What I wanted was my mom and dad. But that wasn’t possible since the reason I was there alone was because they were dead.
As I approach Luke’s truck, I can hear music playing and see smoke lacing out the cracked window. When I open the driver’s door, he’s messing around with his stereo and I end up scaring the crap out of him. He jumps, looking as though he’s about ready to hit me.
‘Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.’ He puts his cigarette out on the ground, caution in his eyes as his gaze elevates to me. ‘Are you ready to go?’
Shaking my head, I point over my shoulder at the police station. ‘I need you to come in there.’
He instantly frowns. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Not really, I just …’ I chew on my bottom lip. God, asking for help can be so difficult. Just do it for God sakes! ‘I just don’t want to be alone when I do this.’
As hard as it is to ask for help, his expression makes me feel the slightest bit better. ‘Okay.’ He grabs his keys, gets out of the truck, and shuts the door.
‘You have to wait in the waiting room, though … because … well, you know.’ There’s a bit of awkwardness, at least with me, having to remind him that it’s his mother in there.
But Luke tangles his fingers with mine like it’s the simplest thing in the world. If only everything was that simple, but even walking on my own anymore is getting complicated. Still it helps that Luke is there, helps that he tries to make it as easy as possible when the Detective makes him sit out in the waiting area as if he’s the criminal, helps that when I get back to the room with the two-way mirror, I know that he’s right out there in the same building, within running distance.
It makes it easier to breathe.
The room I’m standing in is small and dark, except for the light coming from the other side where they’re going to bring Mira Price in. The air smells like cigarettes and coffee and there are a few metal chairs behind me that I could probably sit down in, but I’m afraid if I move, I’ll run, so I stay planted in front of the window.
I swear to God I’m standing there for hours, when really it’s probably only a few minutes, maybe even seconds before the Detective joins me.
‘You ready for this?’ he asks, glancing down at the papers he’s been carrying around.
No. ‘Yes.’ I fidget with the leather band on my wrist, the one I put on to cover up what I did earlier. ‘What exactly am I supposed to do, though? Just tell you yes or no if I can remember her? ‘
He nods, distracted by the papers. ‘If she was the one there that night and you can identify her, then you’ll tell me. But it’s very important that you’re sure, okay?’
I nod. Like I would ever say anything else. Falsely identify Luke’s mom, that’s something I’d never want to do.
‘And we can get her to speak, too … I know you said you heard her speak, right?’ he asks as a door on the other side opens up.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I step up to the glass window. ‘Sing … I heard her sing …’ I trail off as a woman enters the room.
This is it.
This is it.
Holy shit, this is it.
She walks awkwardly as if her feet are too heavy for her legs, her shoes dragging across the floor. Her head is tipped down, her brown hair a veil around her face. She’s wringing her hands in front of her, nervous and scared. The first thing I think is that this can’t be the woman there that night. But I quickly learn that my initial observation of Mira Price is wrong because when she reaches the center of the room and turns to face the window, her expression is calm, her shoulders are squared. And those eyes … Those goddamn eyes that are as hollow as my heart used to be. They’re the color of Luke’s too, but still look so different – so lacking life and emotion. No, they’re not the same at all.
Mira’s eyes look hauntingly dead, pale, expressionless, and when she smiles it’s as if she’s pleased to be on the other side of the glass. But I’m just not sure it was her singing in the dark that night, and a sadness weeps inside me as I realize this and what it means – that I can’t identify her.
A tear or two falls from my eyes but I can’t seem to take my focus off of her. Her eyes are locked right in my direction too, even though she can’t see me. But it feels like she can, feels like I’m five years old again, hiding in the dark and she’s looking right at me, but never says a word.
Then her eyes grow more intense, her posture more confident. There’s a shift in the air, an omen perhaps, one that I should run away from, but I don’t budge. Her lips start to move, twist and conform as if she’s sickly pleased with what she’s about to do. When her voice leaves her mouth, it’s as if I’ve been jerked back to my childhood home and I’m all alone. A few simple sentences, that’s all it takes, for my world to forever change.
‘Lean into me. Lean into me,’ she sings slowly, looking right in my direction as if she can see me through the window. ‘Take. Help me. I need to understand. Help me. I can’t do this without you.’
Someone starts to scream. Shout. Bang on the glass. It’s hurting my ears … my hands … feels like I’m bleeding out, gushing wounds …
‘Violet! Violet! Calm down!’ Arms wind around my waist, the touch bringing me back to reality. I realize that the screaming and banging is coming from me. That I’ve lost it. Smashed my hand against the glass so hard that it feels like it’s broken. Detective Stephner has got a hold of me and is trying to get me to calm down. He yells something to someone, but I can’t focus on his words. I can only concentrate on the excruciating pain, the blinding rage, the scorching hatred for the woman singing on the other side, tormenting me with her lyrics, her voice, her eyes. My veins burn with the overpowering need to break through the window and hurt her, make her pay for what she did. I’ve never felt so much in my entire life and if the detective let me go, I don’t know what I’d do. Break through the glass maybe, just to get to her.
But Detective Stephner manages to get me out of the room before that happens, and I no longer have to see the fucking devil standing ten feet away, where the only thing separating us is a thin piece of glass. Yet the rage within me blazes and scalds me from the inside and I keep fighting to get away from him.
‘Let me go!’ I kick my legs, trying to break free, and end up knocking over a chair as we step out into the cubicle area. I’m causing a commotion, but I don’t give a shit. Let them all stare – I’m used to it. ‘She killed them! That stupid fucking song!’