6. Chapter Six
Chapter six
Carter
I stare at the familiar dirty tile floor as I listen to Bernice talk about how she’s having trouble sleeping again.
Her words come in and out. I’m trying to listen, to be supportive, but my chest aches.
I need my turn to speak, but I just wasn’t ready the three times Tim has asked.
I feel his attention on me. He knows something is up.
I’m always an open book, ready to share how my week went.
Today I’m quiet. A clam, as we like to joke.
Nothing wrong with clams. They open when they want to.
“Thank you so much for sharing, Bernice. Does anyone else have anything they want to share?” Tim asks as he looks around the room.
Time is running out. I should speak up. I should say what I need to say.
It’ll make me feel better. It always does.
When I first came to group, I didn’t say a word, and I left feeling guilty and like a failure.
Speaking at these support groups has changed me enough that I can sleep at night. I don’t want that to change.
“Yeah, I do,” I finally say, but I still can’t look up.
“Thank you, Carter,” Tim says.
I take a moment, closing my eyes and breathing.
If Ryan were here, he’d put his hand on my shoulder, lean in, and whisper that it’s okay. That he’s here and everything will be okay.
But nothing is okay because he isn’t here.
He’s dead.
Still, I muster up my strength, lift my head, and look at everyone sitting around. It’s full today. Fridays are usually busier than Tuesdays.
“When I left here on Tuesday, a cop showed up at my apartment saying he wants to re-open Ryan’s case.”
Tim’s face is slightly surprised. “How does that make you feel?” he asks.
“Scared.” The word falls out willingly. I huff a laugh. “Terrified. I’ve been let down by the cops before, and I just don’t know if I can handle going through this again.”
“We always think we can’t do something until we do it,” someone says. A woman to my left. Her voice sounds underwater, and I know I’m dissociating now. It’s too hard to stay present when dealing with stuff like this. But I try, because in the end it does help, even if just a little.
“Sue is right,” Tim adds. “There are a lot of big and scary things we have to face in our lives. Sometimes we can’t overcome them, but as long as we try, we come out better in the end.”
I nod in agreement, but I don’t know if that’s true. I’ve been trying to overcome Ryan’s attack and death for nearly three years, and it only makes me feel weak.
“I don’t know what I should do.”
“If he’s opening the case, does it matter?” someone else says. I think it’s Tony. He’s kind of a dick sometimes.
I lift my head and look him in the eye. I can tell by the expectant look on his face that it was him.
“He said he needs my help. Probably just another interview, but maybe he could be the difference. He seems… different.”
“How? Cops are all the same,” Tony says.
He too has had a lot of bad run-ins with cops. Hates them more than I do. Though, I don’t think hate is the right word to describe my feelings for them. I am just whole-heartedly disappointed with each and every one. And it hurts.
“He’s a detective and specifically works on cold cases.
Which means he cares more about it than the cops on the street.
He came across it and reached out. He wants to get this case solved.
I’ve never had someone reach out to me about this.
For a long time, I begged for them to keep looking.
Now, I’m getting what I want and it just feels… ” My shoulders lift and fall back down.
“Scary,” Marie says. “It is scary. Very scary.” She’s giving me a sympathetic smile. “I’ve been in your shoes. But if he can solve it? It will take so much weight from your shoulders, Carter. Weight you probably don’t even realize you’re carrying around.”
Her daughter died at ten years old. Got caught in a drive-by while she was riding her bike. She always talks about how there was relief when the man who did it was caught.
“Thank you, Marie. Those are very smart words,” Tim says. It’s silent for a few moments. “Carter, do you have anything else you’d like to add?”
I shake my head.
I said what I wanted to say, got the response I knew I would get. Now I just need to make up my mind and call that detective.
Teddy lays beside me, her head resting on my thigh.
I run my hand over her head and down her back.
I’ve already done everything I need to do for the day, but I’m sticking around because I need a little extra love, and I know Teddy won’t mind.
She’s sleeping soundly, her ears twitching now and again.
I still wish I could take her home. I wish I had the sort of life that could allow a dog into it.
