by Tory Jane
As we leave the boutique, I spot Detective Cooke. I hug him. “Thank you for being so kind and supportive. If you ever decide to be a therapist, you’d be excellent.”
“You're a strong woman, Annabelle. I am genuinely sorry for everything you've lost tonight. I have a feeling you'll come back from this better and stronger. In the meantime, I will personally keep you posted on what we discover.
“I’m sure Officer Ward told you that Cecelia Sharpe is in the hospital? She’s awake, but not talking. She may be a victim, but I suspect she was in on this to some extent.”
“Should I go visit her?”
“God, no. No, please don’t do that. Not yet, at least. Let us be the detectives,” he winks at me.
We walk away, and Jack pokes me. “You have a crush on him.”
“Maybe. You had better behave.” I poke him back and giggle.
My smile doesn’t last long. When we return to the house, two officers are still there. They seem to be just standing around. More yellow crime tape surrounds the carriage house and my car.
We wave to the officers. “I’m sorry, have you been waiting for us?”
“No problem, ma’am. We wanted to make sure you were okay and keep an eye on the place. We’ve been finishing up our report.”
They each shake my hand. Officers Boyd and Monroe.
“How bad is it in there?” They hesitate. “Shit. Okay, let’s do this.”
Total destruction. The anger is shocking. They slashed and gutted the furniture, my beautiful velvet tufted sofa. More spray paint on all the walls. They ransacked the cupboards and tossed dishes and glasses on the floor. They lie in shards on the floor.
I look for coffee mugs and check the coffee maker. Success.
I ask, “Who would like coffee?”
All three reply, “Yes, please.”
I make a strong pot of coffee. I can't venture further into the house without coffee. I'd add whiskey, but the whiskey bottle is empty and tossed on the pile of broken dishes. Then I remember that Jack brought over a whiskey bottle and I put it in one of the cupboards. I open all the cabinets, discovering more damage. “Jesus.”
I find the bottle and brandish it as if I’ve discovered a pot of gold. All three once again reply, “Yes, please.”
The officers shrug and smirk, “We're off the clock now, and it's been a long night for all of us.”
“Trust me, no judgment.”
I search around for sugar and milk. They went through the refrigerator and threw food against the walls and cupboards, but I’m able to locate sugar packets and milk.
The counters are filthy with fingerprinting dust. There is no point trying to wipe them clean, and I don't care anymore.
“It looks like kids did this, doesn’t it? It’s meaningless vandalism. Like they came in and had a party, tossing shit everywhere and destroying stuff. Were they high? They drank a bottle of whiskey, I’m sure that helped. Did you dust for fingerprints on that?”
One of the officers checks the bottle. “Hey, can you grab some gloves and an evidence bag?” he asks his partner.
“Good call, ma’am. There are fingerprints everywhere. They didn’t wear gloves. I suspect there is DNA on the lip of the bottle.”
The officer collects the whiskey bottle and places it in an evidence bag. We stand around the dirty counter and drink our coffee and smoke. I refresh everyone’s cup and begin to wander down the hall.
I walk into my bedroom. My bedding is gone. They slashed the mattress. The room smells disgusting.
“Officers? What happened in here?”
They cannot look at me. “Ma'am, we're sorry. We removed all the bedding as evidence. It had a number of samples of DNA evidence.”
“I don’t understand?”
“They, uh, well; we found urine and semen….”
Jack walks in. “It smells like shit in here.”
“Yes, we found that, too.”
“They shit on my bed? That’s disgusting.”
I look around and then I see it and scream bloody murder. “JACK....”
“Belle? What?”
I point to the floor. They have smashed the beautiful enamel box, the silk bag is open, and ashes are scattered on the rug. I’ve been trying to hold it together, but now I might be sick.
“No. Not my baby. My god. My baby.” I'm sobbing and trying to scoop ashes back into the silk bag. “Where are the pictures, the letters? Where is his birth certificate? I have to find it.” I lift part of the smashed box and find his birth certificate, torn in half, and hug the pieces to my chest.
