Chapter Nine
Jules
“Jules, I don’t want you going in there, okay?” I hear her say above the roaring in my ears. There isn’t space in my mind to think of the words that will ease her concerns. The only thing on my mind is Zander.
“Baby, look at me.” She clicks her fingers in front of my face, and I turn my head. We’re here.
My hand flies to the handle before I can release my seatbelt, the overwhelming urge to find him sustaining my efforts to break through the locked door.
“Mom, open the door…”
“We need to wait for–” Panic rises in my chest. The air seems to have vanished from the car along with my rationale.
“Open it!” I slam my body against the door.
“Open it!” Slam.
“Open it!” Slam.
“Jules, stop it! Please, baby, you’re going to hurt yourself,” she begs between sobs. But I can’t stop. I know he’s in there, and I know he needs me. Every moment spent in this car is another moment I’m not where I’m supposed to be; by his side.
I can feel my sanity unravelling as each second ticks by– like a bomb ready to detonate.
The building pressure of my rage and desperation threatens to destroy anything and everything in my pursuit to get to him.
My body thrashes violently from side to side, pulling the handle and crashing against the barrier.
“Open the door! ZANDER… I’M HERE! I’M COMING, JUST– MOM PLEASE!” Tears soak my face– anger, shame, and desperation spilling from my mouth and eyes as my body falls limp against the seat.
“Please…” The sound is no more than a despondent croak from my throat. I stare down into my lap as my Mom’s hand squeezes my knee.
“The police will be here soon, I promise. When they get here, I will unlock the door. We need to do this the right way,” her voice is calm and steady.
She’s being strong for both of us. I can tell by her tight grip on my leg that she’s holding herself together, so she can hold me together too.
“I’m so sorry, Jules.” My breath catches with each intake of air, leaving me unable to respond to her kindness.
The whirring of sirens in the distance cuts through the stillness of the street, the rhythm of my heart increasing as the distance closes.
The shrill, ear-splitting noise snatches my attention, sending wave after wave of urgency through my already boiling blood.
Blue lights flood the enclosed street, reflecting off every window.
Curtains start to twitch, and neighbours dressed in their nightwear creep out into their gardens.
I hear my Mom’s heavy exhale as she shuts off the engine and shuffles in her seat, her fingers curled around the handle in anticipation.
Three squad cars screech to a halt, without a care in the world for their haphazard parking.
Officers clad in all black spill from each car– they just keep coming, like the back of each vehicle is an endless abyss.
They pay no attention to us or our car parked directly outside the house.
The only thing they seem focused on is their immediate surroundings, as they make a beeline toward the front door.
I hear the deep, commanding voice of the lead officer as he slams his fist against the door– “POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!” He makes a silent gesture to two of his colleagues at the back, who immediately approach with a large metal ram.
“POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR, OR WE WILL FORCE ENTRY!” He shouts again.
I look to my Mom, waiting for a signal that suggests we can leave the car.
She’s staring at the events unfolding with a hand over her mouth and her brows worried.
A loud thud echoes down the sleepy street, followed by another, and another, before one final crack splits the PVC, and the door swings inward. “POLICE! SHOW YOURSELF!”
The officers swarm the house like tiny ants.
I watch as they file in two at a time, disappearing beyond the now ruined door.
The click of the internal locking system cuts through the silence in the car.
I propel myself through the door and round the bonnet before crashing into my Mom’s outstretched arm.
“Wait,” she says, glancing around. Her eyes fix on a lone officer standing by a squad car. “We’re going to go and talk to the officer over there before you go rushing in.” I nod. The last thing I need right now is to be tasered.
“I’m sorry, you can’t go in there,” the small officer says. Her hands are outstretched like she’s expecting resistance.
“Can you at least tell us if Alexander is in there? If he’s safe?
” My body is buzzing with nervous energy.
I agreed to let her do all the talking, not trusting myself following my earlier outburst. The thrum of activity in the ordinarily quiet estate feels wrong.
All the surrounding neighbours are huddled at the ends of their driveways, whispering and gossiping between themselves as officers cordon off the area.
I need to move, I need to do something– anything.
Standing here waiting for news of my best friend feels unfair and cruel.
My head is throbbing from the endless stream of ‘what if’s,’ and my restless legs shuffle my weight from one to the other.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step back behind the tape, please.”
“This is my son, Jules. The child who lives in that house is his best friend. We just want to know if he’s safe,” her voice is exasperated and desperate. I’ve never heard her sound so defeated, adding yet another crack to my already shattering heart.
“Like I said, I need you to–”
“Jules? Is your name Jules?” The police officer standing in the doorway asks, approaching us with undeniable urgency in his step.
