Page 16 of Don't Speak
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Seven years ago
I feel numb as we pull into the Montgomery County Police Station.
Nothing but silence fills the air, words unwelcome in this moment.
What are you supposed to say during this time?
I know Stan is here for me, whether he apologizes for my loss or not right now.
He’s here, lending me silent support during this moment of utter despair.
She was my best friend. When I thought about giving up a few times myself, I stayed for her. She needed me. I couldn’t just leave her with our mother. How do you accept the death of the only person who has kept you going?
Stan pulls into a parking spot, and I reluctantly open my door. We head into the station, where we are greeted by the receptionist.
“Hello. What can I help y’all with?” she asks, clearly oblivious to the nature of our visit.
“My name is Dean Miller. I’m here to see Detective Walsh. She asked me to come down to the station. M…my sister passed away,” I tell her, forcing myself to remain composed as I speak each word.
“Oh. I am so sorry for your loss, Mr. Miller. I will notify Detective Walsh of your arrival if you’ll just have a seat for me in the waiting room.” She sounds sympathetic. I guess that would be a required emotion to have if you’re going to work in a place like this.
My knee bounces uncontrollably as I wait anxiously in this metal chair surrounded by three white walls. I stare off at an empty seat across from me, the voices of the lobby slowly fading away until all I can focus on is the ticking of the clock on the wall. Tick, tick, tick.
My mind is running a thousand miles an hour, but the one thing I keep asking myself is why. Why did she do this? Why did she feel the need to take this route? Why couldn’t she have called me and told me what was going on?
I’m beginning to spiral when Detective Walsh enters the waiting area, and the noises around me come back into focus.
“Hi, Dean. Thanks for coming. I’m sorry it has to be under these circumstances. Can you follow me?”
Detective Walsh turns to walk through the door she came out of, holding it open for me to follow. I stand, only making it a few steps before I turn and look at Stan.
“I’ll be here when you’re done, son,” he tells me, giving me a nod. His words give me the sense of strength I need to move forward, so I do.
Leaving Stan behind, I walk through the door with Detective Walsh.
I’m met with a long hallway that suddenly tunnels in front of me.
It feels like the hallway stretches for an endless amount of time, and my breathing kicks up, my heart rate beating out of control in my chest. Detective Walsh places a hand on my shoulder, and I jump.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, but we’re here. ”
When reality settles back in, we’re facing a door with the word ‘MORGUE’ engraved on a placard stuck to the front. My stomach drops again. This can’t be real.
When the door opens, the mortician stands idly by a table located in the center of the room.
A white sheet is placed over the body, covering it from head to toe.
The air smells sterile but also like death all at once.
I don’t know if I’ll ever forget it. My legs suddenly feel like Jello, but I muster up what little courage I can and approach the table.
The mortician gives me the most sympathetic look before he asks, “Are you ready?”
No. But I’ll never be ready for something like this, so I just nod in response.
The mortician pulls the white sheet down, exposing just her face to me.
I’m frozen in place. Charlie’s red hair cascades around her on the table, almost like a halo.
She’s pale, and her lips have already turned blue.
She almost looks peaceful, and I can’t help but wonder if that was her intention.
There’s bruising around her neck, and I unconsciously reach out to touch it until Detective Walsh chimes in.
“We found your sister hanging from the children’s play structure by a belt.
A passerby walking his dog by the park spotted her and called it in,” she tells me.
Immediately, I know that it must have been the park I took her to when she was younger.
She loved playing on that playground, the swings being her favorite.
If I close my eyes long enough, I can still hear her giggles as I push her on the swing, her demands of wanting to go higher filling my ears.
“It’s her. It’s Charlie, my sister,” I say numbly before bending down and giving her a light kiss on the forehead. I turn to walk out of the door, but I’m stopped when Detective Walsh says, “I need you to come with me to my office. We have some important matters to discuss about this case.”