Darkness Drops Again

by Melissa E Manning

  “It would’ve never stopped, Maeve. You need to understand that,” he says firmly. “Even if I’d let her go, she’d have kept finding new ways to destroy us. That’s just what addicts do.”

  The cruisers pull up in front. I see Sheriff Quaker opening the driver’s side door of his patrol car, every fiber of my body alive with fear.

  “Dad,” I say slowly. “Please put down the gun. It’s over.”

  Looking me right in the eye, he slowly raises the gun to his temple. “I did this for you, Maeve. Remember that. I did this so you could be free.”

  And then his head explodes.

  Chapter 39

  I don’t disclose Karen’s revelation to Ethan, but the speed by which I haul ass back to Chicago makes him suspicious. This suspicion reaches its apex when I pull up in front of his condo with Rapscallion still in tow. With his eyebrows arched as far as they can go on his forehead, he asks, “Aren’t I coming to Tammy’s with you?”

  Not wanting to play any more games, I answer bluntly, “No.” Seeing his swift disappointment, I try to soften the blow. “I’m sorry, but I need to talk to her alone. I can’t tell you more than that.”

  Ethan nods and exits the van. I merge back into traffic and speed west toward Tammy’s house. Tammy lives in a run-down three-bedroom brick ranch house in Humboldt Park. The humble abode is surrounded by a rusty wire fence bearing a sign that reads, “Beware of the Dog.” Assuming the sign is referring to the dainty, spoiled Rapscallion, that I’m currently clutching easily under one arm, it’s quite a stretch. With the guard dog in tow, I pull up on the latch and make my way to the front door. Tammy answers on the second knock as if she’s been waiting all day for that sound.

  “Rapscallion! My baby!” she cries, snatching the dog from my arms and proceeding to cover him in kisses. A minute or so passes before the lovefest subsides and she notices I’m alone. She looks behind me to my parked car to see if Ethan is just lagging before inquiring as to his absence.

  “Ethan has plans tonight and needed to get home. So, I offered to drop off Rapscallion. May I come in?”

  Tammy appears taken aback by my impudence but knows she doesn’t have much of a choice given the hours of driving I put in today all to retrieve her beloved pooch.

  “Sure,” she responds dejectedly. “Come on in.”

  There’s a small living room off the entrance furnished with two matching grey couches arranged in an L-shape. Between which stands a floor lamp with a dingy white shade. On the wall hangs a flat screen television with the wires visibly hanging down. Tammy gestures to one of the grey couches and sits with Rapscallion on the other. I take a seat and then quickly readjust myself so the spring no longer pokes me directly in the rear.

  After a moment’s silence, Tammy offers awkwardly, “Would you like some tea? Or maybe something stronger?”

  “No, thank you,” I decline. Silence falls between us again as I fumble with how best to proceed. I decide to lead with my ace and take the legal route. “Tammy, do you know what double jeopardy means?”

  Tammy answers slowly and cautiously, “It means me, or anyone else for that matter, can’t be tried twice for the same crime.”

  “That’s right,” I confirm. “The prosecution can’t try you again for Kyleigh’s murder. You know, that’s true even if the police discover new evidence incriminating you. For example, you could walk up to them tomorrow with the murder weapon and there’d be nothing they could do.”

  Tammy furrows her brow in suspicion. “Maeve, would you mind telling me what this is about?”

  “You should have picked up your own dog,” I answer bluntly.

  Tammy’s eyes go wide and she puts a hand to her chest in offense. “Excuse me. I’ll have you know, missy, that Ethan offered to pick up Rapscallion. I didn’t ask him to.”

  “I know,” I say, “but you’d have gotten away with it if you’d just picked up your own dog.”

  Offense turns to nervousness. “Away with what? What are you talking about?”

  With Tammy off balance, I enact the reveal. “I checked with Karen. You kenneled Rapscallion the day before Kyleigh died. Why? Why would you have done that unless you were worried you’d be going away for some time? Like for a crime you’d been planning for months, maybe even years.”

  Tammy shakes her head, but not in earnest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Karen probably wrote down the wrong date.”

  I shake my head firmly. “Impossible. That’s what was bugging me on the long drive to Springfield: the timeline. Kyleigh was found early in the morning on August third. The police picked you up for questioning later that same evening and then booked you. When would you have had the time to drive five hours to lodge your beloved papillon? You wouldn’t have.”