Jack is whispering to the officers, explaining what is going on. They look horrified.
He comes over to me and helps me collect the ashes. He’s crying, too. “Belle, we’ve got him. We’ll keep him safe.”
I turn to the officers, sobbing. I hold out the pieces of the birth certificate. “My baby. They smashed my baby. Please? Help me, please?”
One of the officers has tears in his eyes. He takes one of my outstretched hands. “Annabelle, I promise you.”
“I need to tell Detective Cooke. Will someone please call Detective Cooke? I need to talk to him. Please?”
Officer Boyd immediately responds. “Yes, I’ll contact him right now. I suspect he’s still at your boutique. Excuse me for a moment.”
Jack wraps himself around me holding the silk bag. I know parts of my baby are ground into the carpet. The beautiful rose rug with green vines.
I try to collect myself. I look around the room for another container. I run into the second bedroom and discover the same disaster. An antique Chinese lidded bowl remains intact. I grab it up and deliver it to Jack. “Here. Will you please put him in here?”
He lays the silk bag within the bowl, and I add the torn birth certificate.
“I’ll take him to the car, okay? Why don’t you try to find some clean clothes? We can buy any toiletries you need. I think we need to get out of here. This is too much for you.”
“You're right. I'm exhausted. We both are.”
I open my closet. They hacked and sliced their way through my beautiful dresses and tunics. I find the outfit I bought yesterday, the skinny pants and cashmere sweater, folded neatly on my hamper. That’s odd.
I grab a bag and start shoving things in—the new outfit, t-shirts, leggings, bras, underwear, socks. I find sweaters on the shelf above my hanging clothes. I see two pairs of boots, including the Chelsea boots I bought yesterday. Cecelia must have approved of that outfit. One pair of shoes has what appears to be urine in them. Disgusting. What were these kids doing?
I check my bedside drawer, my “fun drawer.” All of my “toys” are gone. They have left me a note.
“Nice fun drawer you fucking ugly slut.”
I need to show the officers this, and explain it. Great.
Officer Boyd returns and hands me his phone. I hold up my finger, asking him to wait. I put the phone on speaker as I continue to gather whatever I can.
“Detective Cooke?”
“Annabelle? Are you okay?” Hearing his kind voice, I start crying again.
“I'm sorry to bother you, but I need you to know something.” I’m bawling now.
“Annabelle, take a deep breath. I can’t understand you.”
“Detective Cooke, I had a baby. A baby who died. I kept his ashes on my bedside table. They, they…”
I hand the phone to Officer Boyd standing near me. “Please.”
“Robert, hey. They smashed the box, scattered the ashes, and tore up the baby’s birth certificate. There were letters to the baby, ultrasound photos, and pictures of Annabelle. We haven’t found them.”
I’m silently weeping, but I hear Detective Cooke’s sharp intake of breath.
“Annabelle? Annabelle, listen to me. We will find these assholes, and we will make them pay for what they've done to you. Do you hear me? Trust me.”
I weep, “Please. They personally attacked me. My baby, my poor baby. I tried to gather his ashes, b
ut I know I've lost parts of him. Who would do such a horrible thing? I guess I should be glad they didn't try to burn down the house, too.”
“Annabelle, you have my word.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry to bother you. I needed you to know.”
“It’s no bother. I’m glad you told me. Are you with Jack? Are you safe?”
“Yes. Detective, I'm tired.”
“I know. Get some rest, okay? We’ll talk soon.”
I whisper, “Okay. Thank you.”
The officer takes it off speaker and listens to Detective Cooke. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure she’s okay.” He hangs up.
“Thank you. I have a few more things I need to show you. You may want to get your gloves and more evidence bags.”
He looks at me oddly. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
Jack comes in and puts his arm around me. “You okay? Did you talk to Detective Cooke?”
I nod my head. I show him my bag. “I found a few things that weren’t ruined. Jack, I want pajamas. Comfy, fluffy pajamas. Warm socks. Something that hasn’t been touched by these assholes.”