“Yeah– Yes. That’s me,” I say confidently, my body straightening as a slither of hope runs through me.
He seems to size me up for a moment, his eyes looking me over before he turns to face my Mom.
I don’t hear what they talk about, but the way she nods her head and casts glances at me causes a sense of dread to settle once more.
He turns to leave, making his way to speak with the female officer, as Mom approaches me nervously.
“Zander is inside… He’s safe.” The police officer who denied us entry watches us from a few feet away; her stare is unsettling as she listens to her superior speaking beside her. “They’ve asked if you will go in, to speak to him,” Mom says, breaking the tension.
“Of course, let's go…” She curls her fingers around my wrist and holds firmly, halting my advance toward the door.
“Jules,” she pauses, trying to find the words.
“Mom, come on–”
“His father is dead. They think he was intoxicated, and he– well, it looks like he had a nasty fall down the stairs.” I gulp down the knot in my throat, and my mind races through all the possibilities that this means for Zander.
Before I can settle on any of the outcomes whirling around my brain, she continues– “His body is still inside the house. They said if you’re willing to go in, they will cover him up while you pass through.
But I need to warn you, Zander is not in a good state, physically or mentally.
” The thought of Zander alone and afraid, surrounded by people he doesn’t know, makes the choice easy. It’s him, and it always will be.
“I need to see him, Mom.”
“I know, I’ll be with you the whole time, okay?” I nod, looking up to Zander’s window, hoping he knows I’m coming. I’m right here, Zan. “If it feels like too much, you tell me, and I will take you straight out of there.” I give her one more reassuring nod and take my first step toward the house.
I can feel eyes on me, coming from every direction as I cross the short distance from the front door to the stairs.
I was told that I would need to keep my hands in my pockets when I entered the house, so as not to disturb any evidence the forensic team may want to collect.
The skin on the back of my neck shrinks and shrivels, erupting into goosebumps that set off a domino effect of chills across my body.
The rustle of plastic suits and the static from radios fill the area as I focus on the floor, watching each careful step forward.
Up until this moment, I had never been inside Zander’s house, but somehow I knew that–despite the current circumstances–these walls had never heard the sound of laughter, or the warmth of familial love.
It was dark and bleak, all sharp edges and rough surfaces.
There were no distinctive smells, no gentle colours absorbing the chill of the tension that had made itself an occupant– just stale air and a dead body.
It wasn’t at all like I had imagined– granted, I hadn’t spent much time dwelling on what it would be like to see a corpse in real life.
But had I not been made aware of what was underneath the sheet, the giant bulk at the foot of the stairs could have easily been mistaken for something else.
The gentle push at the small of my back urges me to continue on, reminding me that there is life in this house, and its gentle heart is calling for me.
The door to what I instinctively know as Zander’s room is cracked open slightly, but the darkness of the night has claimed whatever waits inside.
There’s no gentle glow of a lamp, or harsh flickers from a TV to guide my way, just the magnetising pull of my best friend.
I edge myself through the gap, careful not to touch anything as my Mom stays in the hallway.
I don’t need to search for him or call out his name, my feet just carry me there– to the curled up figure in the corner of the room.
His bare arms are wrapped tightly around his legs, and his face is pressed into the wall.
I watch his lips move, forming the same shape over and over, but there’s no noise.
The front of my shins meet the bed, and my hands twitch by my side.
I don’t know what to say; at this moment, words seem weightless and empty.
Slowly, I lower myself to sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to startle him from his trance-like state.
The dipping of the mattress under my weight causes his head to whip around, and his eyes meet mine.
They’re wide and wild at first glance, and I imagine my own to be the same.
His mouth stops moving for a brief second as his shoulders sag and his eyes soften.
When his lips form the familiar shape one last time, the sound that accompanies rips the air from my lungs–
“Jules.”
Just one word. One syllable is all it takes for my heart to completely shatter.
He twists his body in my direction and scoots closer, until he’s sitting beside me.
His eyes are glistening with sadness and unshed tears as he slowly lowers his head to rest on my lap.
His body curls up tight, the movement making him look so tiny and fragile I feel the overwhelming urge to throw myself over him– to shield him from the cruel world.
The warmth of his tears soaks through my jeans, and my hand reaches out without thought to swipe them from his bruised cheek.
I hold it there long after his tears stop falling simply to feel his breath against my skin, but when his fingers tangle with mine, I can't bring myself to pull away from the comfort we both desperately seek. That’s when I know what it is I need to say; the only words that hold any meaning right now.
Using my free hand to push back the hair from his face, I turn his head slightly, securing his eyes with mine and whisper–
“I’m here.”