Jennifer smiled comfortingly again. “That’s normal.”
“Which part?”
“Well,” she chuckled. “I’m not surprised that Beckett’s trauma is manifesting itself in her sleep. She isn’t expressing it when she’s awake so it’s coming out in her subconscious.”
More of Rion’s tension eased. “That makes sense.”
“And she never cries. Shouldn’t she...I don’t know...cry over her parents?”
“It depends. We can’t judge one person’s grief by another’s. But it does also help explain the sleepwalking. And, it’s normal to be scared of it. I’m sure you are being woken up out of sound sleep. You are worried about your cat. About your sister. You’re confused and probably feeling helpless, right?”
“Yes. What do I do?” Rion felt the weight that had been building up over days slide from her shoulders.
“Well, I would recommend making sure she isn’t hurting herself—or anything else—and try to give her comfort. If she balks at that, try moving her to a different location. If she is hiding, if she is under her bed, or in closet, for example, she is probably looking for a secure place. Let her be if she isn’t in a dangerous situation. Let her sleep it off. I believe, as we work through her trauma, the night terrors and the sleep walking will get better.”
Rion sagged with relief again. “Thank you. I’ll do that.”
Eight
Tuesday, after dropping Beckett off at school, Rion settled down to get work done. But, she spent a thirty minutes staring at her computer thinking about everything except work. She was worried about Beckett. That morning, as they were getting on the train, Rion had asked if she was excited about her second day at school. Beckett as simply said, “No.” When she pressed for more information, Beckett returned to silence. She told Mrs. Frakes, but the teacher assured her it was just taking Beckett some time to get settled.
Rion tried to tell herself that the teacher was right. But she knew there where lots of factors that Beckett had to contend with. The very least was the other kids figuring out she didn’t live with her parents. Theoretically, Rion could have a seven-year-old child, but kids were incredibly intuitive. The first time Rion’s classmates figured out she was in foster care they tormented her relentlessly. It was mostly personal and callous questions, however, some of the bolder—meaner—kids made up stories as to why her parents didn’t want her anymore. The worst part was that their stories were more true truth than fiction. Her mother didn’t want her any more. Her mom and dad were in jail. On and on, the kids never got tired of their stories.
Rion sighed and leaned back in the stool. She usually worked at the breakfast counter with no problems. But today, the stool was making her back hurt. She popped her knuckles, flexed her lower back, and leaned back over her computer. Neither Kerry nor Shep had come over to visit the night before. She had been looking forward to telling them what the therapist said. That she had confirmed their suspicions. But, by ten o’clock, Rion realized no one was coming and had went to bed—more disappointed than she cared to admit.
It was a weird sensation for her to want company. Beckett’s issues aside, something about being with a kid all the time made her want to be around adults more. She cared for Beckett—she truly did. And she certainly wanted the little girl to be safe and happy. But Beckett living with her created so many new, confusing, and scary changes that she needed to process them with other adults. She had never needed to discuss her life with anyone before. She was on her own—responsible for her own health and safety. And she was perfectly capable of both those things. But, with someone dependent upon her—she realized she had no idea what she was doing. She wasn’t on her own anymore—in more ways than one. Rion growled and rested her chin in her hands. For the first time, Rion had a reason to be a better person. For the first time, her life mattered to someone else.
When her phone rang, she was both annoyed and relieved. She didn’t recognize the number, but knowing it could be work, or about Beckett, she answered.
“Miss. Webster?” a man practically yelled into the phone.
She didn’t recognize the voice even though it was loud and clear. “This is she?”
“Good. I’m detective Joseph Rand. I’m leading the investigation into your father and stepmother’s death.”
“Oh. Hi. Chambers mentioned you might reach out to me.”
“Good. I’m glad she gave you are heads up.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I would like to ask you some questions, if you have a few minutes.”
“I guess so. But, honestly, I have no idea how I can help you. I haven’t seen or spoken to my father since I was six.”
“I understand that. But you never know what you don’t even realize you know.”
Rion scowled. The man’s boisterous voice and classic Chicago accent grated on her nerves. “I’ll do my best.”
“Great. Also, I would like to try to talk to the kid again.”
“Again?”
“Yes. I wanted to talk to her at the hospital. But, I couldn’t, she had just been through such a traumatic event.”
“I don’t think pushing her now is a good idea either!”
“No! No! I don’t intend on upsetting her,” Rand’s voice softened a little. “I just want to see, now that she’s calmed down some, if she has any memory of that night.”
“I feel like I should run this past her social worker.”
“Well…feel free to do that.”
“OK. When are you wanting to meet?”
“Are you two free today?”
Rion’s chest tighten and she clenched her jaw. Why does everyone assume I can just drop everything at a moment’s notice? “Fine,” she bit out the word. “But Beckett and I won’t be back from school until about four.” Realizing she would have to work late to make up for the missed time, she grew even more agitated. “Are you coming here? Or do I need to meet you somewhere?”
“Oh, no worries.” Rand seemed to have picked up on her annoyance and was making more of an effort to sound friendly. “I can come to you.”
