A well-dressed woman walks into the house, first addressing the officers, then directing her attention to my in-laws and Mila. I walk over, and begin asking who she is and why she’s there.
“Excuse me? Who are you?”
“Angela Branson, Child Protective Services.”
“Child Pro…” I can’t get the rest out. “What the hell are you here for?”
My frantic demeanor warrants an officer to guide me back to the chair I’d been sitting in. “You need to calm down, sir.”
“Calm down,” I argue. “Why the hell is Child Protective Services at my house?”
The lead detective responds from the far side of the room. “It’s protocol, sir.”
“Protocol for what? She’s not in danger. I’m fully capable of taking care of my child.”
“Sir, when drugs are found available for a child to tamper with, it’s in our best interest to have a professional come in and evaluate the situation.”
“They weren’t our drugs,” I plead.
“Your wife was found with a needle of heroin next to her body. We’ve recovered more of the same drugs from the bedroom, the same drugs you were trying to prevent us from finding.”
I can’t argue with him, because he’s right. I’ve put myself in a terrible position for trying to protect the people I love.
“We can take our grandchild until this is all figured out,” my mother-in-law announces. Her tone is significantly changed from the emotional traumatized parent a few moments ago. Now she’s determined. There’s a sense of gratification in her tone, like she knows taking Mila will be the worst possible pain for me to endure. Our eyes meet for a brief second and more bile rises from the furthest region on my stomach.
Before I know it, they’re gathering some of Mila’s things and taking her with them. For the sake of everything going on I know it’s a good idea. I can’t take care of her right now, not when everything is still crashing down over me like a magnificent storm hell-bent on destroying everything in its path. I hate these people. They made my wife the way she was. They did this to her.
If it wasn’t for their fucked up parenting skills my wife would have turned out a different person. She was always running from something; possibly someone. I’ve never trusted her father, and I can’t explain why yet.
As soon as I see them outside speaking to the main detective, I know what will happen next. They have my daughter. I see them talking and know it’s about the drugs in the house. Losing my wife isn’t going to be the worst thing to happen to me, I can already sense it.
He waits for them to pull away before coming to find me. I watch in horror as my wife’s body is being carried out to the coroner’s vehicle. My stinging eyes don’t allow me to focus as the detective approaches. He’s telling me I need to come to the station to answer more questions.
I refuse, ordering them out of my home. It’s too much. I need them to get out. I have to be able to cope in my own way. The love of my life is gone. She’s dead. I couldn’t help her. I wasn’t able to save her. She’ll never be there for me. She’ll never see Mila grow. It’s forever. I’ve lost her. These people can’t begin to understand what this feels like.
As I struggle to come to grips with everything happening, I’m being handcuffed. I’m still fighting them. They can’t do this to me. I’ve done nothing wrong.
Chapter 3
I’ve been told the restraints were only to protect me from hurting myself or others due to the extreme stress I’m under, but my gut tells me these people think I’m a terrible person who deserves to go down for allowing this to happen to my wife.
The dim lit room makes me feel like I’m on one of those cop shows where someone is watching me from a double sided mirror. I’m sitting at a long white metal table, my hands folded and my head down. I’ve gone through a ton of emotions while being forced to stay in here until the detective lets me leave. The fluorescent overhead lights are buzzing, and one of the bulbs needs replacing.
Over an hour after being punished to this room, the main detective enters. He’s got a folder in one hand, and a paper cup with something steaming in the other. Once he sits the piping hot beverage in front of him, he pulls a bottle of water from his pocket and sits it in front of me. We’re face to face, and all I can do is wait for him to deliver whatever it is he has to say to me.
“Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I calmly groan. It’s the constant reminder of her being gone that rips through me like a freight train into fog. I keep replaying it in my head. It’s on repeat for my broken heart to endure for the rest of my life.
“Rogan Marks, do I have that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, I’m going to cut to the chase. I know you’ve been through a ton of shit today, but I wouldn’t be doing my job right if I didn’t go by the book.”
My eyes are rolling. Cops think they know everything. “I’ve already answered all of your questions,” I stammer in a frustrated tone. “I don’t know how much she took. I’ve never dabbled in that sort of thing. Etherly got the drugs from a friend.”
“What friend?” He inquires.
“Becky. That’s all I know. They met before I knew her. She gave me this story about her friend getting through a rehab treatment and wanting to get rid of her stash.” I run my hands over my face. “I don’t even know if that’s true anymore.”
“Why were you trying to confiscate the drugs in the home?”
My eyes are fixed on his as I respond truthfully. “Because I didn’t want any of this to look the way it does. I’ve never seen those drugs before last night, nor have I used them.”
“And the pills?” He waits for a second before reiterating. “We found several bags of pills in both the kitchen and bedroom areas. Xanax, Percs, Oxy’s, muscle relaxers, and anti-depressants, all without prescriptions.”
I’m silent. My hands cover my face again, and I know he knows, that I’m guilty of something. “They were mine.”
“How often do you use? Were you under the influence when your wife overdosed? Who is your dealer?”
