Page 12 of Don't Speak

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Seven years ago

The pub is packed tonight, and I’ve been busting my ass non-stop to get these drinks out.

There’s a live band tonight, and the drinks seem to be flowing.

I’ve been back for a little over two years now, helping Stan while he undergoes chemo treatment.

He refuses to stop working, the stubborn asshole, but this way, I can take some of the load off him.

Stan, the pub owner, let me work here through college.

My father left the moment I turned eighteen, and we were barely getting by as is.

Stan let me live in the loft above the pub while I worked and went to school.

He’s sort of taken up residence as a father figure since mine was a piece of shit anyway.

My father and mother were constantly fighting, and one day, he left for work and just never came home.

Never called, never wrote, just poof. Gone.

My mother never really recovered after that.

She became depressed, spending days in bed until she found out she was pregnant a few months later.

She got her shit together just long enough to give birth and raise my sister well for the first few years.

Then, when my sister was six, she found out that my father was getting remarried.

That sent her into a downward spiral she hasn’t recovered from.

She drinks herself into a stupor most nights, but she at least ensures that Charlie is fed and taken care of beforehand.

I’ve been checking in on her daily for the last eight years, making sure she has everything she needs.

I’ve tried to get custody of her several times, but the court deems my mother fit for parenting for some reason, so I just do what I can.

Just another example of the broken justice system.

My sister is fourteen now. We have a close bond, and I will always make sure she is protected. I told her she could come live with me the second she turns eighteen, that I’ll find a place for the two of us, and she could go to college. She hates living with our mother, and I don’t blame her.

The music rages, and the lights bounce off the walls.

I finally get a little reprieve from having to make drinks when I feel a vibration in my pocket.

Pulling out my phone, I check to see who it is, but I don’t recognize the number.

I let it go to voicemail, thinking that if it is important enough, they will leave a voicemail.

Pocketing my phone again, I walk to the cash register where I left my own drink.

I pick up my glass of water and take a sip.

As I place it back down, my phone vibrates again.

It’s odd because I don’t usually get this many phone calls in general, let alone twice in a row this late at night.

I take my phone back out of my pocket and check the caller ID.

It’s the same number as just a few minutes ago.

I feel a weird sense of dread wash over me, deciding to answer it this time.

“Hello?” I answer cautiously.

“Hello. Is this Dean Miller?” the feminine voice asks.

“Who’s asking?” I respond curtly.

“This is Detective Walsh from the Montgomery County Police Department. I’m afraid I have some bad news. It’s about your sister, Charlie.”

My heart sinks, and my vision blurs. “What about my sister? Is she okay?”

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you like this. I’m afraid your sister took her own life about an hour ago at the local city park. She had her ID on her, but we haven’t been able to reach your mother. Is there any way you could come down to the station?”

My whole world suddenly stops turning, the music fading into the background. I vaguely see Stan in the corner of my eye moving toward me, concern etched across his face. “Y… Yeah. I.. I can be there within the hour,” I tell her, fighting back the emotions in order to finish the call.

“We are so sorry for your loss, Mr. Miller,” she tells me, her voice laced with genuine sympathy.

I’m just about to hang up when I hear her voice again. “Oh. And Dean?”

“Yeah?” I respond hurriedly.

“She left a note for you. We will have it for you when you get here. Due to the nature of the note, this is officially a criminal case, but we will discuss that with you when you get here.”

I make sure she knows I understood what she said before hanging up on her.

The dam breaks, and the tears start flowing.

I fall to my knees just as Stan reaches me, falling with me to give me the comfort I desperately need at this moment.

The only words I am able to mutter are, “She’s dead,” before I grab hold of him and cry into his shirt.

Stan sits there with me until I’m ready to get up, the other bartenders having already covered the rest of my shift.

I tell Stan what just happened as much as I can, and he tells the others to hold down the fort as he stands me up and walks me out to his truck, driving me to the police station.

What did she mean by ‘this is now a criminal case’?