Remember Me

by Rainwater, Priscilla Poole

  The first thing Brian noticed was the pungent smell of blood and gunpowder. It was an unmistakable combination, and one that he would never get used to it seemed. Walking up to the body, which was slumped behind the desk in the large, overstuffed leather desk chair, he glanced at the Sergeant and younger patrolman. “Thanks guys, I'll take it from here.”

  “Yes sir.” the Sergeant answered, then left with the younger, pale-faced officer in tow.

  Reluctantly, he turned his attention back to the lifeless body. Leaning in close, he could see the entrance wound on her right-side temple, and the gun powder burns were a clear indication that the gun had been pressed firmly against her temple when the shot was fired.

  Straightening up, he took a step back and looked into the once sparkling blue eyes, now a dull color, that stared at nothing. When he looked into the eyes of the dead it always unsettled him. He had always believed that the eyes were really the window to the soul, and to him, that dull, glazed look was a reminder that the person's soul had indeed departed from its earthly shell. Why would this woman, with everything to live for, want to die? He wondered as he pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket and slid them on.

  Making his way to the other side of the corpse, he gingerly examined the gaping exit wound. Glancing down at the floor, he saw the gun that had slipped from her hand, and bent down to get a closer look at it. But in his heart, he already knew the dead woman's fingerprints would be the only ones found on the weapon.

  “Yo! Golden boy! Captain called me in to help.” a loud, boisterous voice called out.

  Startled, he looked up and saw his fellow detective/partner, Samson Brigs, along with several forensic techs, sauntering into the room, pointedly ignoring the glare that Satin Johnson was suddenly gracing him with.

  “Can you believe it? The first time in I don't know HOW long, I was sleeping like a new born baby! No rest for us working stiffs, no sir!” Samson sighed as he slid on a pair of latex gloves himself. Glancing at the corpse, he whistled softly, his rugged, dark ebony face grimacing. “Man, is this family going through some trying times, or what? Guess money don't mean a thing, in the grand scheme of things. Well, like my mom used to say, misery is a human condition that no man can escape.” Nodding his head in the direction of the now empty doorway, he smirked, “Guess the Iron Maiden doesn't have an iron stomach, huh? But you can bet your boots she's standing guard out there, like an annoying, ankle-biting little terrier, waiting for use to screw up. What the hell is she doing here, anyway?”

  With a heavy sigh, Brian winced inwardly, knowing she could undoubtedly hear his partner's booming voice. “She's Mr. Mortensen's attorney.” he replied. He knew the older detective, who was nearing retirement, had never liked her, and the feeling was mutual. To Samson, she, and lawyers like her, were what was wrong with the judicial system. Ambulance chasing, cock-gobbling highway robbers who defended the scum of the earth, according to him. “I haven't questioned her in depth yet. She said the deceased shot herself, and a maid witnessed it.” Looking his partner square in the eyes, he said in a quiet voice, “Believe it or not, she looked extremely shaken when I first arrived.”

  “Shaken? So Satan made a guest appearance here today?” he laughed. “I don't buy it, that ball-buster can't feel shit. You can take her statement, because the way I'm feeling right now, one wrong word comes out of her mouth, and she'll be sharing a cell with the meanest bull dyke we have in lock-up. She got blood on her shirt, you need to get it for evidence, just to cover our asses.” he instructed his younger partner. “That will probably be the only thing in her life the bitch ever gave up for free. Because I know she never gave up any of that pudding-tang, or she wouldn't be such a bitch. What is she, twenty-something? Yet acts like she hasn't been laid in thirty-five years.”

  His comment made all the occupants in the room laugh, all except Brian. He knew what Samson's problem was. The last time Satin had him on the stand in court, she had made him look like a bumbling rookie, and it was no small secret he was holding a grudge over that humiliation.

  ************************************************

  On the phone with her aide, Lacey, Satin leaned against the wall, head down as she talked. “Cancel all my meetings tomorrow. I'll request a continuance for all my court dates for the next week. I'll be here at the Mortensen Estate until all this is settled. If you could, go to my place, pack me some clothing and toiletries, and bring them here in the morning. If you could do that I would really appreciate it.”

  Dedicated to the end... Brian thought as he stood off to the side, watching as she put all the rest of her business on hold to be here for this family. Something about that blind loyalty was a turn on to him, but it was something more that drew him to her like a moth to a flame. What is it? After all, she's not really my type… he thought. He had dated women of all races, that wasn't a problem at all for him, but unlike most of the women he had dated, she was loud and abrasive. But damn, she's sexy... his smaller head countered. She bullied people. All the better to make her mine and tame her. She was a talented lawyer that was out of his league. Don't know how, but I'm going to get her, soon!

  “I take it you're ready for me.” her husky voice interrupted his thoughts as she stood looking up at him, with her hand on her lush hips.

  Blinking and clearing his throat, he felt his manhood rage to life as desire coursed through him like a virus. She didn't know how ready for her he really was. Recovering, he asked lightly, “Excuse me?”

  Reverting back to her usual, cold sarcasm, she replied, spacing her words as if speaking to a simpleton. “Are...You...Ready...To...Question...Me?”

