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“So far, just that mom killed herself. There was a note, but they took it in for evidence. They’ve taken her away and questioned both of us,” Ashley tells me. She crosses her arms over her chest. Tears line both their faces. I think of all the abuse my mother put me through so I can drum up the same emotion. Tears cloud my vision quickly. I feel conflicted, like I should be sad, but I’m not.
“Miss Lee? We would like to talk to you.” A man wearing dress pants, a button-down, and a blazer comes out of the house and walks in my direction.
“That’s the detective I talked to. He’s nice,” Michael offers, his shoulders square off and he stands taller as the detectives walk out.
“We’re going to call a cleaner once they are done processing the scene. If you can come over to my house tomorrow, we’ll go over all the plans for the funeral and everything,” Ashley says, and I watch them each get into their cars and leave.
“Do I have to come down to the station?”
“No, we can do it here. My partner Dan can question your boyfriend and I’ll take down notes from you. It’s pretty clean cut here, but just doing our due diligence.”
Fear prickles in my scalp. Casting a glance at Sebastian, he smiles at me and gives a slight nod of his head. “Alright, thank you. Detective, um…?”
“My apologies. My wife says I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached. I’m Detective Hoyer and my partner is Detective Loams.”
We walk over to the fence line. “So your sister tells us you had dinner with your mother a week ago?”
“Yeah, we weren’t getting along the best. She didn’t like my boyfriend, but I was trying to make her happier.”
Hoyer pulls out his notepad and scribbles in it. “What did you have for dinner?”
“Mom was tired from the day, so we had sandwiches. It was cheese and lunchmeat, nothing fancy. She seemed exhausted. I asked a few times what was wrong, but she said she was fine.” I pick at a hangnail, wondering if I look suspicious but not knowing how to act normal without seeming weird.
“It happens to the best of us. What time did you go home?”
“Shortly after six-thirty, Sebastian picked me up after he was done with work. We got tacos and drove home. I would have never left her if I thought this was what would happen.”
“That’s the thing, when you know, it’s usually too late. Sometimes, people don’t want to be helped.
“One more question. Did it not seem odd to you that she didn’t talk to you all week? We checked her phone and she didn’t send any messages over the last week.”
I look into his eyes before looking away. “We had a delicate relationship. Sometimes she would ignore me for weeks at a time. It was a normal thing for us.” When I look back at him, his eyes soften. He looks sad for a minute.
“I’m sorry. If you think of anything, you can reach me here.” He hands me his business card. “And if you ever need anyone to talk to, here is a list of agencies that can help.” He hands over the list and gives me a quick smile before walking over to his partner.
Sebastian heads over to me. He lowers his sunglasses and grasps my hand, pulling me to the car. “You did perfectly.”
While we drive home, my nerves from talking to the detectives settle, and my body starts to relax. “How would you know that I did good?”
He doesn’t look away from the road. “Because you’re in the car with me.” As we enter the apartment, my mind detaches from the situation, like I’m being pulled into myself from reality.
“Smoke?” Sebastian's dark brown eyes look at me. I follow him to the patio, sitting in the hard plastic chair.
“Is it supposed to feel this way?”
He exhales the smoke. Leaning back in the chair, his head is tilted back looking to sky. “Sorta. It’s hard to explain.”
I take a drag and exhale, watching the smoke swirl in front of me. “Please try?”
“I don’t want you to think differently of me. I adore you, my dove.” I look over at him, but he doesn’t look towards me. What could make me change the way I feel about him? “It will feel odd for a while. You will go through the same emotions, but it’ll get easier.”
“How do you know?” I ask, stubbing out my cigarette and looking in his direction.
This time he jumps up, grabbing both armrests on my chair, his face inches from mine, eyes penetrating into my soul. “Because my father was like your mother. Except he didn’t use his tongue to drip venom into my veins. He used objects and his belt.”
He lowers his face and grazes my lips with his. “We’re both so broken,” I whisper, and he sighs.
“Only as broken as you perceive. They can steal a lot from us, but they won’t steal our spirit. It can be broken, it can be bent, hell, it can shatter. But you hold on to it as tight as you can because it lights the fire within.”