I close my eyes with my reply. “Yeah, I took a couple pills last night. We’d made an agreement that this would be our last time. I wanted to get clean, while Eth chose to go out with a bang.” I’m losing my grip on my emotions as I say it. This wasn’t the plan at all. Maybe if I hadn’t pushed for her to stop. Maybe if I’d known the extent of her addiction.
“The dealer?”
I have to lie. I’m not about to have the guy come after me. I have my daughter to think about. “I never bought the drugs. Etherly got them while I was at work.” She’s dead. They can’t charge her for anything.
He’s writing something else down in the folder. My mind goes straight to Mila. “My daughter. When am I going to get out of here? My in-laws aren’t the best. They haven’t seen her in months. She’s barely knows them.”
“Sir, for the time being, your daughter is in good hands. She’s with family. As of this moment I can charge you with child negligence, drug possession, and attempting to destroy or hide evidence from an active investigation. If I were you, I’d think about contacting a lawyer.”
“Do I need one?” I can’t afford one. This is a disaster. I’m hurting, pissed, but mostly scared. My whole world is crashing down on me and now this. “Am I under arrest?”
He taps his pen on the hard metal table. “Like I said before, I’m by the book. A life has been lost.”
“They weren’t my drugs. Test me. You won’t find heroin in my system. I wasn’t with her when she did it. She locked me out of the bathroom.”
“Your in-laws told me that this isn’t the first time. They explained you got their daughter addicted to drugs.”
“What are you talking about? First off, my wife has never overdosed before. Secondly, they’ve always blamed me, but I’m telling you, I’m not the reason. Those assholes would do anything to ruin my life. They hate me because of who my f
ather is.”
“Your father?”
I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. Obviously my in-laws didn’t have time to tell the world about my infamous dad and his crimes. This can’t go over well.
It only takes a couple sentences and he’s already on his phone looking up my father’s name. His eyes widen and I know I’m now in for a world of shit. This cop is a hard ass. He’s not going to let me walk out of here. I’m going to be held accountable whether I’m at fault or not.
“Rogan Marks, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…”
“Wait a minute. You can’t do this. I had nothing to do with my wife’s death. Please. I have a daughter. She needs me.”
While he continues giving the spiel, I close my eyes and think of Etherly lying naked, dead on the bathroom floor. I think about where she is now, in that black bag, or maybe moved to the autopsy table. Perhaps they’ve already put her in the sliding refrigerated compartments they keep the dead bodies. Either way she’s gone. I’ll never get to hear her voice, feel her touch, experience her love, or appreciate her smile. Everything is being ripped right out from under me. I don’t care about going to jail. I’m already in my own prison, and I’m afraid there won’t ever be an escape.
According the clock on the wall adjacent to the cell I’m held in, it’s been three hours since I was locked up. I’ve yet to get a phone call, not that I’d have anyone to help me out. Instead of making funeral arrangements for my wife, I’m being held until I’m arraigned, which won’t be for two more days, when it’s no longer the weekend.
Chapter 4
Going through withdraw while being incarcerated is like asking someone to jab a dull knife in every limb of your body for days on end. I felt like my insides were on the outside. By Sunday all I wanted to do was sleep. Monday morning came and I was being dragged into a court room, almost incoherent from my constant illness.
My boss, Nick Hynson, a thirty-five year old single father of three young girls, paid my bail, but only because he feels guilty for selling me the drugs in the first place. I haven’t told him that Etherly died of a heroin overdose, and I don’t think it’s important either. She’s gone. Nothing can bring her back.
Can an addict go heaven? Does God consider it a suicide since we’ve inflicted the sentence on ourselves? I’ve never been one for religion, up until I had to think about death and what happens when we leave this earth. For the past few days it’s all I’ve thought about.
I’ve never been the kind of person to want to die. I’ve never thought about taking my own life, or ending things because someone made me sad, not until now.
It was hard enough to get the details to the service. I actually had to wait until it was posted in the paper, because Bill and Maggie Sorens wouldn’t take my calls, or allow me inside of their lavish home to get my daughter. I’ve contacted the public defender’s office to see if there was something I could legally do, but was told it was better if she remain where she was until my trial date.
After visiting the Salvation Army, I found a black suit and some shoes to wear in order to look the part for the funeral. Wearing a pair dark sunglass to elude the crowd of my emotional state, I enter the church. People notice me, but my one and only concern is finding my daughter and holding her in my arms while I say good bye to her mother. She spots me immediately, kicking and screaming until Maggie allows her to run in my direction. I scoop her up, kissing her face while swells of vicious waves fill my eyes.
I never wanted this; not for her. “I miss you, baby.”
“Daddy. Mommy’s all gone.”
It’s difficult to hear her say it. I hate not being the one to have explained it to her. God only knows what else she’s been told about the situation. “I know, sweetie. I know. Are you okay?” I run my thumbs over her cheeks while taking her in, desperately looking for reminders of her beautiful mother.
“Yes. Mommy in heaven. She’s angel now.”
