Something Happened
Brandy Isaacs
This book is dedicated to all those who love horror.
© 2019 by Brandy Isaacs
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:
Cover by ThatGuyLopez and Meguro
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
One
Rion Webster could feel sweat dripping down her lower back. She cringed internally, resisting the urge to wiggle in the chair, or to remove her, too heavy, suit jacket. This late in the summer she shouldn’t be wearing a wool blazer, but it was the only one she owned. She wanted to buy a new one when Carolyn Chambers requested this meeting, but considering the reason, Rion decided she should save her money instead.
At first, she thought the call was a mistake, or a really terrible prank. But, once she realized she didn’t know anyone who would prank her and she had confirmed that Chambers was called for Rion Webster—pronounced just like the boy’s name but not spelled the same—she knew she shouldn’t make any big decisions or purchases until she knew what was going on. So, now she sat in a subterranean cubicle at the Department of Children and Family Services, sweating uncomfortably and trying to breathe the stagnant air.
She could smell the remnants of Chamber’s lunch in the trash can and it turned her stomach. Rion’s mouth had been dry with nerves, but saliva—sour and warm—gathered as a result of the wilting salad with sour dressing. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit. She studied the woman, looking for some kind of reassurance, but, she was too distracted and frazzled to offer any. She shuffled papers and folders across her desk looking for the right files. Rion watched a lock of the woman’s short hair flutter as her head swiveled. The chunk of hair had come out of place when she ran her fingers through it after shaking Rion’s hand. It stayed out of place, wiggling with each movement. Rion wanted to reach out and smooth it down.
“Ah!” Chambers waved her hands in victory. “Here it is. Sorry about that!” Rion nodded, but had to swallow again. Her stomach still continued to churn, but she didn’t think it was the trash anymore. “So,” Chambers continued. “You didn’t know you had a sister?”
Rion shook her head. “N—” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat before trying again. “No. Honestly, I didn’t even know my father was alive. I mean, I didn’t know he was dead either. I-I just didn’t know sh—anything—about him really.”
“He never tried to contact you all these years?”
“No.” People hurried through the maze of cubicles and Rion could hear their footsteps and hushed conversations. She struggled to shut them all out and pay attention to Chambers.
Chambers consulted her files again. “Your mother never talked about him?”
“No.” Not even when she was drunk or high, Rion added silently.
Chambers sighed and shook her head, not looking at Rion. She had barely looked Rion in the eyes since shaking her hand. “Well, I guess I should start at the beginning then.” Rion waited for her to continue. Chambers consulted the file and sighed again before going on. “Last night, at about nine pm a call came into 911. No one said anything but the operator could tell someone was on the line. It’s standard procedure to send a car to check it out. I was able to talk to the responding officer. He said, when he arrived, the house was dark.”
“He knocked on the door. Identified himself. He would have left. Assumed it was a mistaken call or something. But, a kid—Beckett—opened the door. He could smell blood coming from inside.” Chambers paused, not to let that sink in, but to make a note in the file as something occurred to her. She continued. “He used a flashlight to see in. He didn’t have to go far. He could see a body in the kitchen. In a pool of blood. So, he called for backup. When it arrived they searched the house.
The body in the kitchen belonged to Lavinia Webster. They found Frank, your father,” she glanced up again as if she remembered she was talking to his daughter. “They found your father in the bedroom. They were both dead. The whole time, Beckett sat on the front porch and didn’t talk to anyone. Wouldn’t answer any questions. They think she was the one to call the police.”
Rion’s brow wrinkled. “She wasn’t hurt?”
“No. Not physically. I arrived at the scene by ten-thirty. We got her to the hospital by eleven pm. She hasn’t spoken, other than to say your name. Nothing else. At all.”
Rion blinked at Chambers' rapid-fire statements. She managed to sound matter-of-fact, and interrogative at the same time. “Where is she now?”
“Still at the hospital. Given her trauma and the fact that she isn’t speaking, the doctor’s wanted to keep her for observation. If I had chosen to take her out of the hospital, I would have had to place her with an emergency foster family. I didn’t think that would help anything—considering.”
Rion nodded. “How old is she?”
“Seven.”
“And she asked for me?”
Chambers raised a shoulder. “She said your name. It took some searching, but I found your name as a dependent in your parents’ divorce proceedings…and in DCFS records.”
Rion blinked at Chambers as she struggled to process everything the woman was telling her. Her father had been alive. Remarried. She had a sister. And then Frank Webster and his wife Lavinia were apparently…murdered? “Was my father and his wife murdered?”
Chambers glanced at her again. “Nothing is official yet. But it wasn’t a natural death,” her tone indicated she was saying something that should be obvious.
Rion was beginning to dislike the woman instead of just feel sorry for her. Would it kill her to slow down? “What now?”
Chambers laid the folder back on her desk and leaned back in her chair. “My concern is finding a place for Beckett.” Rion waited, knowing what was coming. Chambers studied her. Rion was uncomfortably reminded of her out of place jacket and wondered if she had sweat stains under her arms, but she refused to look. “Do you know of any…other…family that may be in a position to provide a home for Beckett?”