“Of course you can.” After promising to meet with him at four, Rion hung up with the detective and put a call in to Chambers. She had to leave a message and did her best to sound normal and not irritated. She knew Rand was just doing his job. And it was important to find out who killed Frank and Lavinia. But she couldn’t help being annoyed by the inconvenience. Plus, she worried that Rand would upset Beckett and she would have to ask him to leave. I have a right to do that? Don’t I? She made a list of questions to ask Chambers about the visit once she talked to her.
When Rion picked Beckett up at school, she had a whole new reason to be agitated. Mrs. Frakes was waiting for her outside the room.”
“Miss Webster!”
“Hi Mrs. Frakes.”
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Shit. “Sure,” she tried to smile at the woman, but she knew it looked as fake as it felt.
The classroom cleared out quickly, and Rion sat in a tiny chair next to the teacher’s desk. Beckett was coloring quietly in the middle of the room. “Thank you so much for waiting!” Mrs. Frakes exclaimed, coming back into the room and shutting the door.
“No problem. What’s wrong?”
“Well,” Mrs. Frakes looked at Beckett. “Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to let you know about a situation.”
“OK.”
“During recess today, I caught a group of students surrounding Beckett.”
Rion’s heart rate increased and she could feel sweat forming on her palms. “What were they doing?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why not?”
“Well, Beckett refused to tell me. And, of course, none of the kids involved would either.” Mrs. Frakes must have seen Rion’s growing concern because she held up both hands. “Beckett didn’t look upset. And the situation looked calm, just unusual. I’m going to keep an eye on those kids and Beckett. But, I wanted t
o let you know about it. I also thought that you might be able to get her to tell you what happened. If you do, let me know. I will make sure it gets nipped in the bud.”
Rion’s mouth was dry and it took a couple of tries before she could talk. “Sure,” she finally managed. “I’ll do what I can.”
No matter how much Rion pressed, Beckett wouldn’t explain what happened. She either gave her normal shrug or she ignored the questions altogether. Rion took a deep breath. If Beck wouldn’t tell her what happened, she couldn’t make her. Besides, she didn’t want to stress the kid too much knowing she was going to be talking to the detective soon.
“Do you remember Detective Rand,” Rion asked as the left the train station. “He tried to talk to you at the hospital?” Beckett nodded. “Well, he is coming over soon to ask you some more questions. Are you feeling up to that?” Becket shrugged. “If at any time you don’t feel like answering more questions, you just tell me, OK?” Chambers had assured her the detective wasn’t allowed to keep questioning Beckett if Rion told him to stop. Beckett wasn’t under arrest or even suspected of anything. Allowing Rand to talk to her was a courtesy that Rion could revoke at any time.
Rand was fifteen minutes late. Rion was gritting her teeth staring at the clock when he finally rang from the front door. Beckett continued watching the news unperturbed. Rion still hadn’t been able to figure out where the kid hid the remote and didn’t have the energy to keep looking. In the meantime, she let Beckett watch what she wanted. Every once in a while, she would get up and change the channel on the TV itself. From one news program to another. Rion sighed at Beckett’s back and buzzed the cop in.
When she opened the door, she was taken aback by the suited gorilla in her doorway. He had blonde hair speckled with gray, and large green eyes. He had probably been a football player in high school Rion theorized. His gut hung over his belt, but, he still looked solid. He was muscle turned to fat with age more than inactivity. And he was easily six-five and so wide he would be lucky to fit inside the door. “Good afternoon,” he held out a hand. When Rion shook it, his warm paw engulfed her hand.
“Hi. Come on in,” she stepped back and watched him turn slightly to the side as he passed the doorway.
He sat on the futon and she raised a brow at the creaking of the frame. She hesitated to sit next to him, simply because he took up so much room. But, after a slight hesitation, she sat down. The other alternative was to sit across the room from him, or below him on the floor. He glanced at Beckett, sitting on the floor, who barely acknowledged he had come into the room. “Hello sweetheart. Do you remember me?” Beckett looked over her shoulder and nodded before going back to the TV.
“Maybe we should talk alone first?” he lowered his voice.
“Sure. Beckett? Would you please take the tablet into the bedroom? The detective is going to talk to me first. Then, I’ll come get you when it’s your turn.” The kid looked at them both and Rion could see the irritation on her face. Rand must have too, but he only chuckled.
“Kid likes her news, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Once Beckett was gone, Rand turned to Rion and pulled out a classic spiral bound notebook. “OK. So, you say you haven’t had any contact with your father since you were how old?”
“Six.”
“Do you know why your parents divorced?”
Rion scowled. “No. Not really.”
“Your mother never said?”
“You mean in between the times she was wasted, in jail, or trying to get wasted?”
Rand had the decency to wince. “I’m sorry. I knew that. I looked up her records before I got here. And I found your records from DCFS as well. I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m not trying to be insensitive. I’m just trying to get a feel for what kind of man your father was.”
Rion relaxed a little. “According to my mother, he was a monster.”
“He beat her?