“Yeah, I suppose she is.” My lip is trembling. I know if I let go of my child I’ll feel my whole body shaking. I’m petrified to walk up to the alter and see my wife in the casket. A slow whining melody plays from an electric organ, while people gather at the front of the church to pay their respects. I get my footing and set my gaze on the spot I need to arrive, as if channeling out all the commotion will help me get through this in once piece, even though I know for a fact it’s not possible.
These people can’t sympathize. They have no idea what it felt like to hold her unresponsive body knowing her eyes will never open again. I’ve spent the last few days stuck in a cell, given the punishment of reenacting the event in my mind.
I’m sullen, at a loss for words. My broken heart holds no room for judgment or dirty looks. Reprieve won’t find me here. I’m glutton for punishment, or more like torture. It’s a constant burden I can’t seem to find redemption from.
I approach the front of the room, stopping when I’m inches from the two people who blame this on me. It’s appropriate to pay my respects to them, though I know I won’t get the same in return. Etherly’s mother gives me a once over, her beady hate-filled eyes burn holes in my second hand attire. “I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us today.”
“It’s my wife’s funeral. Of course I’m going to be here.”
She flashes the most disgusted grimace, only showing me her true colors.
With my daughter still clinging to my body, I offer an awkward half hug to the woman. “I’m sorry for your loss, Maggie.” She backs away before our bodies can touch, appearing to be appalled by the gesture.
She’s gritting her teeth, little spits of her anger come out with every hate-filled whispered word. "How dare you say that to me? You have no right to be here today. The officer assured us you'd be in jail until after the service was over. You did this to her. You took her away from us." She holds her arms out for Mila and raises her voice. "It would be best for all of us if you headed out before the pastor begins."
I prevent my daughter from leaving my hold. "With all due respect, I'm not going anywhere. Etherly is my wife. I've got every right to be here to pay respects to the woman I love, and the mother of my child. Let's get something straight, she wouldn't want this. You and I both know Eth wanted nothing to do with you, not after your last falling out."
"Don't you dare spin this around and make me the evil person in this scenario. My daughter wouldn't be dead if it weren't for your persuasive drug induced innuendos blinding her from the monster you are."
"Monster?" I notice people are starting to pay close attention to our argument, but it doesn't make me stop. I point to myself with my available hand. “You think I’m the monster? I didn’t do this to her. Years of living in your world made her the way she was. I tried to help her. I wanted her to get better.”
“For all we know you stuck the needle in her arm.”
I bite my tongue. It’s taking every ounce of strength I have to not knock her on her ass. She’s in pain, I get it. She wants someone to blame, and of course it’s me. There’s a lot I could say to this woman, and probably all of it would give her a heart attack, but I’m not here for this, not today. “Think whatever you need to in order to be able to sleep at night. Take a good look at this little girl, because after today it’s the last time you’re ever going to see her.”
I’ve ignited the flint to a long awaited bomb. If not for her expression, then for the man coming in our direction with nothing but hate in those old gray eyes. Bill speaks in a vicious pitch. “Rogan, I think it’s time for you to go. You’re not going to come into our place of worship in your state.”
“In my state?” I’m still shielding my daughter, because neither of them are going to touch her, or have more time to brainwash her into thinking I’m a loser. I’m the best thing Mila has in her life, and I’ll be damned if they try to change that. “Screw you both. I’m here for my wife and child. I’m here because it’s my right to be. Get your head out of your asses and take responsibility. I
didn’t do this. I tried to help her.”
“By providing her with the drugs?”
I shake my head. “That’s what you think, isn’t it? You assume I brought that needle into our home and shot her up myself?” My gaze is straight and determined. “I wanted nothing to do with it. She promised she’d stop. I didn’t even know about them.”
“Like we stated, you’re nothing but an enabler.”
“Well,” I cover my daughter’s ears the best I’m able to. “You’re nothing but narcissistic assholes. You’re hypocrites. You think you can put me down and blame me for everything you see unfit. You make me sick, both of you. You’re self-absorbed, assuming everyone beneath you isn’t worth your precious time.” I turn around to acknowledge the bystanders getting an earful now. “They’re guilty for this. Don’t feel bad for them. They made my wife hate herself. They spent years enabling. They gave her money to satisfy her addiction way before I came into the picture. This travesty is on them.”
I feel someone grabbing the back of my suit jacket and spin to make sure I know the culprit. Mila slides down to her feet at my side, right before my father-in-law shoves me backward. Feeling rage, I shove him back, sending him to trip on a carpeted step. I hear the sounds of the congregation reacting, but ignore them to state my peace. I kick at the floor next to him, throwing my arms in the air. “What now, Dad? What can you do to me? You can’t hurt me anymore than I’m already suffering. She’s gone. My beautifully broken queen is never coming home again. I hope you’re both happy.”
Bill comes after me, shoving me into a nearby pew. The pastor is rushing to break us up, and with one glance to my daughter I know I need to calm down quickly and reevaluate this poor decision. I’m being everything they’re accusing me of, albeit I think I deserve to lose my shit after what they’ve suggested.
The Wrong Side of Rock Bottom Page 3
