Never Forget

by Harper Shaw

  “Oh no?”

  “No.”

  “I guess they’re lax about this sort of thing in Texas?”

  “Please drop it, Mom.”

  To her surprise, her mom clammed up. Though her silence seemed like its own kind of rebuke.

  What will I do if they kick me off the force? Enough hiding. Rebecca had to face the fact a discharge was a possibility. If they do that… I’ll never be able to atone for Monica.

  She would rarely admit it, even to herself, but on a subconscious level her joining the police had been a reaction to Monica’s death. Somehow, she thought, if she could put right the evils that befell others, it would atone for what happened to Monica. As if bringing other crimes to light would balance the scales against the crime she had covered up.

  It was ironic. She became a cop because of Monica’s death. The lawsuit around Monica’s death brought her back to Hilton Head. Now the events in Hilton Head might get her kicked off the force.

  Maybe you can’t escape karma.

  “Morgan!” called the cop at the front desk, holding up a large padded manilla envelope. Rebecca walked up to the desk. The officer was a large woman who seemed to view making eye contact with Rebecca as somehow beneath her. Her name tag read Conallen. “Here’s your things.” Conallen unceremoniously dumped Rebecca’s personal items onto the desk and began going over the inventory she had on a checklist.

  Rebecca began collecting things in a hurry. She lingered a moment on her chip, though. She thought of her last conversation with Riya, her sponsor. “Come clean,” she’d said. Had she been right?

  “And that’s it,” Conallen concluded, putting the checklist away.

  Rebecca slid the chip back in her pocket and confronted the officer. “No, that’s not it.”

  “That’s all I have on my list. So that’s it.”

  “What about my gun?”

  “There is nothing here about a firearm, miss.”

  Rebecca was about to argue—politely, kind of—when another voice cut across the room. “You’re not getting the gun back.”

  It was Faruq. He strode up, standing behind Conallen, his hands gripping his belt buckle. He stared long and hard at Rebecca. “I warned you last time,” he said.

  Rebecca glanced down at the desk officer, who now was deigning to look her in the eye. Her look was full of scorn. It was humiliating, for another cop to see her this way.

  Rebecca forced her attention back on Faruq. “Bruce is being ridiculous. He’s not really going to follow through on pressing charges. He’s just a little butt hurt.” Faruq’s face tightened. Rebecca realized her poor choice of words. “What I mean is—”

  “We’ll have to see,” Faruq said, his voice even though his eyes burned with anger.

  Rebecca forced herself to give Faruq a lopsided grin. “You don’t really think I’m dangerous. Do you?”

  Faruq just shrugged.

  Alright, then. She needed to try something else. “Professional courtesy, Faruq. Let me have my piece.”

  “Oh, give me a break. You’ve reached the limits of professional courtesy.”

  “I have a right to protect myself.”

  “Why would you be in danger? What’ve you done?”

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  “Then you should have nothing to fear.”

  Rebecca didn’t appreciate being jerked around. She also knew getting angry would serve no purpose. She chewed her bottom lip and stared at the empty manilla envelope that had held her things. She tried to find an argument that he’d go for that would procure her the gun.

  Faruq must have sensed something going on with her. He sat on the edge of the desk and leaned close to Rebecca. Conallen rolled her chair to the side a little to give them some semblance of privacy.

  “Do you have something to fear, Rebecca?” Faruq’s tone did a good job conveying concern. Rebecca almost bought it.

  Telling Faruq she needed the gun to fend off the Shroud would mean confessing to so much more. In her pocket, her sobriety chip pressed hard, round and sure against her leg. She thought of Riya’s advice. “Come clean.” She was almost tempted. But she hadn’t paid the price of keeping such a dark secret for so long just to spill it to someone like Faruq for so little advantage.

  “No, Faruq.”

  “You’re not going to cause me any more trouble. Are you?”

  Fuck you, Faruq. “No, Faruq.”

  “Your gun will be waiting for you when you’re all wrapped up here in town. Which I encourage you to find a way to do as quickly as possible. For both our sakes.”

  He stood up and walked away, back into the precinct. Conallen rolled her chair back to its original position. She managed to ignore Rebecca in a way that was actually insulting.

  Stepping outside with her mother, Rebecca felt horribly exposed. Without her gun, she would be unable to defend herself.

  On the other hand, she’d survived this long without always being armed when facing the Shroud. She was still alive.

  “Can we go?” her father shouted out the open window of the car as the women approached.

  “Your daughter had to argue about her gun.”

  “Oh, that’s smart. Are you determined to ruin your life?”

  Rebecca ignored her father and got in the backseat.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Five cars outside,” Rebecca noted to herself, “weren’t there six a minute ago? Maybe not.” She sighed as her eyes scanned her parents’ street for the umpteenth time that day. Without her gun, Rebecca felt more open to attacks from the Shroud than ever, and the fact that Jennifer had been taken from her home didn’t make her feel any safer being a sitting duck in her parents’ house.

  At least before she’d had some means of protecting herself. Now she didn’t know what she’d do if someone showed up and tried to do something. There was barely even anywhere to hide.