“I didn’t even know I had any family until you called me this morning.”
“Did your father have any siblings?”
“I have no idea. Not that I know of.”
Chambers sighed. “Are you in a position to take custody—of the child? Even temporarily if that would be better for you.”
Not “do you want to?” Rion noted. She considered the situation. Chambers was assuming it was a foregone conclusion she was take the girl. She thought about her apartment—barely bigger than a studio apartment. Her neighborhood, close enough to the Southside of Chicago to be trouble. She thought about her meager savings and the leftover takeout in her fridge. She began to plan the refusal. Tried out different ways of showing Chambers she was the last person Beckett should be with.
But, then she remembered the Polowski’s. One of the foster families she stayed with during one of her mom’s worse episodes. She clenched her teeth and swallowed the knot forming in her throat. “What do I have to do?”
…
Rion jiggled her key until the lock, old and rusted, finally turned. The door made a loud, metallic creaking as she pulled it open and hurried inside hoping she cou
ld get up the stairs before Bernie could shuffle through his door to talk to her. She lived in a large apartment complex and Bernie was the building superintendent. The old man was nosey, and overly-friendly enough to give her the creeps. As she wrenched open her door and ducked inside. She heard his door creak open and him call a greeting up the stairs but, she was fast enough she was pretty sure he would assume she hadn’t heard him.
She tossed the wool jacket on the love seat and got a glass of water. She gulped it down, leaning against the counter. A sister. What the hell am I thinking? Her empty stomach churned. This is insane, she told herself. I am in no position to take care of a little kid. I can barely take care of myself. She crossed the apartment—the whole ten feet—and sat down on the tiny couch. She tried to reconcile the man she barely remembered as someone who had a whole other family.
Silently, a dark grey cat sauntered from the direction of the bedroom and sat in front of her. He stared at her for a long moment and she held her ground. “Hi Link.” She finally gave up the fight and held her hand out. After consideration, the cat came close enough for her to run her fingers over his back. He pretended it was all for her benefit, but he arched his back into her hand with pleasure. He tossed a look over his shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen. If she didn’t feed him soon he would start fussing at her.
Rion decided to ignore the cat for a while—it was good for him. She remembered very little about her father except for a low hanging dread. She vaguely recalled her parents fighting but nothing specific. Anytime she had asked her mother about him, she would either be ignored or told to shut up. If he was alive this whole time, why didn’t he ever try to find me? She shook her head to derail that train of thought. She wondered if her mother had known he was alive and had another family. Even if she had, she still wouldn’t have told Rion. Annie Swanson seemed to thrive off tormenting her daughter. Rion had been her favorite outlet for anger or sadness or even just boredom.
She sighed and got up to feed the cat and change clothes. If she actually had a hope of being allowed to keep Beckett she was going to have to clean. She surveyed her apartment and sighed again. A living room, bedroom, bathroom and a tiny kitchen. Where is the kid going to sleep? How did it get so messy from just one person? As she cleaned, she tried to imagine what the kid could be like. Clearly, she was going to be traumatized. Maybe even be in shock. What the hell did she see? How did she avoid being killed with her parents? The realization she was going to have a kid that she didn’t know—one that could end up having all kinds of emotional and behavioral issues—living with her, began to take root. What have I done?
Rion took a deep breath. The kid would be scared, and maybe scarred, but that didn't mean she didn't deserve a safe place to live. Hell, maybe we’ll end up having a lot in common, she snorted to herself. She started making a list of things she would need to get the kid. Food was at the top of the list. What kind of toys does a seven-year-old play with, she wondered? She didn’t know if she would be able to get any of the Beckett's things from her home. That would be the best. If she could retrieve her clothes and toys that would make the kid the happiest. Not to mention my savings account.
When the house was presentably clean, she took a shower and pulled Chambers’ business card from the stack of paperwork she had been given. Support group flyers, agency brochures, and notices of benefits. Chambers had wanted to make sure that Rion was going to be able to take care of Beckett so she gave her plenty of resources to look into. Despite the woman’s distracted attitude, she was trying to do her job, and do what was best for Beckett.
Chamber’s answered after three rings. “Carolyn Chambers, DCFS.”
“Hi. It’s—uh—Rion Webster.”
“Hello Ms. Webster.” Chambers sounded wary as if she was expecting Rion to say she had changed her mind.
“Hi,” Rion said again, stupidly. “I mean, the reason I called is because, well, I wondered if I would be able to get Beckett’s things from her house. You know, clothes and toys and stuff. I think that would make her feel better.”
“Oh!” Chambers was clearly relieved. “I’m sure that will be fine. The investigators will have to clear it first, of course.”
“Oh, of course.”
“I’ll check with Detective Rand—he’s the lead investigator—and let you know what he says.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Yes. Nine o’clock.”
“Good.”