  Feeling his face burning, he narrowed his eyes and leaned in close to her, stealing a quick glance around them to make sure no one else was within earshot. “ Don't push it peanut, because like I told you before, I have plans for you. And unless you want everyone to see you get that ass smacked, you'll address me with the respect I deserve, you understand what I'm saying to you?” Looking her dead in the eye, he could see she was struggling to not back down, so he pressed his momentary advantage before she had a chance to speak. “Before you open up that lush, but loud mouth of yours, let me warn you, one foul word better not sally forth. And if you think I'm kidding, try me, just try me. Now, suppose you tell me, in a civilized manner, what happened.”

  Stunned, she couldn't understand this. If anyone else had addressed her that way, there would have been hell to pay. But here she was, standing here looking at this man like he was some pop star, and she some virginal, starry-eyed teeny bopper. I'm only respecting the dead and her family… she told herself. Still silent, she did her best to keep from looking away, and almost screamed with frustration when her eyes, seemingly of their own volition, turned away meekly.

  Smiling, Brian was clearly pleased with his small victory. Deciding to not push it, he erased the smirk off his face and took a step back, careful not to be in her personal space.

  “I came to speak to Granger, I mean Mr. Mortensen. There was a disagreement with his mother, she became upset and left the library where everyone had gathered, and shortly after she left the room, we all heard what sounded like a gunshot. Granger ran from the room and I followed, along with all the other people who were there. We heard the girl screaming, and followed the sound. I...we...” her voice trailed off as she finally looked at him again.

  Studying her in silence for a moment, he thought, She's holding something back! “What was the disagreement about?” he finally asked.

  Keenly aware of his scrutiny, she slipped the phone she had been using earlier in her bag. “All I'm at liberty to say is that it was some bit of family history that she had withheld from her son. Had been withholding for a very long time. Information that upset him badly.”

  Instinct told Brian that that was all the information he would get from her, at least for the time being. “Alright.” he replied in a slow, reflective voice. “Listen, I'm going to need that shirt for evidence, Ok?�
�� he said, and was surprised when she simply nodded, instead of flying off the handle as he had expected.

  Stepping away from him almost like she was getting out of harm’s way, she replied in a voice loud enough for everyone in the next room to hear. “One of the staff is getting me something, right now, to change in to, since I heard that smartass Samson earlier. And if he knew his damn job, he would want ALL my clothing, just to be sure. I'll put them all in a bag anyway. Well, everything but my panties, since he would no doubt carry them around for awhile, sniffing them. I mean, since we all know no REAL woman would have his pathetic, gimpy old ass. Maybe he should go visit that bull dyke he was talking about earlier. Wait, come to think of it, she probably has bigger balls than he does, so it would never work out.” That said, she spun on her heels, and with a defiant tilt of her head, marched off.

  Hearing laughter from the detectives in the next room, Brian grinned as he listened closely and could not hear the laughter of his partner among them. Watching her firm, tight buttocks sway seductively as she marched down the hallway, he shook his head and laughed. He knew the foul language was her own way of rebelling against him, but he would take care of that soon enough. The truth was, he loved a good chase, and he was planning on chasing Satin Johnson down to the ends of the earth, it that's what it took, and wearing her ass out good.

  Shaking his head one last time, he got his mind back to the business at hand, questioning the witness.

  Chapter 45

  Stretching her legs, Cassandra sighed heavily. Needing time alone to catch her breath and calm her nerves, she had came out to the garden to enjoy the night air, and hopefully find some answers or insight to all that had happened earlier.

  “You alright?” Cynne' asked in a soft voice as she approached and sat next to her on the stone garden bench.

  Looking out at the vast mountain estate garden, she gave her friend a hopeless smile and a shrug of her shoulders. “Do I have a choice?” she replied. Several hours had passed since Grace's suicide, and Granger was inconsolable, to the point he had to be sedated. Thinking again about the horrible aftermath of her mother-in-law's actions, she muttered, “Well, no, I'm not alright, but I have to be strong for my family. Lord, not only did I watch my husband fall completely apart, he's broken, and this may very well be the straw that broke the camel's back. Then, trying to explain to Regan what happened....” her voice trailed off at the awful memory of her son's voice as he cried and screamed for his Grandmother. The only comfort she had been able to give him was to hold him and rock him into a troubled sleep.

  Shaking her head in sympathetic silence, Cynne' didn't know what to say. Although she had never liked Grace from the very first time meeting her, she had never figured her to be the type to take her own life. Seeing her friend in such a tormented state of mind not only saddened her, but made her angry as well. To her, suicide was the ultimate act of selfishness, because the people they left behind most often were scarred for life.

  “Care if I join you ladies?” a soft voice called out.

  As one, they both turned to see Satin approaching them slowly, wearing a baggy pair of sweats and tee shirt that had been loaned to her by the household staff. She looked like a child who was trying on her mother's clothing, and the look would have been comical under less somber circumstances. Her hands were full, clutching a bottle of liquor and three glasses filled with ice.

  Both of them motioned silently for her to join them on the bench.

