Tree

I didn't say anything to my grandpa as he paid for his bourbon and left with a quick backwards glance at me. I didn't know what else had transpired between those two, but it made me nervous.

I worked the rest of my shift and helped Kyle shut down. He walked me to my car and said, "Monica, it isn't my business, but I overheard what your grandpa said. I know we hardly know each other since I'm new here, but if some guy is beating on you, you've gotta get away. You know the statistics, I'm sure. You'll end up killed." Kyle's face was half in shadow, but I saw the worried frown he wore. It was a typical expression when people heard the truth. Rochelle wore it, and now Grandpa, but it bothered me that Kyle did too. He was a virtual stranger to me. He didn't earn the right to show he cared.

"Kyle," I unlocked my door and opened it, the interior light casting a soft glow on the ragged fabric inside. "I'm sure Jack's gotten messed up with drugs. He has done a one-eighty since I've known him. I just need to hang on long enough to get him some help." I hated how weak and thin my voice sounded. I used to be confident.

"I know you don't know me," he said as he sighed softly. "I can't help but like you. You're a nice woman. You're so good with Rochelle and her baby. You talk about your grandpa a lot and how cool he is. More than you talk about your sisters," he added with a sad smile. "I worry about you." He lifted his hand up and feathered his fingers down my cheek. "Just, expect the unexpected if he's using. Here's my number just in case." Kyle fished a business card out of his pocket and handed it to me. He turned and left before I could say anything.

I tucked his card into my purse without looking at it and left the lot. What I failed to notice was an old F150 sitting across the street idling with the lights off.

Chapter 3

I pulled into the driveway at home and was surprised to see the house dark. I grabbed my purse and fumbled with my house key in the deadbolt. Not even the porch light was on which was odd. I always left the porch light on.

The door swung open and I was met with an unfamiliar smell. Under the scent of stale cigarette smoke and the warmed up fried chicken I had for lunch was a sharp tang. I couldn't place it. The air felt different, too. I flipped the porch light switch up and down, but it never came on. Dread curled in my stomach and I started to feel the rush of adrenaline as fear prickled my spine. I didn't have a fancy smartphone with a flashlight built in it, but I did carry a rechargeable pink Vipertek stun gun and flashlight combo in my purse. I dug it out and flipped on the flashlight.

I didn't see anything amiss where I stood, so I walked further into the house. The back door opened to the kitchen and I saw a dark shadow on the linoleum. I had to be matrixing where I see one thing, but my brain sees something else. I thought it could've been something spilled that hadn't gotten cleaned up. Jack would often get the shakes and drop things without cleaning up. It could've been blood, too.

I looked up and showed my flashlight around. It was weak and needed to be recharged. Nothing appeared to be out of place. The dining room table and chairs were in the right places. I moved near the sink where there was a light switch for a fluorescent light above the sink. It was on a different breaker than the rest of the house lights. Light flooded the area I was standing in causing me to squint against the sudden brightness. I turned around to where the darkness was pooled on the floor.

It was a dark red with black lumps. I couldn't get my legs to work. I stood with my back against the sink. My body cast a shadow over what had to be congealing blood and my flashlight stayed on it. I swallowed a lump in my throat. My thoughts were all over the place. I wondered if Jack had cut himself trying to make dinner or if the guy he owed money to had stopped by.

I fumbled with my cheap flip phone and called 911. When the dispatcher answered, I couldn't find my voice, so I whispered. "I'm at home and someone has cut off the power. I think there's blood all over the kitchen floor. I'm alone. Please send help. I'm scared."

The words rushed out of me. The dispatcher told me to get out of the house and into an area where I felt safe. I nodded rather than speaking acknowledgement. I never moved.

The red and blue lights lit up the dark neighborhood as the sirens grew louder. Then the sound cut off. It was so quiet. I saw the lights flashing on the cupboard doors. Red, blue, red, blue until my eyes swam and it became purple. When the police came in the back door they found me still standing with my flashlight trained on the puddle that appeared to be growing.

"Miss? Are you okay?" A concerned voice filled the silence. It was so quiet that I heard my pulse pound in my ears and the voice startled me from my stupor. I looked up to see the police officer.

"I, uh..." I trailed off. "I wasn't sure what to do."