First things first, she decided. Food. It was still afternoon when she rolled her bag lady cart—as she called it—into the foyer of her building. She had to risk leaving the cart at the bottom of the stairs as she carried a load of groceries to her apartment. By the time she came down for the last, someone was already toting them, and her cart, up the stairs. Her shoulders sagged when she realized who it was.
“Hi, Shep,” she grimaced, but if he noticed he didn’t react to it.
“Hi. Looked like you needed some help.”
“Thanks.” She tried to take the stuff from him at the top of the stairs but he sat the cart down and rolled it past her into the apartment. “Thanks,” she repeated, taking the cart from him.
“No problem!” He started to take her bags to the kitchen, but she managed to get to them first. “Lot of groceries for one person,” he chuckled, then grew quiet as if he realized he had said something stupid. She stared at him until he finally cleared his throat and stuck his hands in his pockets. His shaggy, dark hair fell over his eyes. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Sure,” she nodded. She sighed in relief when she shut the door behind him. Shepard Smith was a nice guy. And good looking--she had to admit. Average height, naturally unkempt hair and light green eyes. But, he, no matter how many hints, just didn’t get the message. She had no interest in a relationship with him.
She put the groceries away and began to worry she had bought the wrong stuff. Sugary cereals and frozen dinners. Kids like those, right? Fuck, she grumbled to herself. Link stared at her from the counter. “I know! I know!” she told him. “I followed a mom and her kids around. This is what they were getting!” She felt stupid, not just for talking to the cat. But, also, for being clueless as to how to buy food for a kid. She wasn't an idiot. She knew healthy food from unhealthy. But, she had gotten overwhelmed and overly anxious. She pulled an apple from a bag and bit into it without washing it first. At least I got some fruit. Her shoulders slumped as she realized she would need to go to the store again before any case workers came for a visit.
A bed. Beckett was going to need a bed. Ideally, she would have her own room, but, right now, that wasn’t possible. The room where her bed was could barely be considered a bedroom. Rion stood in the doorway and sighed. The room was clean but she needed to make space. Her dresser, which she found at a second-hand store, was squeezed in at the foot of her bed. She couldn’t even open the drawers while standing in front of them. There wasn’t enough room between the dresser and her bed.
Rion pulled most of her clothes out and reorganized them, getting rid of a small garbage bag of things she didn’t actually wear anymore. By the time she was done, she had two empty drawers and a plastic bin full of the rest of her things. Carrying it to the living room, she placed it near the couch—her new bed. It was a futon and, while not comfortable, was at least functional. She sat down and Link immediately got up from his window seat and made his way to her. He must have sensed she was uncomfortable. Cantankerous or not, the cat insisted on sitting in her lap when she was upset. It was his way of getting her to calm down.
Even though it was early, Rion must have fallen asleep. Footsteps on the stairs leading to her floor woke her up with a start. She could tell by the loud clomping it was Kerry, her neighbor from across the hall. “Shit,” she jumped up to turn out the light, unseating Link in the process. He gave her a highly offended look before trotting away. Before she could get to the light switch she h
eard her neighbor call her name.
“Riiiiooon!” followed by a giggle and a man’s voice murmur something too quiet for Rion to make it out.
She heard Kerry’s door open with a loud pop, it always stuck and Kerry had to slam her weight into it to get it to open. For a moment, Rion hoped Kerry would go into her apartment and do whatever (whoever?) she was up to tonight. But no such luck. A hand slapped her door followed by a single knock. Kerry yelled to her guest, “I’ll be there in a minute.” Another single knock. “Rion!” she called again.
Rion knew it was pointless to ignore Kerry. Her neighbor had already seen the light under door and wouldn’t go away until she answered. She shuffled to the door and unlatched the three locks. When she opened it, she was greeted by Kerry’s face directly in front of her own and she jerked back with a small yelp. Her neighbor was almost morbidly skinny with long, blonde hair that somehow always looked like it needed brushing. Her anime-sized, blue eyes were sparkling with amusement at Rion’s surprise and because she answered the door.
“Hey you!” Kerry squealed.
“Hi Kerry,” Rion answered flatly.
“What are you doing?!” Kerry pushed her way into the apartment. As she did so, Rion could see a sweaty looking guy, that would have probably been attractive if he showered, standing in the doorway across the hall. “I’ll be right back,” Kerry told him again as she shut Rion’s door.
“Uh…” Rion didn’t try too hard to stop the girl from coming inside. She had learned by now that it was pointless. Kerry was a mess—harmless, but a mess. For some reason she was determined to be Rion’s friend, and if she ignored her or tried to rebuff the blonde, her efforts only increased. Once, Kerry had knocked on her door at the end of a walk of shame. Just from the sound of her voice, Rion had been able to tell the girl was still drunk, or high, and she had tried to ignore her. Kerry had taken the snub personally and cried outside in the hallway. Loudly. Until Rion finally answered the door, which immediately turned Kerry’s tears into watery giggles. She’d had to put the girl to bed on her futon because she had lost her keys and it was too early to get the super to let her in.
Something Happened Page 1