  I see Tammy fumbling for a plausible explanation. “Well, maybe I dropped him off on the second. It was three years ago! I can’t remember every detail. I probably couldn’t handle him anymore and deal with all of Kyleigh’s drama. So, I took him someplace that could.”

  “That’s bullshit. You know it and I know it.” I lean toward Tammy, arms resting on my thighs, bringing our faces closer together. I want to rekindle some of the intimacy we had gained over the course of the trial. “I’ve already explained you can’t be tried again for Kyleigh’s murder. So why don’t you just tell me why you did it?”

  Tammy gives a small head shake. She’s on the ledge. I just need to give her a shove. “This is just between you and me,” I assure her, “but I need to know.”

  I can see Tammy struggling internally with what to do, but after a while her face hardens, and I can see she’s made up her mind. “I did it for Garrett,” she says matter-of-factly. “Kyleigh was never going to stop using. Yeah, she went to rehab after he was born,” she says, “but she started up again just a few months later. She didn’t want to stay sober.” Tammy looks me directly in the eye and adds, “If it had just been her, I would’ve washed my hands of it. But I couldn’t watch that poor baby suffer anymore.”

  I’d assumed this would be Tammy’s go-to excuse, but it didn’t sit right. “Couldn’t you have called children’s services? Gotten Garrett taken away for good this time?”

  “You think I hadn’t already tried that?” Tammy spits at me. “I called children’s services at least fifteen separate times. They finally stopped logging my complaints. And it wasn’t just me. Garrett’s pediatrician even called them for ‘unexplained bruising’ and ‘signs of neglect.’ They sent a case worker out to visit and Kyleigh charmed the pants off of him. Bought her story hook, line and sinker. You know, ‘she’s a struggling single mom trying to straighten her life out.’ Oh, she sure put all those years of pageant training to good use. She could manipulate her way out of anything.” Tammy reaches for a pack of cigarettes and lighter. I note this must be her usual smoking spot because there are small burn holes covering this arm of the couch. After she lights up and takes a drag, she points the cigarette at me and says, “You don’t know what it’s like living with an addict. All they care about is getting high.”

  Her words touch a nerve and I retort more forcefully than I had intended to, “Actually, I’ve had my fair share of experience with addicts.”

  Tammy seems shocked. “Well then what are you pestering me for? If you’d lived with an addict, you’d know I had no other choice. I did what I had to do.”

  “So, you strangled her?” I ask bluntly.

  Tammy’s jaw drops. “I didn’t strangle my own daughter. What kind of a monster do you think I am?” Tammy visibly fights to maintain control before explaining, “The medical examiner screwed that up in her report. She tried to fix it at trial, but it was too late. Your expert made her look like a fool.” Tammy’s expression saddens as she shakes her head. “Truth is your expert was mostly right. Tammy had gotten high before I got there. After she tore up the adoption papers, she ran into the bedroom and threw a fit. Crying and carrying on something awful. I sat and waited in the living room for her to settle
down and go to sleep. She was already wrapped up tight in her blanket, so I gently put a pillow over her face and waited until she went to sleep for good. She was so out of it, she didn’t even put up a fight.” Tears stream silently down Tammy’s face as she adds, “She went peacefully.”

  With the truth finally out in the open, Tammy and I sit frozen for what feels like an hour but is probably only a matter of minutes. Finally, I regain enough composure to rise. “Thank you,” I say turning toward the front door.

  Tammy remains silent until she hears the doorknob turn. “I never thought I’d get away with it, you know. I was sure I’d spend the rest of my life in jail. But I was willing to risk it. So Garrett could have the chance of a good life. So he could be free of her.”

  And with that I leave. Resolving to take this conversation to my grave.

  Chapter 40

  We pull into Crown Hill Cemetery on an unseasonably sunny and warm day in May. Patrick puts the car in park and turns to see how I’m holding up.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” he asks.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I answer.

  He puts his hand on my arm and flashes a supportive smile, before calling to the back, “All right, boys. We’re here.”