Somehow he got my legs to move and we went outside. The dispatcher had sent two cars and the other cops were sweeping the house. Soon I heard their walkies going off as the officers inside the house called for backup and a forensic unit. I sat in a tent chair in the backyard that had seen better days. I had put my flashlight and phone back in my purse, and began chain smoking menthols. My legs bounced up and down nervously as I watched people pour onto the property and into the house. My house. Our house. What the hell happened?

A woman wearing a polyester suit approached me from the back door. I noticed she had a pistol and a badge clipped to her belt.

"Are you the woman who called 911?" The woman's voice was kind

"Yes, that was me," I answered.

She crouched down and said, "My name is Detective Janice Fillmore. I work in homicide. What's your name?"

"Monica."

"Monica what?" She crouched in front of me.

"Monica Waters. I live here with my boyfriend, Jack."

"Can you tell me what happened tonight?"

"What happened?" I took a drag of my cigarette and dropped it on the ground with the growing pile of butts.

Detective Fillmore didn't say anything as she looked at me.

"I don't know, Detective. I got out of work and Kyle walked me to my car like he always did when we worked together. I came home and the porch light was off." I scowled. "The porch light is never off. Never. Jack knows it makes me nervous when it isn't on when it's dark."

I stood up and Detective Fillmore did also. We were the same height. I looked at her and didn't see her. I was thinking of what my grandfather said to me at the shop earlier.

"My grandpa stopped by work. He bought some bourbon." My voice sounded disconnected. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my bent box of Marlboro menthols. I flipped it open and realized I was out. "I have to go to my car." I started walking. I stopped. What the hell was wrong with me? I felt out of sorts and confused. "They're in the freezer. I need to get a new pack."

The detective put a hand on my shoulder gently. "We will get it for you. In the freezer, you say?" She motioned to a uniformed cop and he walked into the house. I watched him walk back out with his hand coming down from his mouth like he had been covering it. He handed the pack to the detective and I watched as she packed it and unwrapped the plastic. She flipped open the box and offered it to me. I took one and she held out a lit zippo.

I lit up and took the pack she held out to me.

"I don't know what happened. Grandpa bought a bottle of Woodford Reserve. He rarely drinks, but when he does it's always Woodford." I said. I explained what happened again and that nothing was out of my routine except the porch light when I got home.

"Would you like to have a seat and I'll explain to you what we've found?" Detective Fillmore had an incredibly rich and soft voice.

"I think I should." I walked back to the chair and sat down. I motioned to an old diner chair that was close to where we were for Detective Fillmore to sit on.

"Miss Waters, we found your grandfather in the house. He's deceased."

I continued to smoke rapidly and was lighting my second cigarette. "But I just saw him today. He was angry."

"Angry? At whom?"

"Jack."

"Tell me what he said." Detective Fillmore had her notebook and pen ready.

I took a deep breath. "Grandpa said Jack stopped by and asked him for a lot of money. Said he owed some guy. Then he said Jack threatened him, but I'm not sure what was said. He said it was something he would take care of between them and not involve me."

I heard the scratch of her pen against the pad. "I told my grandpa that Jack had been hitting me, too. That really made him mad."

Her pen paused and she looked up. "How long has Jack been hitting you?"

I tapped the long ash off where it sprinkled like dirty snow on the ground. "It started last year."

"Tell me what happened. How did it start?"

"He came home from work as usual. This was about a month or two after he started at the cement factory," I explained. "He was erratic. He was shaking and sweating like he had been working out. I was at the door to greet him and he backhanded me. It happened so quickly. Like a snake striking out in those documentary videos."

The detective nodded as I continued. "My head hit the wall and I dropped. He walked inside, walked right over me, and demanded dinner. He had been fired from stealing from the till at his last job. He used to tend the bar near my old house," I explained before continuing. "Then his dad got him the job at the cement factory. He started about a week after being fired. After he started the new job, that's when his behavior changed." I thought of the new hire, Roger. The one who insisted he be called by his nickname "Dynamite".

I lit up. It was a good familiar feeling to smoke.

"Did he ever explain why he stole the money?"

"No. He said he had gotten into a bind and I never questioned it. I believed then he had a good reason." I realized my blind trust was a bad thing. I should've gotten clarification from him.