“I—I’m not sure really. I don’t really remember when they were together. I remember feeling scared of him.” Rion lifted her shoulders and let them drop. She stared at the floor trying to remember something useful. “She once mentioned something about the drugs being his fault. When—when she was high, or drunk, she would rant and rave about him sometimes. She said stuff about ‘his trouble being everyone else’s trouble.’ I took that to mean he used drugs and alcohol because he had his own issues and then took it out on my mom. Maybe me too.”
Rand made a sound like a sleeping bear. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
Rion realized he wasn’t a bad guy. He was just a bull in a china shop—no matter where he went. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
"Do-I mean-was there..." The detective searched for the right words.
"What?"
"Do you remember if you father had any scary habits?"
"I guess the drugs?"
"OK. Sure," He looked like he wanted to say more moved on. “And the first you heard of a sister was last weekend when DCFS called you?”
“Yep.”
“I have to say, I’m—impressed you took her in.”
“What else was I going to do?” Rion lifted one shoulder this time.
“Certainly not let her go through what you did,” Rand said softly.
“Exactly,” she finally met his eyes. She was surprised by how soft they looked.
“Has Beckett said anything to you about what happened that night?”
“Nope. Not a word.”
“Have you asked?”
“A little. I don’t want to push too hard. She’s been through a lot,” Rion looked at him meaningfully.
“Oh,” he held up his hands. “I get it. I promise. I’m not going to pry too hard.
“Good.”
“Do you know who inherited your father’s property?”
“Yeah. Beckett.”
“I assume you are in charge of it until she comes of age?”
“Somewhat,” Rion tilted her head. “I get an allowance to help support her. I can live in, or rent the property. I can’t sell it. When Beckett is old enough everything switches to her.”
“Are you surprised that Frank Webster left plans for his daughter?”
Rion was taken aback. “Uh, I hadn’t really thought of it.”
“He was a mechanic for the public school system. He had numerous arrests. Trespassing. Domestic violence. DUI. Public intoxication. Theft. And my favorite, desecrating a grave.”
“What?” Rion stared at the detective with wide eyes. “Desecrating a grave? What the hell was he doing? Who’s grave?”
“He was apparently found digging up the fresh body of a buddy of his.”
“Jesus,” Rion whispered. “Why?”
“No idea. Never would explain.”
“Who was the domestic violence against? Lavinia, or my mom?”
“Both.”
“What a winner…” she muttered.
“Right. Which is why I’m surprised that he had a life insurance policy. A good one too. And a house.”
“Good point. I hadn’t thought of it. I knew…well, nothing about him or his life.”
“I don’t usually find losers like him taking care of their families. I can’t even find record of Lavinia working and Frank didn’t make a lot. It seems the only reason they had a house was because it used to belong to Lavinia’s family. An aunt I believe. She was the last family member alive so she inherited. I don’t mean any offense, but I just can’t figure out how they took care of themselves, let alone why they would be decent enough to care for a kid.”
“None taken. And, I guess you’re right. But, what are you insinuating?”
“I’m not sure yet. But, that’s one of the things I want to ask Beckett about.”
“What? Do you think he might have killed himself and his wife but tried to make it look like murder? For what? The insurance for Beckett?”
“I’ve seen stranger things.” Rion didn’t know what to say so she just shook her head in confusion. "I'm sor
ry, but I have to ask. Where is your mother now?"
Rion laughed humorlessly. "No clue. I assume dead."
Rand nodded at the finality of her words. “Do you mind if I talk to the kid now?”
“Good luck,” Rion told him. “She barely says a word.”
Rion called Beckett back into the room and retreated to the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?” she thought to ask Rand after she had made a cup for herself.
“No. Thank you. Don’t touch the stuff.”
Beckett returned to her spot on the floor, but facing the detective instead of the TV. Rion watched silently from the kitchen. She realized she should be more surprised that Beckett didn’t seem afraid of the huge cop. But, the kid rarely responded to anything like kids should. She didn’t whine or complain. She wasn’t hyper or loud. Instead, she was quiet. Manipulative. Almost sneaky. Apparently, this kid’s issues were all going to manifest in her sleep. When Beckett met the detective’s eye with temerity, Rion shuddered.
“Hi sweetheart.” Beckett only continued to stare at him. “I know you’ve been through a lot.” His voice was soft and, again, Rion was surprised by his gentleness. He must have kids. “But, I’d like to ask you some questions about last weekend. Is that OK?” Beckett shrugged and Rand chuckled. “You know the night I’m asking about, right?” Beckett nodded. “Good. Did a stranger, or someone who didn’t live there, come into your house that night?”
Beckett didn’t respond, but Rion knew the look. She was thinking. Rion just didn’t know if she was thinking about the answer, or about whether she should answer it for not. She wanted to join the conversation, but Rion resisted. She knew she should let Rand handle this, but she almost felt sorry for him. Becks was a hard nut to crack. Rion clamped her teeth together to stop from smiling.
When Beckett didn’t answer, after a while, Rand continued. “Did your Dad hurt your Mom?” The kid still remained silent and the detective sighed. “Did you call 911?” Finally, Beckett nodded. She could see the relief in Rand when his shoulders relaxed a little. “Why did you call 911?” Beckett only stared at him. “Was your mommy hurt?”
Something Happened Page 10