  Enjoying the feel of the damp grass on her feet, Satin padded over to them and sat on the ground instead, crossing her legs Indian fashion. “I thought under the circumstance we could use a stiff night cap. Hopefully, if I get buzzed enough, I can get that image of Grace..well, you know.” Not knowing what else to say at the moment, she suddenly busied herself pouring a drink for each of them. Handing one to Cynne', she offered another to Cassandra.

  “None for me, thanks.” Cassandra declined. At the moment she felt so nauseated she knew the alcohol would make her lose what little she had left on her stomach.

  Not pushing the issue, Satin nodded and downed the drink herself in three giant gulps. Not usually a heavy drinker, she winced for a moment, steeling herself to go past her usual two-drink limit. I need something to stop the shaking.... her mind reasoned.

  “I don't think Granger will recover from this.” Cassandra whispered, more to herself than them.

  “It's my fault.” Satin blurted miserably, not looking at the other two women for fear of seeing a look of judgment in their eyes. “I just pushed her too hard. It's my fucking ego. She and I butted heads, so what did I do? I opened up on her with both barrels. I had to go for the jugular, and God help me, I was actually enjoying it. “

  Not surprised in the least, Cynne' had suspected something like this would happen, she had seen it before. She knew that eventually, someone, or more than one person who had been at the get-together would have an unreasonable attack of conscious and blame themselves for what had happened, despite the fact all the blame rested squarely on the shoulders of the deceased. After all, no one had forced the woman to do what she did. Giving the tough as nails lawyer a thoughtful look, she spoke in a stern, yet gentle voice. “Miss Johnson, you did nothing wrong! She had choices. We all have choices. She could have left and waited for her son to cool down, for one. No, she did this to herself, no one made her do it.”

  “Cynne's right.” Cassandra said, then leaned forward and gave the miserable woman's shoulder a gentle squeeze of encouragement. “You did nothing wrong. You didn't make her lie all those years, and you damn sure didn't put that gun to her head and pull the trigger. With both her son and only grandson in the house, no less.”

  Nodding her head in agreement Cynne' added, “I'm sorry she felt she had to go out like that, but it was her own selfish choice. And to be brutally honest, I believe this is what she wanted, for all of you to take the blame and let her be the victim. It was the kind of person she was, there's no use in denying it.”

  Lost in their own thoughts, all three women were silent as they sat and watched the lighting bugs flickering, lighting up the side of the mountain. It should have been a beautiful thing, but tonight it looked almost foreboding, a warning of more bad things to come.

  ******************************

  Later, at the Guest house

  “YOU KILLED ME!” Grace screamed. Pointing one long, bejeweled finger, she gave Granger an accusatory glare, her face ghoulish from the gunshot wound as she sat at his desk, the same desk she had sat behind when she made the decision to end her own life.

  He opened his mouth to tell her how sorry he was, but nothing would come out, and his entire body began shaking uncontrollably. He wanted to beg for her forgiveness, for his harsh words, and tell her he would give anything or do anything for her to know how sorry he truly was. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he found his voice and fell to his knees, clasping his hands together as if in prayer. “Please, I didn’t mean any of it! Please come back, I’ll do whatever you want me to do! Just PLEASE come back, mother!

  As Grace stood, blood gushed from the head wound. Walking around the desk with an odd, zombie-like shuffle, a crooked grimace that was meant to be a smile spread on her ghoulish face. “You're such a good boy.” she practically sang. Stopping in front of him, she reached down and ran a cold hand through his hair, and her now-dull, dead blue eyes locked onto his. “Now you understand that it should have been just me and you. I'll forgive you, my sweet boy, if you come with me, I don't want to be alone. Come with me. Remember what I said a long time ago? That no one or nothing would ever separate us? Not even death, my son. Come on now, your father is waiting for us.”

  Granger's head fell forward as he closed his eyes and wept. He wanted her to forgive him, but what about Cassandra and Regan, could he leave them? “Please mother, I don't want to leave them.” he whimpered, sounding like a small, lost, frightened child. Suddenly, he felt cold metal in his right hand. Opening his ey
es, he saw it was the gun she had used to take her own life with. Shaking his hand in horror, he tried to drop the gun, but found he could not. Screaming incoherently, he shook his hand even more frantically, then tried to pry it loose with his left hand, but was unable to dislodge it from his own finger's treacherous grasp. Looking up at the ghoul that had once been his mother, his screaming ceased and he suddenly began to hyperventilate.

  “Use it, my son!” her merciless voice commanded. “Come with me, be free, and I'll forgive you. Can't you see we are Mortensons? No one matters but us!”“ Her face contorting into an angry, hateful snarl, she screamed, “YOU DID THIS, YOU! NOW COME WITH ME, DONT MAKE ME BE ALONE WITH YOUR FATHER! YOU PROMISED TO ALWAYS PROTECT ME, BUT YOU KILLED ME INSTEAD! DO IT!”

  Seemingly of its own volition, his right hand, still holding the gun, raised to his right temple as tears slid down his face and he whimpered. “Oh God, Cassandra, Regan, I'm so sorry, but I have to go.” Horrified beyond belief, he moaned one last time, closed his eyes, and felt his finger begin squeezing the trigger.