Now that my shock was wearing off I could process things better.

"Detective? You said my grandfather is dead inside my house?"

"Yes, Miss Waters." She continued to hold her pad of paper and pen.

"Was that blood I saw on the floor?" My voice quivered.

"Yes, it was." Detective Fillmore's voice showed concern.

"How long has he been there?" I didn't want to know, but I had to. I needed to know how long my grandfather laid in the house bleeding. Alone. Trying to help me. This was all my fault. I covered my mouth with my hand.

"We are going to find out. We haven't been able to find Jack. He didn't go to work today. Can you tell me what time your shift started today?"

"I went in an hour early at 2 pm. I had to help stock some shelves and organize the back room. I closed, so by the time the deposit was ready for the safe it was probably close to midnight. Kyle was there with me. He's been working there for about two months and the owner always has him close with me because of the neighborhood."

"Did you see anyone else?"

"Rochelle and Little Mel stopped by probably around 4 or 5. I work with her, too, and Little Mel, uh, Melissa, is her daughter." Jesus, I finished another cigarette? I needed to get a new carton soon to keep up.

"Okay," Detective Fillmore flipped her pad shut and put it away. "Is there anyone you can stay with for a few days?"

"I can call Rochelle or one of my sisters." I lit another cigarette and took a shallow drag. My throat was getting sore from the smoke. "I need something to drink."

"Absolutely." Detective Fillmore called out to one of the uniforms and I was given a water bottle from the fridge.

I unscrewed it and drank about half of it before looking at the detective. "How did my grandfather die?"

"It's rather gruesome, Miss Waters. I'd rather spare you the details until we know more. Forensics will be working here for a while yet." Her eyes looked at me and she dug into her pocket. She drew out an unopened pack of Marlboro Lights. "It isn't menthols, but it should tide you over 'til you can get to the store."

I took the pack and held it in my hands. "I need to know, Detective. Please, tell me."

She sighed, but she said, "It appears he was attacked from the front with a short knife that was sharp. Possibly a pocket knife or paring knife. It was all shallow cuts on his abdomen and arms which he probably held up to defend himself. But there were some cuts on his neck which pierced his jugular and that's what killed him." She paused when she noticed tears filling up my eyes. "Miss Waters, I know you said you wanted to hear this, but I can't give you more details until forensics has finished. Then we can know for absolute certainty."

"I understand," I said in a whisper. My quiet tears overflowed my eyes and I hugged myself.

"I need to ask a few more questions if you're up to it or we can wait until tomorrow."

"That's okay. I want to get this over with." I sniffed.

"Were you aware that the liquor store you work in was broken into tonight?"

I snapped my head up. "What?" I was in disbelief. "You can't be serious?"

"We received the call from the alarm company about fifteen minutes after you said you closed up." The detective watched my face.

"Roger," is all I said.

I watched the detective's eyebrows move upwards.

"Roger?"

"I, yes. Roger. Dynamite." I was struggling to make my mouth form the words my brain was shouting. "He works with Jack. I met him once. Jack brought him home for dinner. I don't like him. He gives me a bad vibe. His teeth are all meth teeth. They're, like, cracked and broken. They're brown." I took a deep breath. "He told me that his nickname was 'Dynamite' because he's survived two meth lab explosions. But he was on the straight and narrow which is why he was at the cement factory."

Detective Fillmore was rapidly writing in her pad.

"Roger grabbed my breast." It felt good to admit this to the detective. She looked up at me. "I only met him that one time, but he reached over and grabbed me when I was putting dishes away. Jack was outside. I smacked Roger's hand away and then he stuck his knee up into my crotch and pushed me into the counter. He said I was lucky Jack was around, otherwise he'd take what he wanted." I shuddered at the memory. "Then he went outside to talk with Jack. Like it was conspiratorial out in the backyard. Then he left and I never saw him again. But, like I said, he's bad news."

"Did you report the assault?"

"No. I...," I paused. "No, I didn't." I felt ashamed.

"Did you see anything unusual when you were locking up the store tonight? Did you see any people walking down the street you didn't recognize or vehicles?"

"No. I can't recall anything. I was thinking about what my grandpa had said and I kept trying to call Jack, but it kept going to voicemail."

