Coming Home (Detective Dahlia Book 1) Page 5

  In the dark of the night, I stormed over to him and grabbed his left hand. The vision of a tan line on his ring finger slapped me across the face.

  "You're married?" I shrieked.

  He hung his head and pushed me aside, getting back in the car. I grasped his arm and whipped him around to face me.

  "Are you fucking kidding me? Your wife—and kids too—are home waiting for you to come home, and you're out here about to screw me in your car?”

  "Elle, let it go," he growled.

  I started laughing like a hyena. "Let it go? Let it go? You're disgusting, Noah! You seduced me, all the while knowing you were going to cheat on your wife.”

  "I'm drunk, okay? I wasn't thinking clearly.”

  "Sounds about right. You never could come up with an intelligent thought, even back in school. No wonder we broke up. You're a jackass.”

  Tears poured down my florid cheeks. How could I have been so naive to think Noah had changed? How could I have believed it was a good idea to take a ride alone with him? How did I not see his ring finger before this? I felt ashamed and embarrassed. I wanted to throw up.

  "I'm sorry. Please don't tell anyone," he pleaded.

  "Fuck off," I said.

  "Do you need a ride home?”

  "Yeah, like I'd get back in the car with you. No, thanks.”

  "Suit yourself, then. It was great seeing you." And with that, Noah drove away, leaving me stranded by the river, the only person beside the shoreline.

  I sank to the grass, landing on my knees. Tears of anger and frustration poured out of me. I dug my nails into the dewy earth and screamed at the top of my lungs. Several sleeping birds flew away in fright. The alcohol churned in my stomach, leaving me ill.

  Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

  History sure had a nasty way of repeating itself.

  I couldn't wallow by the river all night, though. So, I pulled myself up and trekked back toward my mother's house, cursing and muttering the whole time. My buzz disappeared miles ago, and my head throbbed malevolently. I knew I still had about a half hour's walk ahead of me, but I didn't want to call my mom at this hour. I was embarrassed enough as it was.

  Along the hike, I tried to remember all the times my mother and I had taken walks or bike rides in this part of town. Too many to count. I wondered what she would say if she knew what had just happened with Noah. Admittedly, it would be something like, “When you lie with a snake, prepare to be bitten.”

  On the last stretch, the birds appeared and sang to their hearts' content as the sun rose above the horizon. Technically, it was a new day, but the hurt from the night still pressed firmly against my chest.

  I wanted to go home and yet, here I was.

  Nine

  After everything that happened with Noah, I let myself sleep in well past noon the following day. Thankfully, Jack didn't bother me; I'm sure he knew I'd come home late and need to rest. Once my eyes opened, I immediately closed them again. The sun blinded me as I'd forgotten to close the blinds when I got home.

  Like a slap across the face, I remembered what happened just hours ago. I couldn't believe I let Noah hurt me all over again. As if once wasn't enough. Goddamnit, I must be some masochist. I should win an award for the best doormat. I was surprised I didn't have permanent shoe prints across my forehead.

  Physically, I felt like shit too. My muscles ached while my throat was dry and raspy. I needed water and food as soon as humanly possible. But, more importantly, I needed a drink. As my eyes adjusted to the daylight, I sat up in bed. I was still wearing my same clothes from last night, heels included.

  I wondered if anyone saw me last night during my walk of shame.

  I looked over to my nightstand and saw a bottle of water, two Tylenol, and a banana. A handwritten note lay beside them.

  "Feel better soon" with a smiley face. I could tell it was Jack's handwriting by the short, slanted scrawl.

  I smelled the booze oozing out of my pores as I pulled myself out of bed. I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. My joints crackled; my muscles throbbed. But the worst pain? My ego.

  Shaking away my shame, I stumbled into the bathroom. I ripped off my dress and jumped into the shower, not caring about the ice cold water. I reveled in the whole body shock caused by the frigid water coming out of the shower head. I needed a wake-up call and badly.