“Sweetheart, I’ll take care of everything. Do you want me to go look in the bathroom?”
“Yes, please.”
The officer comes back in with evidence bags, wearing latex gloves.
I show him the shoes in the closet. He bags them silently.
“I have to tell you something that's a little embarrassing, but it's important. I had a conversation with Cecelia. Her boyfriend asked her to marry him on Christmas. She was miserable; she didn’t want to marry him. Anyway, she told me about their sex life. It wasn’t um, satisfying. I joked with her that she needed a ‘fun drawer,' that every woman should have a fun drawer.”
I point to my bedside table. “Open that drawer.”
He opens it and finds the note. I hear him mumble, “Shit.” He pulls it out carefully and puts it in an evidence bag.
“I’m sorry we missed this.”
“They also took everything in that drawer, which is just gross.”
“Is anything else missing?”
I look around. The tears are back. “Ah, fuck. My jewelry box. Everything Jack ever gave me. My grandmother’s diamond engagement ring and wedding ring. Diamond earrings.”
Jack comes back in. “Sweetheart, I took pictures of everything in your bathroom. We’ll replace it all. You don’t want what’s in there.”
He notices my fresh tears. “What?”
“My jewelry box. It’s gone. Jack? The box you made me with all of your letters and mementos. Can you try to find it? It was sitting on the floor by the sofa. Please? I need them.”
“Shh. I’ll go check. We need to get you out of here. Come on, Sweetheart.”
Officer Boyd pats my shoulder. “Annabelle? We’ll check the pawnshops. After you’ve gotten some rest, please write a list of what they stole.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very kind. I know you’re off the clock. I appreciate you staying and gathering more evidence.”
“Detective Cooke is quite invested in this case, we all are. We have your back.”
I stop in the kitchen and grab the bottle of whiskey. I rinse out my coffee cup and pour myself a whiskey. I slowly sip the whiskey and smoke. I’m about to collapse from fatigue, but I don’t care. I need this escape.
Jack understands. He searches for the box as I drink a mug of whiskey and chain smoke three cigarettes. He turns to the officer. “Thank you for all of your help. I have her from here. We’ll lock up the house.”
“Here.” he cries. Miraculously, it appears to be untouched. I lift the lid carefully, and his stack of letters tied in the ribbon is still on top.
“Shit. What am I going to tell my landlord?”
“Don't worry about that, right now. We'll have police reports. You have rental insurance, and I'm sure the owner has property insurance. I'll help you take care of everything.”
“I can’t live here anymore.”
“Annabelle. Stop. Finish your drink and let’s get the hell out of here.”
“You’re right.” I swallow the final shot and finish the cigarette.
“I need a toothbrush.”
“We’re taking care of all of that. Come on, baby.”
I lock the door to my little carriage house. I know I will never return.
From the Ruins
By the time we get back to Jack’s house, it’s 6:00 a.m. We’ve been up all night surveying the destruction of my life. It wasn’t just vandalism. It was a fucking hate crime. Why does she hate me so much?
We stumble into the kitchen, and Jack's parents are waiting for us. I'm dead on my feet, and I must look a mess.
Allison hugs me and pulls out a chair for me. She fixes me a cup of coffee. Jack adds sugar and milk, the way I like it. She places an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes in front of me. I want to go to bed, sleep, and hide. My iPod. I forgot my music.
Why am I sitting here? They must want an update and to check on us.
Allison opens the pack of cigarettes and lights one for herself. She offers one to the rest of us and the four of us sit in silence and smoke and drink coffee.
I croak, “Charlie?”
He's upstairs in the playroom with Miss Margaret. You'll see him after you've had some rest. There is a guest room in Jack's apartment, or you can sleep in Jack's bedroom. That's up to the two of you. I have a toothbrush for you, and there are plenty of toiletries in the bathroom.
“I understand that you weren’t able to salvage anything. Jack has pictures of everything. Your mother and I will take care of all of that while you sleep.”
