A Little R and R

Police Interrogation Rm

2 a.m. February 22 2012



         I glare at Detective Price through weak eyes, furious at the woman I’m trapped in. She awoke too soon, broke through my hold before I had a chance to get out of there. Now I have to squat here and suffer through her fumbling attempts to answer questions. Not like she even knows the answers.

         Her thoughts race back and forth. Fear, pain, confusion. I focus on the pain until she flinches.

         I. Want. Out.

         “Ms. Mairenn,” Price says drawing our attention back.

         “I’m alright,” she mutters. “Could I get a cup of coffee, or something? Please, I can’t focus.”

         Of course you can’t you blundering idiot, I mutter inside our mind.

         “You've been through an ordeal,” Price says as he pushes an intercom button on the table and asks for coffee. “What happened in that house?”

         “House?” She stares at our hands as our brow scrunches.

         “Your house, where we picked you up,” he says slowly.

         He’s playing the good cop.  I wonder when the bad cop’s going to come strolling in. Doesn't matter. They won’t get anywhere with her. She was asleep through it all; blissfully unaware of the horror happening at her hands.

         “Where’s the rest of my family?” I feel her mind sift through the past few hours to find nothing out of sort. 

         “Why don’t we just start with you arriving back home yesterday, from college?” He asks like he’s not sure if it’s correct and he’s right. Someone never went to college. Nope, not going to make it there. But that’s what she told them and that’s where they looked. Too bad that school’s never heard of us. Wonder if he’ll mention that to her. Price stares at her and folds his hands in front of him. “You came home. Why?”

         To do what needed to be done.

         “I was just visiting my parents. It was a long week at school and I…I missed home.”

***

Riley

         It had been a long first week of classes. I was beat and missing mom’s home cooked meals. My classes were rougher than I’d expected and I was still a loner on campus. I pulled into the drive with the truck dad gave me. He was on the front porch, beer in hand. He smiled and waved, happy to see me.

         “Your mother will be surprised,” he called as I pulled my duffel from the bed. “She’s been going on about how much she missed you.”

         “Well I missed cooked food that tastes good.” I came up to the porch. We smiled and hugged…

***

         She’s got it all wrong and she stops mid-sentence to stare blankly at the far wall. We went home alright, but not for food.

         “Riley,” Price asks. He says that questionably too. That’s the name she gave, but it doesn't show up either.

         “It’s fuzzy. I see my dad, but I can’t remember what his face looks like.”

         She can’t, but I can. We’d pulled in the drive and he’d leered at us.

         “Why do you think that is,” Price prods.

         Riley shrugs.

         “Neighbors say you pulled in around 6 pm. Is that correct?”

         She nods our head slowly.

         “And you say you missed home?”

         She nods again, but stiffer this time. I stare at Price through her eyes and smile. He’s a smart man, about to start asking all the right questions. He’s going to fall down the rabbit hole and get lost. Then he’ll be in my territory and he’ll never get out.

         “You said you brought home a duffel? What was in it?”

         She wrings our hands nervously, but doesn't have to answer. Another cop comes in with two cups of coffee and a vending machine bag of pretzels. She thanks him quietly then holds the cup in our hands. It’s hot, almost burning, but she doesn't let go.

I don’t let her.

         “Clothes, a pair of shoes,” she answers unsure.

         Price stares at her then glances down at the papers in front of him. If Riley would tilt our damn head we might be able to read them, but she doesn't move a muscle. I wonder what they say. The truth about Riley, probably. That’s a sad story that no one ever got to hear.

         “Neighbors say you didn't pull anything out of the bed, Riley.”

         “Maybe they didn't see it,” she suggests weakly. 

         “They also say you and your father were yelling as you went inside. Are you sure you weren't arguing with your father?”

         “Yes...yes of course I am.”

         “Were angry at him because he made you come home. Was there trouble?”

         Her memories are shaky, but I know what happened. Slowly I let the wall down that separates us and let her see dad’s face as we pulled in. The surprise that turned into a leer. The yelling that was started by me.  That’s why I was here, inside Riley’s mind. Why I would be here until the end.

         She flinches at the new memory, but shakes our head. “I don’t remember him being angry.” Now she’s lying.

         Price takes a few notes before asking her to continue with what she remembers.

         Now we’re getting to my favorite part.