  Lost in thought, I almost didn't hear the slight knock on the bathroom door as I rinsed the conditioner from my hair.

  "Come in," I said as I peeked my head around the curtain.

  My mom opened the door ever so slightly. "Morning, Elle.”

  "Hi, Mom." I smiled weakly.

  "Late night?”

  "You could say so.”

  A look of concern spread across her face. I didn't mean to worry her, but I guess it was too late now.

  "Where's your car?”

  I sighed and closed my eyes. "Back at the church. I got a ride home from a friend because I didn't want to drink and drive.”

  "There's some breakfast on the stove," she said. "Jack and I will go get your car for you.”

  "Thanks! I'll be out soon." Relief washed over me the same as the sudsy water.

  My mom shut the door carefully behind her, and I was alone once more. As much as I tried to push last night's events out of my mind, I couldn't ignore what'd happened. I promised myself after leaving Keygate the first time that I'd leave a stronger woman. I wouldn't let anyone else hurt me. I'd keep the past in the past and move. I’d stuck to my guns, too. It was like I could be a completely different person in a completely different place.

  In Ashford, I was a tough-as-nails police detective who didn't take shit from anyone. I protected my community, and I put my life on the line. But as soon as I went home? I felt as though a time machine turned its knobs and whistles, leaving me feeling like the same vulnerable teenage girl I was a decade ago.

  I had to get out of here and fast. The more distance I put between myself and this place, the faster I would return to the mindset I'd built up for all these years. I would feel more like me again. Even trapped in a pit of grief in Ashford would be better.

  Then, the painful thought of what happened yesterday exploded into my consciousness: someone murdered Callie Jacksun. Could I truly leave Keygate now? Could I simply run away and leave my city to fend for itself after the gruesome murder of one of its own? My chest rose and fell rapidly as I clutched my neck, trying to catch my breath. Tears streamed down my cheeks and mixed with the water from the shower. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I was frozen in complete turmoil and chaos.

  I needed a drink more than anything in the entire world.

  I turned the water off and grabbed the towel hanging beside the shower. Wrapping it around me, I ignored the stray tear slithering down my cheek. I needed to pull it together and fast. How could I expect to move forward when I was stuck in the past?

  I dressed quickly in a pair of faded jeans and an Ashford PD t-shirt. The last time I wore the top was when I ran in the police department 5k. I'd beaten almost all the male officers in my unit. The look on their smug faces when I greeted them at the finish line was more satisfying than achieving my personal best time.

  I went downstairs to have some food, but first found a bottle of vodka in the back of the cabinet. I untwisted the cap and wiped the dust from the bottle on the back of my jeans. With closed eyes, I tipped the bottle back and allowed the clear liquid to dash down my throat to my belly. It was an instantaneous effect; the demons inside of me were temporarily satisfied. I could think clearly for the moment, the pain of death and deceit hushed for now.

  In the next moment, two cars pulled into the driveway. I fumbled to put the cap back on the bottle and shove it into the cabinet. I grabbed a plate and heaved food from the stove onto the porcelain surface.

  My mom and Jack entered the kitchen. Jack tossed me my car keys, which I caught with one hand. They sat down at the table to keep me com
pany while I devoured the fluffy eggs, crisp bacon and ham, and a few pieces of toast.

  We ate in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my mom staring curiously at me, then her eyes lingering on the drink before me. My cheeks flushed with the familiar feeling of shame. Did she know I’d been drinking already?

  It’s none of her business, anyway. It’s just one drink. I’m an adult. I deserve a drink after what I’ve been dealing with.

  “Are you heading home today?” my mom asked. “Of course, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want! Just not sure if you’d want to get back home.”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Like a wave from a hurricane, regret washed over me, nearly drowning me in its wake. The past few months, I scoured the streets in Ashford trying to find something or someone that would help me find Zac’s killer, but to no avail. No one knew anything. No one saw anything. I had no leads. Nothing to work from. I felt like a failure. How could I not solve my own fiancé’s murder? Maybe I was a shitty detective, after all.

