasons, least I can do is buy you both a few drinks for your time.”
“It’s our pleasure, detective,” Vanessa thanked him with a pleasant smile. “Clent has told me so much about you. I feel like I owe you. I would love to pick that brain of yours.”
“Plenty of time for that later,” Pike added. “Beers?” he asked.
“I will take a Bud Light,” said Clent.
“Corona with a lime, please,” Vanessa followed.
“Right away,” Sherry smiled, retreating to get their drinks.
“So, what’s up? Not a casual get-together, a
few cops sharing drinks?” Clent asked.
“Yes and no,” Pike replied flatly. “How are you holding up, Vanessa? After the crime scene on Friday?”
“Rough,” Vanessa answered. “Had my doubts over the weekend, you know that I wasn’t cut out for this. I knew I would see things, death, violence. We train for this stuff, but I dunno...do we train for that?”
“No one can train for what we saw,” Clent plopped a few peanuts into his mouth. “I wasn’t right either. My wife new, she pressed it. I couldn’t tell her. If she knew, I mean...what the fuck was that? You can’t bring that stuff up over frozen pizza with the kids at the table.”
“It’s been hard for everyone,” Pike took a sip from his drink. “—and the damn news is leaking shit all over the place. Social media is having a field day with these keyboard detectives, spreading false info around. I miss the old days, just dealing with reporters. Now, it’s every idiot with an internet connection reporting on stuff they don’t know anything about.”
“News spreads fast these days, hard to keep it under control,” Clent replied.
“You weren’t kidding,” Pike looked at Clent dead in his eyes.
“About?” replied Clent.
“This making twenty-seventeen look like a play date,” Pike shook his head. “Never thought I’d say that.”
“That was the Leveille house, right? That was in twenty-seventeen?” asked Vanessa, feeling like this was turning into a two-way conversation.
Sherry returned with their drinks, carefully setting them down in front of each of them. “Anything else?” pleasant as always.