Station #2
Braylon raises his brow. “Yeah, by all means.”
With that, the men part, and I’m led into another room with one single brain cell bouncing around in my skull and Gideon's keys, still warm from his pocket, grasped tightly in my palm.
I don’t put them down as Braylon motions for me to sit at the small table nestled inside an equally small room.
It’s stuffy and maybe a bit colder than the rest of them.
There's nothing in here to make it more comfortable, not a painting or a couch.
No fake plants or anything remotely adorning.
I raise my brows at him. “Am I being interrogated?”
He laughs. “We picked someone up for DUI last night. The nicer room still smells like puke.”
I smile back at him, clearing my throat to shake off the nerves.
“Audrey, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get straight to it. You’re not in any trouble, kid. We’ve just got to cover all our bases here.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
He sits loudly, like he weighs three tons more than he does, and immediately I’m struck with why I’ve avoided all his attempts to pull me into the fold all these years.
He’s too much like Dad for comfort. The folder he lies on the table stays closed, but he raps his fingers on it, taking a deep breath like he’s gearing up to do something he really doesn’t want to.
That makes two of us.
“When was the last time you saw Bryan? Jessica had mentioned he was on his way to your house the night he passed.”
My head snaps up at that. “I never saw him that night. I have no idea why he’d be in the woods either. He wasn’t really a nature kind of guy.”
He just nods. “Enough pills and alcohol, you’ll be an anything kind of guy, kiddo. You’re sure you didn’t see him Thursday, though?”
“No, I was painting the flower shop's fall display that day. It’s the last order I had for the season.”
“Wanna walk me through the last time you saw him? What his headspace was. He say anything about feeling down?”
I’m quiet for a long time at that, indecisiveness making my heart thump wildly in my chest. Second-guessing my whole monologue on the way here. Jess will hate me; he’s dead… what does it matter if I omit the truth a bit. It won’t change the fact.
I ignore the question, hating the way my voice wobbles. “How did he die?”
“Overdose. Looks like the guy took a bunch of that garbage them kids were always caught on, passed out in the woods, and just… you know.”
I do know.
How many times had Jess come to my house crying because Bryan had gotten too messed up and almost choked on his own vomit. So much so, she’d started making him sleep with her when he was that far gone.
Was that how Mom felt with Uncle Rodney? Had she taken care of him like Jess did for Bryan? Was that why she hated him so much?
Was Jess relieved?
I am.
God, I really am.
“Hey Audrey, whatever it is, we’ve got your back. You’re one of ours, right, kiddo? We need to know so we can close this part off for his family,” he assures me, reaching across the table to pat my arm.
“Promise me you won’t tell them what I said?”
“I won’t share anything I don’t have to.”
With that, I tell Braylon everything, watching as his jaw tightens with each recounting of a bender.
His already ruddy face redder when I make it to that night.
I do my best not to cry. Try to make Dad proud, or at least not embarrass him, but the tears come anyway.
Panic grips my chest as I remember the weight of him as he shoved my face into my pillow.
The way black dots twinkled in my vision as the air in my lungs got thinner.
I omit the part about Jess knowing; this is bad enough without having to dredge through another layer of bullshit.
By the time I pull up outside Bell Funeral Home, I pointedly avoid looking at the house for as long as I can.
Everything still too raw from the police station to think about the body cooling below it.
I put the car in park, my eyes landing on the necklace swaying gently from the rearview.
My palms are shaky, my nerves shot as I reach out, letting it dance across my fingers the way Gideon had when movement from the dark woods catches my attention.
My heart jolts to a sudden stop in my chest as the darkness churns and writhes, the air electrified with the coming storm, as the little orange tabby bolts to the porch, hitting the steps mere seconds before the sky opens up.
It takes me several seconds to work up the courage to actually leave his car, the smell of him worked into the leather seats.
Takes me even more seconds to toss the double front doors open, the cat darting in between my teeth to get out of the storm. “Hey!”
I step inside, just an inch, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
I watch as the cat trots upstairs, right at home, and debate if I should get it out, but then my eyes land on the cracked basement door and I immediately decide hell no.
As a crack of thunder reverberates through the old double-paned windows, I dart inside, slamming the keys on the foyer table and rushing back out, slamming the front door behind me.
My heart is pounding in my ears as I bolt across the road, as if I can outrun my own embarrassment.
Like I’m not half convinced Bryan's ghost isn’t trailing at my heels.