  But, if I couldn’t solve Zac’s for the time being, could I try to solve Callie’s case?

  “I think I’m going to stay for a while, if that’s okay with you.”

  Ten

  I sat cross-legged on my bed while my MacBook Pro booted up. It whirled and buzzed as the decade-old machine glowed in front of me. I brought it with me to Keygate in case I had some downtime.

  I scrolled through Facebook until I found who I was looking for: Callie Jacksun. My heart stopped for a moment when I discovered her profile. I squinted at her pictures but didn't wholly recognize the young girl I babysat so many years ago.

  In her photos, she sported silky waist-length black hair, the color most certainly from a box. Her teeth gleamed as white as snow, which contrasted against her ruby red lipstick. I guessed she wore colored contacts too. I remembered her having brown eyes, not the brilliant oceanic hue from her photographs.

  I scanned through her tagged photos, starting from the most recent. I witnessed her transformation from innocent girl to vivacious woman right before my eyes. In one photo, Callie held a Bud Light in one hand and a shot of liquor in the other. She stood under a blue neon sign reading The Hen's Den.

  A gasp erupted from my mouth. I couldn't stifle the surprise. The Hens' Den, a seedy local bar, was located on the outskirts of town. Besides its apt name, it was mostly known for its employees, who happened to be half-naked women dancing on stage for tips.

  Did Callie work at the Hens' Den? Or frequent the bar? I couldn't believe it. I recalled the times we walked to the playground, and Callie detailed her dreams of growing up to be an astronaut or a dancer. What happens to a person when they decide to forsake a bright future in place of a darker one? How does a person stray so far from the path they once trekked? Callie was a smart little girl, a kind one too.

  When I tried to imagine her life, I assumed she'd grow up to be something incredible. A teacher? She loved to tell me all about her favorite subjects in school. Callie'd recite her newest spelling words and teach me about the plants and animals she learned about in science class.

  I scrolled some more and stumbled across a selfie Callie took almost two years ago. The shot captured her from the chest up, where a black lace bra contrasted against her pale skin. She wore the same deep burgundy lipstick from so many other photos. The caption read, "MSG ME 4 a good tyme! Xoxo CallieBBY14."

  What the hell did that mean?

  The photo had forty-five comments. I skimmed through them with pursed lips. Who were these guys writing despicable notes to Callie for the entire internet to see? Some complimented Callie on her lingerie and lipstick, while others wrote nasty comments about wanting to do much more than look at her pictures online. I wondered if her parents knew about this? They weren't the strictest, but they made sure Callie was polite and followed the rules—at least when I knew them.

  A knock on my bedroom door jolted me out of my stupor. I slapped my MacBook's screen down, not wanting anyone to see what I'd found. My mom opened the door ever so slightly and squeezed inside the room. A faint smile graced her lips.

  "It's been quite some time since I've seen you like this," she said.

  Color rose to my cheeks. "Feels like yesterday I was holed up in here studying for the SATs, huh?”

  No matter how much you wanted it to slow down, time didn't stop for anyone. It rolled by faster until you found yourself gazing into the past and wondering what happened to the years of your life.

  "I made BLTs for lunch. You want to come down?”

  I nodded, relieved for a distraction from what I discovered on Facebook. I followed my mom out of my bedroom and down the two flights of stairs. Portraits of me as I grew up lined the walls, catching my eye. I managed a significant transformation through my adolescence too, although not quite as drastic as Callie’s.

  In one picture, my crimped hair tickled my chin. Braces shone from the camera's flash, along with the glare from my glasses. Middle school wasn't a particularly favorable time. Awkward could have been my middle name. While the other girls in my grade were playing with makeup and flirting with boys during lunch, I mostly kept to myself with a book in hand. Sure, I had a few friends, but we all geeked out together.

