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“We heard him that night. He…smashed them. Threw them against the wall.”
“Mmm,” the sergeant said.
At the door to her husband’s office she paused, looked to its corners, realized her jaw was cramping, her teeth clenched tight.
The office was as bright and cheerful as its dim spot in the house ever got, afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. The panel to the hidden place was open, inside inky black even in the daylight. A stale human vinegar smell led her eyes to the pool of her own vomit. It was dried and dark. No one had cleaned it up. This struck her as cruel and inconsiderate, though she knew logically cleaning up wasn’t—shouldn’t be—the officers’ job.
“Why didn’t you try to contact 9-1-1 online?” the boyish officer asked, lifting his chin toward the computer. She told them her husband kept it disconnected, the better to focus on work. They nodded, and she understood they already knew it was offline, and she wondered why they’d wanted to test her in this way.
“I bet you’ve got a lot of spooky stories about this place,” the boyish officer said.
“She doesn’t believe in ghosts,” the sergeant said. “Doesn’t believe in thesupernatural.”
She winced. Her flippant comment about religion had clearly lodged deep.
He wants you to apologize for saying all that about religion and superstition being the same. Wants you to apologize again. Sorry, sorry, sorry is all you ever say. Don’t you dare apologize again.
“The real world’s scary enough for me without ghosts,” she said as evenly as she could.
29
Is that—that’s every room now, isn’t it? Are we finished?”
“We need you to take a look around outside,” the sergeant said.
This did not sound in any way possible. Physically, she had been trying to ignore the pain, the sluggishness of her own blood. Mentally, she’d been trying to push away the sense that these officers had been next to her for days, had asked her the same questions hundreds of times, that they would never leave and she’d have them hanging around her neck forever.
But the light outside was only just beginning to transition to its evening yellow. Not so much time since she left the hospital. Not so much time searching the house, answering questions, looking at their blank eyes.
“It’s just—I’m tired. Can we do that another time?”
“How about a little break, then we see how you feel?”
It was bizarre, being ushered to take a seat on her own couch, in her own house.
“Need a glass of water or anything?” the sergeant asked, as if it were his house, his glasses, his water.
“Can you call my kids? He picks up for you.”
“Um…”
“Please.”
“Sure, yeah, all right.”
The sergeant dialed. Her father-in-law picked up immediately.
“Officer, thanks for calling me back. That lunatic woman left a message saying she’s picking up the kids today. Over my dead body will that crazy bitch—”
“It’s me.”
Her voice sounded thin and exhausted, though she’d aimed for strong, snide, something that would embarrass him.
Her father-in-law sputtered, then said, “What do I care? You arenotcoming here. You convince them some goddamn demon is in your house, gonna burn and eat them? Jesus Christ, no wonder they don’t think you’re—”
“Sir?” the sergeant interrupted, voice urgent in a way that she couldn’t unpack. “Sir? That’s enough now, I’ve got lots to discuss with her, all right? So put the kids on.”
“With all due respect, Officer? No,” her father-in-law sniped, and hung up.