"Well, we will know more once we've had a chance to study the surveillance video. Your boss has a good system installed and we should be able to find who did it within a couple days. In the meantime, give me a list of items you will need to stay at your friend's house like clothes, toothbrush, and so on, and I'll make sure it gets packed up for you." She put a friendly hand on my shoulder. "Miss Waters, if there is anything else I can do for you, don't hesitate to call me. If I can't help you, I'll find someone who can." She dropped her hand and pulled out a business card from her blazer pocket. Her voice dropped lower. "I've been there, you know, years ago. With a guy who beat me." I took her card. "Please, don't hesitate," she repeated.

I nodded and walked to my car. I sat down in the driver's seat and called Rochelle. I nearly sobbed at the sound of her voice, but managed to explain what happened and she said, "Of course! Come over. We'll get the pull-out ready for you. You know we love you. Want me to come get you? Do you need anything?"

The show of concern made a lump appear in my throat. "No. No, I've got it. I'll be over soon as I get a bag packed."

"Of course, honey! We will see you soon." We disconnected and I waited until a uniform brought out a tote bag with my stuff in it. The list of stuff the detective wrote down was sitting on top of my toiletry bag. The kindness was overwhelming considering what I had been enduring from Jack all these months.

I slowly backed out of the driveway as the cops moved their cars out of the way for me. I saw Detective Fillmore looking at me as my beams passed over her. I couldn't believe Grandpa was gone, but my eyes remained dry during the drive to Rochelle's.

Chapter 4

Settled into Rochelle's as best I could, I laid on the pull-out bed in their living room. Henry, Rochelle's fiancee, had been so gracious to me. He helped bring my heavy bag into their house while Rochelle prepared a late night dinner for me. By this point, it was well after midnight and Little Mel was already fast asleep. I knew Henry had to be in to work in a few hours and Rochelle was scheduled for the second shift.

My mind was running in circles. Grandpa had to have visited Jack to discuss their man-to-man business that Jack had threatened him with. I'm sure of it. I knew my grandfather didn't have thousands of dollars. He was lucky to have five hundred in savings considering he was on a fixed income, so it was unlikely he stopped by to deliver money. If Jack wasn't there, perhaps the guy he owed money to was waiting and decided to take it out on my grandpa. Or maybe he went after Grandpa for sport. I knew it would take a few more days for homicide to piece together a likely scenario.

For the umpteenth time since laying in bed I flipped my phone open and tried calling Jack. Every time it went right to his voicemail. I sighed and put the phone under my pillow. My eyes shut and I was surprised when I felt a gentle shake on my arm. I opened my eyes and saw Rochelle leaning over me. "Hello, sleepyhead." She smiled softly. "Did you call into work and let them know you aren't coming in?"

"Oh," I mumbled. "I'm going in."

"No, you're not," argued Rochelle. "You need to stay here, rest, and prepare your mind."

Rochelle always said "prepare your mind". It was her way of saying you needed to focus on important things.

I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "What time is it?" I asked, looking at the turned off television screen which acted as a mirror showing me Henry approach the front door. If he was arriving home, then it had to be almost 2pm. I scratched my scalp and worked my fingers through my snarled hair. I slept almost a solid ten hours.

"Just call in," Rochelle repeated. "Here," she handed her phone to me. "Use my phone. I think yours is dead." She lifted up my pillow and took my phone. "Yup. I'll plug it in for you in the kitchen. I made some fresh coffee for you, too."

I watched Rochelle kiss Henry as he came inside. Little Mel was yelling for her dad and was running towards him on her short, pudgy legs. I couldn't even muster a smile at her innocence. I was wrung out like a dishrag.

I turned Rochelle's phone over and tried to remember how to unlock her phone. It was a smartphone and I was used to my easy to use flip phone.

"Here, I'll get it open for you." Henry was there with his hand out.

I handed him her phone and said, "I'm sorry. For keeping you awake so late, I mean."

"Monnie," Henry used his nickname for me. "You know we love you. It's never a problem to help a friend when they need it." He smiled at me and handed the phone back. "Just hit the green button at the bottom and you'll see the store in her contacts list." He had Little Mel in his arms this whole time and then set her down. She sat next to me and leaned her head on my arm.