The Birthday Party

The Birthday Party

"Thanks, Sarge.  I'll see you tomorrow, OK?"  Perkins hesitated by the door to my office, a concerned look on his face.

"What?  You need something else?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even.

Perkins' eyes flicked toward the calendar on my wall, then he drew a deep breath and faced me full on.  "Sarge, do you want some company tonight?  The rest of the crew is heading out to The Blue Pig.  We'd like to have you join us."

"No, Perkins, but thanks.  I'll be alright.  See you tomorrow."

Without another word, Perkins left, leaving me alone in my office.  The door swung shut behind him, whooshing quietly, followed by a click.

I sat for a few minutes, gathering my courage to leave the homicide office that felt like home.  Finally, I stood and grabbed my car keys and my bag and left.

I tried not to think on the short drive back to my apartment.  Parking my beat up old Chevy in the parking garage, I walked out to the street, down a half a block, and entered my building.  I was able to continue not thinking until I finally locked the door behind me, kicked off my shoes and poured myself a strong drink; the first of many tonight.

Sometime later, I glared at the empty bottle on the coffee table and pulled myself to my feet.  Tracing an irregular and unsteady path to the bedroom, I finally arrived at my bed and fell across it, half asleep and half passed out.  I felt myself floating up into a dream, the same dream I have every September 5th.  My sleeping mind fought against the dream, but I was swept up into it, again.



“Happy Birthday, dear Jennifer.  Happy Birthday to you.”  I looked at the beautiful cake my Mom had made just for me.  Pretty pink flowers with green leaves were all over it, and she’d written ‘Happy 8th Birthday, Jennifer’ across the top of it.  The candles were lit, and Mom and Daddy were waiting for me to blow them out.  I drew a deep breath, so deep I was almost dizzy, and blew!  All of them went out; I would get my wish!

Mom cut the first piece for me, and it was as good as it looked.  The pink flowers tasted like cherries and the leaves tasted like mints.  Mom always made my cakes special; better than my friends got from the store for their birthdays.  I finished my cake and looked pleadingly at Mom.  She laughed and cut another large piece for me saying, “This is your day, sweetie, just don’t make yourself sick.”

“I won’t, Mom.  Thanks!”  I reached out for my plate, and forked up a big bite.  Instead of going in my mouth however, it somehow fell apart off the fork and tumbled down my shirt into my lap.  I looked at the pink and green smears down my beautiful new birthday dress and started to cry.

“Shh, it’s ok, sweetie.  I can get that out.  It’ll be just like new.  Go in your room and change into some play clothes.  Bring the dress back out with you so I can soak it.”  Then she wiped the tears off my cheeks, helped me stand and gave me a light tap across my bottom to start me to my room.

Feeling much better, I skipped off to my room and carefully took off the dress.  Putting it on my chair, I pulled on my favorite jeans and an old green t-shirt.  I picked up the dress and was starting back into the hallway when I heard a loud crashing noise and my mother’s scream.  I froze, the dress wrinkling in my grip, unable to move.  There were more screams, from both Mom and Daddy and then four loud booms, like big firecrackers. 

A man came around the corner and saw me in the hall.  I felt wetness running down my legs, but was too scared to be embarrassed about wetting my pants like a baby.  The man looked at me and told me to stay right there and don’t move.  I couldn’t have, even if I’d tried.

The police found me there, sometime later.  They said the neighbors had called them.  I was still clutching my new dress and standing in a puddle of urine.  An officer with a kind face picked me up and tried to hide my eyes when he carried me past the dining room.  I struggled enough that I could see part of the bloody scene.  That sight was seared into my memory forever; Mom and Daddy sprawled out across the floor, eyes open and staring at nothing; blood everywhere. 

*  *  *  *  *

I pulled myself out of the grip of the nightmare thanks to the alarm shrilling in my ears.  Carefully aiming a shaking hand at the button, I succeeded on the third try and shut the damned thing off.  I hate hangovers.  If I was a little less determined, I’d have arranged to take the day off to recover.  I never did, though.  I’d made my decision the day my parents were murdered, and had worked toward it all through school.  I was a homicide cop, and a good one.  I never missed a day, and frequently spent my days off working or searching through old morgue photographs.

One of these days I would again see the face of the man that had killed my parents.  Justice sometimes took Her own sweet time, but She was always served in the end.

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