  Rebecca’s thoughts oscillated between fear and anger, though. Taking her gun wasn’t even necessary, just something Faruq was doing to get back at her for what she’d said before. She wished he’d stop holding a grudge more than anything, but she also couldn’t help but think about how she brought a lot of things on herself.

  Gazing out the window again, she crossed her arms. Five cars were still there. No Shroud thus far. Her attention was disturbed when she heard a knock on her door.

  “Come in,” Rebecca called.

  “Good afternoon. I haven’t seen you all day.” That wasn’t true, as Rebecca had heard her mother in the hallway multiple times as the day had gone on and yelled about breakfast earlier.

  “Hey, Mom,” she answered, not interested in arguing.

  “Do you want any lunch before I go out? I made a little seafood pasta to drop off at Valeria’s house later today, and I made extra for you and your father.”

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  “You didn’t come for breakfast either.”

  “It’s one meal, Mom. Stop acting like I’m going to fade away or something.” Rebecca hadn’t turned to her mother once and didn’t really plan to either, but she was finding it was probably the only way to get the woman to leave. “I’m fine.”

  “I never said I was worried,” her mother deflected. “I was just telling you what I noticed.”

  “Okay…”

  “So, you don’t want any?”

  “No, I’ll come. Thank you.”

  “Mhm.” Rather than leave, her mother remained in the doorway.

  Rebecca peeled her feet from where they’d been melted into the floor for the past few hours and began toward the door. Only then did her mother move as well as she led them into the dining room. When she got there, Rebecca saw that a plate was already fixed for her.

  “Thank you,” she said again, taking a seat.

  “It’s my pleasure. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I’m about to leave to have lunch with Janet, and then we’re going to go see Valeria. She’s been having an awful spell of anxiety after some
disaster with her husband Harold.”

  “And you’re going to comfort her?”

  Her mother gave a noncommittal answer as she picked up her purse from one of the chairs at the table and a glass Tupperware of pasta. Rebecca knew her mother was a gossip as well, so she figured the trip would also include some information gathering. She often wondered if that was where she got her detective gene from.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  “Of course, sweetie. Call your father at work if you need anything, and if you find the time, I’d appreciate it if you did the dishes.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll be home around five, so let your father know if you plan on going anywhere, though there shouldn’t be anything you need to leave for anymore.” Don’t get into trouble.

  “Got it. I don’t need to be babysat or anything.”

  “Good.” That was her mother’s last word before she headed out the front door.

  Sighing, Rebecca mixed the shrimp in the creamy white sauce and folded it throughout the pasta. The sight of the food made her stomach turn. After taking a few bites, she decided that was enough and resolved to go ahead and do the dishes now.

  From the sink in the kitchen, she had a view of the street even better than her bedroom. Turning on the tap and pouring a generous portion of dish detergent into the sink, Rebecca let the bubbles rise as she appraised the state of the street in the fifteen minutes she’d been occupied in the dining room. She found that the number of cars had stayed the same, and comforted by that, she allowed her head to tip down for a moment to begin scrubbing one of her mother’s dirty pans.

  When she finished washing and rinsing all the dishes, her job began to prove a little more complicated. Because most of the cabinets and drawers were on the other side of the kitchen, she would have to figure out how to put everything away without turning from her view of the street for too long.

  Eventually, Rebecca decided to just twist herself as needed to keep her eyes on the outdoors at all times. When she noticed another car enter the street, she was glad she had. She watched a nice, sleek sports car ease down the road and stop right in front of her house.

  Cursing, she left a half-dried glass on the edge of the counter as she fumbled through the drawers and appliances for the sharpest weapon she could find. The doorbell rang before she was able to fully pull one of the knives out of the block. Ready, she held the knife behind her back and slowly walked up to the door.

  As she peeped through the hole, all she could see was Dennis’s face, but that was anything but a comforting thought after Jennifer. Had Jennifer’s doorbell rung, too, before her demise? She didn’t want to open the door, but it wasn’t as if she could run. Cracking it open, she readied her knife.

  “Hey, Becca.” She could see now Dennis was holding a bouquet of flowers. His pockets didn’t seem bulky, and there wasn’t any evidence of other weapons, so she opened the door further.

  “What do you want?” she asked, still obscuring half of her body and the knife.

  “Do you have a knife or something?” he asked, taking a few steps backward until he was off the welcome mat. “I’m not here to do anything. Do you actually think I could be a killer of one of my high school friends?”

  “I don’t know… I mean, why not? You already covered up one death. What’s one more to your conscience?”

  “You did, too,” he reminded her. “It wasn’t just me.”

  “Can I come inside?” He held the flowers out. “I think it may look a little weird if we stand out here forever.”

  “Fine.” She stepped back and let him walk through.

  Thanking her, Dennis stepped inside. Rebecca set her knife on a table in the foyer.

  “We’re done with everything if that’s why you’re here,” she told him.

  “I didn’t do anything to Jennifer. I’m still on your side. Also, I heard about what happened at Bruce’s shop. What did you guys talk about?”

  “What? Bruce didn’t tell you while you guys were burying Jennifer’s body?”