  Through the years, and with more school pictures, I changed before the lens. My hair grew longer, turned blonder. My braces were removed, leaving me with much straighter teeth. I learned how to apply the makeup basics, like foundation and mascara. My skin turned more golden peach, allowing more freckles to kiss my cheeks.

  Growing up, I always wanted to be grown, to leave my awkwardness behind. I did just that. When I became a police officer, all of the shyness, the self-doubt melted away. I shed my past like a snake loses its skin.

  Why did I grow up and gravitate toward the light, while the darkness magnetized Callie? Was it because I got out of Keygate, while she didn’t get the chance? Both of us had great parents growing up. She was a smart girl. Was there something in her past I didn’t know about?

  However, deep down, I knew the answer: it didn’t matter who you were or where you were from, darkness could always find you.

  Sure, for the most part, I found the light at the end of my tunnel, but now? Now I was in the darkness too. I grieved for my fiancé during every waking hour and even in my dreams. I couldn’t breathe each time I remembered Zac wasn’t coming home. I stared at my front door waiting for him to come through it and surprise me with flowers. Maybe Callie’s life turned upside somehow the same as mine?

  The once quiet girl down the street was seven years my junior. When I graduated from high school, I couldn't watch her when her parents needed a sitter. We lost touch and drifted apart. I no longer knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. I didn't know her favorite subject in school, but I never forgot about her. I often imagined us getting together and talking about our lives. What did she make of hers after I left Keygate?

  Now, I'd never get that chance.

  Eleven

  That night, with a glass of merlot and a bottle of vodka on my nightstand, I poured over Callie's Facebook. I scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad in my lap. I wondered how much the Keygate PD had investigated so far and if they'd found her Facebook page too.

  I tipped the bottle upside down, but only a few additional drops plopped into my empty glass. I sighed, not wanting to get up for more but not wanting to stop drinking. The wine, dense with citrus and vanilla notes, was delicious, but maybe I needed something harder? I switched to vodka, hoping to mute the demons.

  All I could think about was the officers saying the body had been there for a few days.

  I uncovered more pictures on Callie's Facebook with captions urging people to send a message to her. However, there wasn't a URL accompanying the caption. I wondered where these gentlemen callers were supposed to go to communicate with her. Callie used her real name as part of her username instead of a fake name, which also surprised me.

  In my experience, working girls
almost never used their real names. Bunny, one of the street workers I often came across while on the late show, never told me her given name, but I knew it wasn’t Bunny.

  Miss Bunny acted as a liaison of sorts during my time at the Ashford Police Department. No one else on the force knew the identity of my source, but Miss Bunny always came through for me. When there was a shooting, Bunny took to the alleyways and collected the whisperings from other sex workers, thugs, the homeless and drug dealers.

  Whenever I needed a lead, I dropped a message in a rickety mailbox outside of an abandoned meatpacking factory on the east side of town. That was our spot. Our way of communicating without a trail. She didn't have a cell phone, but once I left her a note, I knew she'd come through and meet me when and where I'd asked.

  I tried my best to uphold our bargain, too. She offered up secrets from the streets while I brought her food, water, and clothing. After a few months, Miss Bunny and I became more than a unique pair of colleagues; she and I grew to be friends.

  On quiet nights, Bunny and I would sit on a bench overlooking the river just outside of town and gaze at the moonlight reflecting off the choppy surface. When she didn't have customers, and I was between cases, we'd chit chat for as long as both our jobs would allow.

  "I'm fixing to get clean soon," she'd tell me. "Get a job off the streets, ya know? Maybe a place of my own to stay."

  I encouraged her to do so and even offered to help draft up a resume. It was the least I could do for the woman who helped me close so many of my cases. I wished Bunny owned a cell phone at the moment. I could call her and pick her brain about Callie. Although she probably wouldn’t answer any of my calls at this point.

  The last time I saw her was after I was put on leave. We met up at a seedy bar across town. When she arrived, I was more than halfway in the bag. I drank whiskey that night, which pulled the anger within me from deep inside the dregs of my soul. I had no leads on who killed Zac.