“Maybe one day,” I say softly, resting my head against the wall and closing my eyes.
I don’t know if Detective Bennett works on Saturdays, but I’d decided last night that I would call him when I left Winward. And that’s what I’m going to do. I have to try, and I have to do it for Ryan.
If there is any chance that Ryan’s killer can be caught, I need to try, no matter how much bringing all of this up is going to hurt.
Thinking about him hurts on a normal day. When I have nightmares over what happened, I’m fucked up over it for days, like it happened all over again. Rehashing all of this isn’t going to be easy, but Ryan fighting for his life wasn’t easy either. This is the least I can do.
He’d do it for me.
“You’re a very brave girl, Teddy,” I say gently, still running my hand over her head. Her fur is so soft. “I have to be brave too, and it really sucks. It sucks so bad.” She huffs, almost like she agrees, but she’s still sleeping—and she’s a dog, so she doesn’t understand what I’m saying, anyway.
I stay with her for another couple of minutes, then I carefully get up, watch her go back to her corner, and grab my stuff before heading out the door.
I said I’d call when I left Winward, but it’s too cold out to handle a cell phone. So, I’ll do it when I get home. I will. Really, I will.
Only when I get home, I sit on my couch with the phone beside me. I stare at it, wondering if it may explode and save me the pain of calling this detective.
He’s probably not even working. The number he gave me must be his office number. Meaning, I can leave a message and deal with this on Monday. I’ll hate myself for it, but better than dealing with it now. Yeah. Definitely. Future Carter’s problem.
That settles it. I pick up the cell and call the number that I memorized because I have stared at his card for so long that how could I not?
It rings three times before someone answers.
And I freeze.
“Detective Bennett.”
Words are caught in my throat. I can’t say a single word.
“Hello?” he says.
“H-hi,” I finally get out.
“Detective Bennett here, how can I help you?”
I grit my teeth, take a deep breath, and say, “It’s Carter Evans.”
Is that a sigh of relief?
“I’m glad you called, Carter.” His voice is softer now.
“I was hoping to get your voicemail.”
He chuckles. “Honesty is good. Sorry to disappoint.”
“How do we do this?” I ask. “They’ve never talked about re-opening Ryan’s case before, even though I begged them to for a while.”
“Well, I’ve already presented re-opening it to my boss, who said he would give me an answer on Monday.”
“What? How?”
“Just going over the file. Digging through what’s here. I think there is enough to do that.”
Fuck, really? Is this really happening?
An overwhelming warm and almost tickling feeling fills my chest, and once again, I can’t breathe.
“I’d like to set up a time to speak with you. I know it won’t be easy, but I promise I am going to do everything I can to find Ryan’s killer.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words coming out raspy.
“No, Carter, thank you. I appreciate your willingness to cooperate. Together, I think we can get somewhere with Ryan’s case.”
I want to respond to that, tell him that it’s me who appreciates him, but emotion is clogging my throat again. I mean, he keeps calling it Ryan’s case. Which it is, but no one ever says that. They always refer to it as the incident, or the Kinsley Case, or something much worse.
“When are you available? I’ll move my schedule around to meet with you if I have to.”
A tear spills from the corner of my eye, and I swipe it away.
“Why are you being so nice?” I ask.
I expect him to tell me it’s his job. But that isn’t what he says, which only shocks me more.
“I told you. I lost someone too. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.”
It’s silent then, and I take a moment to get my thoughts together. This guy is either a really good actor, or he is different.
“I’m off work at six on Monday,” I say. “Unless that’s too late.”
“It’s not. Should I meet you at your place, or would you rather meet at a coffee shop?”
“Not the precinct?”
“I assumed you didn’t want to go there…”
“You assumed right. Coffee shop is fine. I work at the library on West 49th, and there’s a coffee shop a few doors down. The Dancing Bean. I can be there at 6:15.”
“6:15 at The Dancing Bean. I’ll see you then.”
We end the call, and I lean back against the couch. Am I really doing this?
I take a long, shuddering breath, letting it out slowly.
Yeah, I’m really doing this.
For Ryan.