“Pajamas? May I borrow some pajamas?”
“I’ve already laid out a pair of comfy PJs for you. You don’t need to worry about anything.”
“Oh. Mr. Cliff. I found all of my documents at the shop. They ransacked the office, but they didn’t find my safe. Will you hold on to them for me?”
“Only if you remember to call me Frasier,” he smiles gently at me.
“Thank you, Frasier. Thank you for everything. I appreciate that you came with me last night. Did you learn anything from the police?”
I look around, and everyone is smoking. Jack has his arm around me. He is playing with my hair. I light up and drink my coffee.
“You and your case have made quite an impression on the police. They don't have answers, yet, but they collected a significant amount of evidence. Trust me. They are committed to finding out who did this.”
“In my house? I think it was Cecelia, her fiancé and friends. I found a note in a drawer that leaves no doubt that Cecelia was involved. I think her fiancé tried to burn down my boutique. Cecelia better start talking.”
Allison pats my hand. “Your mother and I will arrange to have your house cleaned out. We’ll try to salvage what we can. You don’t ever have to go back there. We know what they did.”
“They stole all of my jewelry. Everything my grandmother left me; everything that meant anything to me. They ruined it all. Everything for which I've worked so hard. I've lost everything.”
Jack squeezes me. “No, Belle. They didn’t take everything from you. You have all of us. I love you. We all love you. You have to believe that you’re not alone. Please? Please believe me.”
Frasier assures me, “He’s right, Belle.”
“My parents? Are they okay? Do they know what happened?”
Allison pats my hand. “They’re fine, Sweetheart. I’m sure they’re sleeping in. They’ll come over after you’ve slept. If you’d prefer to stay there, we’ll walk you home.”
“Thank you, no. I need to be with Jack. Is that okay?”
“Yes, that’s why you’re here.”
The coffee is clearing my head. “What about Sofia? Do we know where she is? Whether she was involved in any of this?”
Frasier says, “We believe Sofia used Cecelia to gather information about you and Jack. We’re not sure of the extent of her involvement. Th
e police are trying to interview Cecelia, but she’s not talking. They arrested her in her hospital room. I believe her parents already hired an attorney.”
“Her mother wouldn’t speak to me at all. I tried. She hung up on me. Bitch.”
I giggle. “Allison.”
“Well, she is.”
“She’s got nothing on her daughter. That bitch better start talking.”
I finish my coffee and my second cigarette and rise to rinse out my cup.
“Don’t even think about it. I’ll take care of everything. Go upstairs and crawl into bed. Jack, will you please take Annabelle up to bed?”
“Thank you so much for everything. I'll see you in a few days.”
“Sweet dreams, dear.”
***
I desperately need a shower. I want to wash off the filth of the night, but I'm exhausted. I settle for washing my face, neck, underarms, and hands, and scrub my teeth for five minutes.
As promised, Allison has left a pair of the softest flannel pajamas ever created on the guest bed. I dig around for fresh underwear and strip off the clothes I’ve been wearing. I want to throw them away, but I’m not in a position to throw anything away right now.
Clean undies, clean PJs, and clean teeth. Time to crawl into bed and disappear. I wish I had my music.
The next question? Into which bed do I crawl? I long for the comfort of Jack but worry it may upset Charlie to find me in his bed. The guest bed is probably the wiser choice.
As I start to climb into the bed, Jack stands in the doorway in pajama pants, shirtless. “What are you doing?”
“Sleeping for the next week.”
“Not there, you’re not.”
“Jack. I don’t want to upset Charlie. I know he sleeps with you. I don’t want him to get confused.”
“There is no confusion. You belong in my bed, and that's where you'll be from here on out.” He scoops me up and carries me into his room. “No argument, my little pixie. After tonight, I need to hold you and know that you're safe.”
I'm too tired to argue, and I desperately want to feel safe in his arms.
He pulls back the covers and lays me down. He climbs in beside me, curling himself around me. I’m asleep in seconds.