  “I don’t have anything to do with Bruce. There’s nothing we’ve done I haven’t already told you about. I’m not covering anything up.”

  “You’re pretty good at it, though, aren’t you?”

  “I wasn’t the only one there back then, Rebecca. You’re just as guilty as I am, and don’t think I don’t feel bad about what happened to Monica either.”

  “It was mostly your idea to cover it up.”

  “If you didn’t want to go along, you didn’t have to. Besides, you were Monica’s best friend and the closest to her family. Had you told the group to just tell the truth, we all would have—even Jennifer. The truth is you didn’t want to tell it any more than we did.”

  “Fine, we’re both wrong,” Rebecca muttered. After locking her front door, she went further into the house and sat down on the couch. Arguing had proved cathartic for her. She felt herself drained of some of the tension she’d had before.

  Dennis sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Why she didn’t say anything Rebecca didn’t know. It felt nice for some reason, though. It felt so nice she leaned into the embrace and rested her head against his chest. They were quiet for a few beats.

  At some point, her chin rose, and she found her lips pressing against his, even softer than it had been the last time it happened. Dennis returned the kiss with another and smoothed his hands down her silhouette until he got to her hips. Their bodies pressed together, and then they were standing. Rebecca took Dennis’s hand and led him down the hall to the guest room, the only thought in her head was that her mother wouldn’t be home until five.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rebecca walked slowly, not really wanting to get back home. Well, this wasn’t home, not anymore. It hadn’t been home for a long time. Home was El Paso.

  So, she was on her way back to her parents’ place.

  Two nights ago she had taken Dennis into the guest room and let him have his way with her. It had felt good.

  Then last night, she had given in and visited his house for round two.

  Her night with Dennis hadn’t been bad. In fact, it had been one of her better nights in a long time. Rebecca wasn’t really sure if she even considered this a walk of shame. There was nothing shameful about what she and Dennis had done. It had been a fantastic time, and Rebecca had needed the outlet.

  Her energy level back on point meant her need for alcohol diminished to only a nagging, background narrative. Rebecca turned the key to her parents’ front door and walked inside.

  She’d been a cop long enough to know when someone was pissed off. And her parents, sitting on their couch, drinking coffee and waiting for her to come home meant something was wrong. They hadn’t done that since she was in high school.

  She really hadn’t disappointed them since then. It’s not like they knew about her life or anything she did. Rebecca was careful to keep them out of the loop, so they only knew what she told them. Which wasn’t a whole hell of a lot.

  “So,” her dad said as she walked in the door, “you’re not actually working right now?”

  “Who told you that?”

  Rebecca had to self-talk not to yell. Anger had always been a problem, but it was worse now that she was sober. It wasn’t her parents’ business what she did or how she did it.

  “It doesn’t matter who told us,” her mother said, tapping her foot. “What matters is that you lied to us.”

  “Really? That’s what matters? And I didn’t lie,” Rebecca snapped. “You asked how work was going, and I said not great. It’s not my fault you guys took that as I was still working.”

  “You deliberately misinformed us,” her father said angrily. “Plus, you don’t think we should know about your alcoholism?”

  It impressed Rebecca that he could get any emotion out, considering how much valium he was on every day.

  “And that’s as bad as lying,” her mother finished for him.

  “Is i
t though?” Rebecca bit off the yell, trying desperately to keep her cool. “I was right thinking you guys would just be more concerned that I was a drunk, instead of being concerned about my mental health. Maybe I didn’t want to have this fucking conversation to begin with.”

  “We’re your parents,” her father fired back. “We have every right to know what’s going on in your life.”

  “So, you can give me shit about addiction? So, you can make me feel bad, or shame me because I’m not living life exactly how you thought I was?” Rebecca turned and stomped up the stairs. “This is why I didn’t fucking tell you!”

  “There is no need for the language,” her mother called up the stairs after her. “We’re just trying to help you!”

  Rebecca was done with the conversation, and the anger threatened to boil over and have her say something she really didn’t mean. As pissed off as she was at her parents, she didn’t want to completely demolish the relationship.

  “What are you doing?” her mother called from downstairs.

  “I’m packing my shit and I’m leaving,” Rebecca fired back, sounding like a petulant child. “I’ll go stay at a motel. I’d rather be alone than be given shit about actually dealing with my problems.”

  “We’re not giving you shit,” her mother said, following her up the stairs. “We’re concerned about you.”

  “Oh?” Her mother had followed her up the stairs and was watching her pack up her bag. “This certainly seems like you guys are giving me shit.”

  “Rebecca—” her mother started to placate.

  Rebecca held up her hand, cutting her off.

  “I have a problem, Mom. I’ve been trying to fix it. I didn’t tell you guys about it, because I didn’t want this conversation. I already feel guilty enough. You guys don’t need to help.”

  She hadn’t brought much to Hilton Head, so it didn’t take her long to pack it up and head out the door.

  “Rebecca, wait!” Her mother called from behind her.

  Rebecca didn’t wait. She stormed out of the house and lugged her stuff down to the end of the street to get as far away from the house as possible, while her mother yelled after her.