  Patrick’s voice startles both of them awake. We proceed to slowly coax them out of the car. Patrick finally relents and carries Seamus while I hold Dec’s hand. Together our broken little family bravely makes our way up the hill to confront my past. At the top stands a plain, grey gravestone with JOHNSON inscribed across the center. Underneath it to the right reads:

  Michael Johnson

  June 4, 1948 - April 16, 1996

  To the left reads:

  Joanna Johnson

  November 19, 1952 - April 16, 1996

  We stand in silence. Me overcome with too many emotions to process. Patrick, most likely, unsure of what to say. Finally, Declan asks, “I thought we were going to see my grandparents.”

  Declan’s innocent question instantly grounds me. I kneel down beside him still holding his hand. “We are, sweetie. Remember, how I told you that my parents died when I was young?”

  Declan gives a slight nod.

  “Well, sometimes, when people die, they are buried in a cemetery. That is what this place is: a cemetery.” I gesture around us to the acres of gravestones. “We bury our loved ones here so we can come and visit them after they’re gone. I brought you here so my parents could meet you.”

  I look at the gravestone and awkwardly announce, “Mom and Dad, these are my wonderful boys, Seamus and Declan.” Dec gives my hand a little squeeze. Seamus is resting his tired head on Patrick’s shoulder. Looking at Patrick, I hesitate for a moment deciding how best to introduce him. I decide on, “And this is my best friend, Patrick.”

  Patrick meets my gaze and gives me an approving smile. He then pulls a bouquet of flowers from a bag he’d been discreetly carrying in his free hand. It’s a gorgeous arrangement of white calla lilies. I briefly recall that calla lilies are meant to represent purity and faithfulness. Two qualities I’d never use to describe my parents. But the gesture is touching, nonetheless.

  Patrick hands the bouquet to Declan saying, “We brought these for your grandparents. Would you like to give it to them?”

  Declan fidgets nervously before taking the arrangement from Patrick. He then gathers up his courage to drop my hand, walk up to the gravestone, and carefully lay the arrangement on top.

  As my emotions threaten to overwhelm me, I hear a familiar dulcet voice behind me whisper, “Is this a bad time?”

  I break into an appreciative smile and turn to greet my soul sister. I stop short when I realize she isn’t alone. Beside her stand Cormac and Mary, the rest of my broken family. I let the tears fall.

  Cormac smiles, embarrassed, but Mary pulls me into her warm embrace. After a bit she releases me, and grabs both of my hands in hers. “We wanted to meet your parents, dearie, and let them know they have nothing to worry about. We’re going to keep taking good care of you for them.”

  Cormac bends down to pick up Declan and we all proceed to pay our respects to the flawed people who made possible this messy but beautiful life.

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  Darkness Drops Again is a story I’ve been mulling over for a decade. Only recently, however, have I been able to dedicate time to putting pen to paper as it were. As this is my first novel, I experienced countless moments of uncertainty and despair. Thankfully, I’m blessed with a large support group to call upon at such times.

  My husband, Joe, who supported this project from day one and who patiently listened as I talked through various plot points and word choices. I am forever grateful that I agreed to go see Titanic with you back in high school.

  The wonderful writer Juliette Sobanet who acted as my mentor and editor throughout this long process. She was my sounding board and chief supporter and without her this novel would have never been published.

  My friend Jason Caldeira, design director for Nerve Collective, for designing a cover far exceeding my vision/expectations and an amazing author page.

  To the wonderful copy editor, Alicia Street, for her insightful comments and revisions. This is a much more polished novel because of you.

  My sisters, Letitia, Mary, and Vicki who read along as I wrote and offered comments and feedback, but mostly praise and belief. Thank you for being my cheerleaders.

  My sister, Monna (yes I have a lot of sisters), who was an excellent beta reader. You should seriously consider copy editing/proofreading on the side.

  My mother. As grandma always said, I will never be able to repay you for all you’ve given me. But I can buy you Baileys Irish Cream. So there’s that.

  To my dear friend, Agnese. The night before we ran the Chicago marathon, she texted me “An ordinary life is boring and unchallenged. Let’s go be extraordinary tomorrow.” This is now my mantra.

  To her daughter, Sophia. I hope this book does well enough to convince you becoming an author isn’t a fool’s errand.

  For more about Melissa E. Manning please visit

  www.melissaemanning.com

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