I think about going outside to tell him that maybe he should just wait for me at the apartment, when Detective Stephner comes strolling up to me from one of the cubicles. He has a folder tucked in his hand and a cup of coffee in his hand and is wearing a suit, the jacket open, revealing his tie with Christmas trees on it.
‘You know it’s not Christmas, right?’ I elevate my eyebrows at him, sarcasm dripping from my voice as he tosses the coffee into the trash bin beside me.
His forehead creases as he sifts through some papers in his hand. ‘Huh?’
I point at his tie. ‘It’s October, shouldn’t those be like pumpkins or something?’
He distractedly glances away from the papers and down at the tie. ‘Oh that.’ He laughs, scratching his head. ‘Yeah, my wife must have laid out the wrong one for me this morning.’
‘Your wife lays your clothes out for you? How very nineteen fifties of you, and kind of sexist.’
He sighs, because I always do this to him – press his buttons. I’m not even sure why. He’s not as bad as the detectives I’ve had to deal with in the past, but being here in the police station brings back too much painful memories for me and this bitterness sort of spills out.
‘She likes doing it,’ he replies with a hint of aggravation. ‘I don’t ask her to do it.’
I gesture at his tie. ‘It looks really clear that she enjoys it, which is why she dressed you in Christmas stuff in October.’
‘Why do you do this every time you come in?’
‘What? Yank your balls?’
He gives me a blank stare. ‘You know, one of these days that mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.’
I stare back at him, my expression matching his. ‘That’s for the words of wisdom.’
He sighs again, giving up. ‘Okay, are you ready for this.’
I shake my head. ‘Nope.’
He sighs again. ‘Violet, we talked—’
I cut him off. ‘I’ll never be ready for it, but I’ll do it. I was just stating a simple fact.’ I stand up from the chair, my knees wobbling and my stomach bouncing with my nerves, a bundle of butterflies that must have awoken specifically for this moment.
‘Alright, follow me,’ he says, heading across the busy room full of cubicles and desks and toward a hallway with florescent lighting. There are still a lot of people at the station and I catch a few of them glancing up at me as I pass. I wonder if they know who I am, if they know my sad, depressing story. I wonder if it makes them afraid of me. ‘Oh and I wanted to let you know that I got the package with the photo and am looking into it.’
‘Okay …’ I’m barely aware of what he’s saying as the reality of what’s about to happen bears down on me. With each step, it feels like the walls are closing in, crushing, suffocating. I can barely breathe. Think. Function. This is it. I’m really going to go see the woman whose song has haunted my nightmare for years? How is it going to make me feel? Can I handle it?
Whoosh.
It’s like all the air has been ripped out of my lungs. I suck in a deep breath, my vision spotting, and my knees start to buckle. I brace my hand on the cold brick wall to keep from collapsing onto the floor.
‘Shit,’ I say between gasps. This can’t be happening right now. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Detective Stephner asks, leaning over with concern in his eyes as he studies my face. ‘Violet, just breathe. It’ll all be over soon.’
I shake my head and back away down the hall. I didn’t prepare myself for this … this massive wave of emotional turmoil. I want to be stronger, want to have inner strength like the old Violet, but she was only a façade, a costume I’d wear to make it easier to pretend everything was okay when it wasn’t. But that costume was torn to pieces and my true self left standing vulnerable and naked. I want to run away and fix the problem the only way I know how, but after today, realizing that I don’t want to die, I’m not sure it would calm me down even if I tried. ‘I can’t do this … not when I feel like this …’
‘Do you want me to call someone to be here with you?’ he asks, following me down the hallway, but he knows I don’t have anyone, hence a hint of uneasiness on his part.
I work to catch my breath. ‘I need …’ What do I need? ‘Luke.’
He appears extremely reluctant about the idea while I arrive at a strange state of calm from the statement. ‘Violet, that’s not a good idea … he’s the son of the potential suspect … and …’ He shifts his weight. ‘Having him in here could be harmful to the case.’
‘Can’t he just come sit in a chair in the waiting room?’ The air is returning to my lungs at the realization that this is what I need. Yes, it’s what I need – Luke. He always makes me feel better, at least better than what I’m feeling. I need him.
God, do I need him.
Wow, that was hard to admit. I just hope he meant what he said – that he wants this as much as me; with Mira, with us. ‘I mean, he’s out in the parking lot right now, so it wouldn’t be that much different of he just stepped inside.’
Detective Stephner scratches his head as he glances around at the busy cubicles around us. ‘Maybe … out in the waiting room, but I’d have to ask my partner to sit with him … to keep an eye on him.’
I nod with eagerness. ‘Okay, I’ll go get him.’
‘I’ll escort you there,’ he says, trailing me as I hurriedly make my way through the cubicle area.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I tell him as I veer left and head past the sitting area and toward the entrance doors.
‘It’s not for you,’ he tells me, moving forward to open one of the doors for me.
‘Afraid I’ll run?’ I ask, wrapping my arms around myself as I step outside into the chilly night breeze.
He shrugs, staring out at the parking lot where Luke’s rustic truck is parked. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’ The door slams shut. ‘I’ll wait for you right here.’
I trot down the stairs, my heart hammering inside my chest. I remember the many things I had to do when I was younger by myself. At doctor’s appointments, one of my foster parents would wait for me in the waiting room. My visits with the police in the beginning, I was chaperoned by my foster mother at the time, which meant she’d sit on a chair nearby and file her nails. I remember sitting in the chair and just wanting to hold someone’s hand. I tried to hold her hand once, from which she causally slipped hers out. All I wanted was someone to comfort me.