                                                                                        ***



Riley

         I went inside and followed dad into the kitchen. My brother Brandon was sitting at the table eating fresh cookies. Mom was by the sink doing dishes. She turned to say something to dad then rushed to dry her hands to give me a hug, a bright smile on her face.

         “I didn't know you were coming,” she said. “Why didn't you call? I would have cooked a special dinner.”

         “Thought I’d surprise you.”

         “Your roommate, is she hot,” Brandon asked as he got up and punched me playfully on the shoulder.

         “Yes, but she has a boyfriend.”

         “What about for you,” dad asked winking. “Meet any boys?”

         “Oh stop that, Harry,” mom said going back to the dishes. “Give her a minute to settle in before you start interrogating her. Although,” she said turning back to squeeze my arm, “I would like to hear all the latest boy gossip.”

         “No worries mom, but don’t be disappointed,” I said, pulling the plate of cookies towards me. “There’s sadly not much to report.”

                                                                                          ***

         Ain't that the sad truth. No man action for us, oh no. Riley’s too stiff, too shy. She stares into our coffee as if all the answers lie within its murky depths. Sorry sweetie, we’re not so lucky.

         “Your brother and mom were home,” Price asks. “No fighting, screaming?”

         “No one fought,” she insists, but I shake my head inside our mind.

         “If you’re covering for someone you don’t have to,” Price says quietly. “I just want to understand what happened.”

         “But nothing happened,” she argues.

         Not so much. I pull away part of the veil again to show her how it was when we walked in with daddy right behind us, his hands hovering close to areas he shouldn’t touch.

         Brandon was sitting at the table stuffing his face with fast food. Mom was smoking a cigarette, hands deep in the dirty sink piled high with dishes. The place reeked because no one had cleaned in weeks. It was dirty and the counters were covered with beer and whiskey bottles. Brandon asked where the hell we’d been, but I hadn’t answered. Then mom asked what the hell I was doing home, panic growing in her eyes hiding the fear that was always there.

         Brandon said we looked different, snide comments about meeting a boy. Dad snapped at us if we had, but we snapped back. Then Brandon punched us in the gut when we didn’t answer and we doubled over in pain as he hit us a second time in the middle of our back, driving us to our knees. He yelled about showing respect to daddy.

         Riley stiffens in the chair before she slowly begins to feel the twinges of bruising left over from that first beating. Our stomach aches and our back is suddenly sensitive against the chair.

         About time, because the pain was driving me more insane than I already am.

         Price notices every movement we make. “Riley, tell me what’s bothering you.”

         I mutter to her that she can’t and dutifully she repeats the words without fumbling. See? So much stronger when I’m in control of us.

         “Why can’t you? Are you protecting someone?”

         I tell her to say yes, but that to say if he wants to hear the rest of the evening events, he can’t ask me who. He argues with Riley and she fumbles for answers, until I answer for her. We tell him that it’s just the way it is and he’s going to have to understand.

         He nods reluctantly. “Around 7pm last night, a man said he was walking by on the sidewalk and heard a crash.” He pauses and glances up at Riley, but I make sure she holds his gaze. “Care to explain what the noise was?”

         “I can’t…I don’t remember a crash,” she mumbles then takes a scalding gulp of coffee.

         “A few minutes later,” Price continues sounding disappointed, “another neighbor pulled into her driveway to hear a woman screaming. Do you know what she says the woman was screaming?”

         Of course not you idiot, I grumble. She wasn’t present at this point. I however remember every high pitched tone resonating in my ears. I should, she was first. She was the bloodiest.

         Riley shakes our head and Price passes her a piece of paper. I already know what it’s going to say, but she doesn’t and I can feel our eyes widen from shock. I know it word for word: No, stop! What are you doing, put it down-

         And then it cuts off.

         “I don’t understand,” she whispers shoving the paper back to Price.

         “Your neighbor heard your mother scream this,” he says bluntly. It appears his patience is wearing thin. “Why was your mother screaming? Were you threatening her?”

         “No! Why would I threaten my mother?”

         “You tell me Riley. You’re the only one who made it out of your house alive.”

         I feel her shocked look at his words, her mind reeling from what he said. “What do you mean?”

         “Tell me what happened,” he asks louder shuffling the papers in front of him and playing with another folder.

         I know what’s in that folder. I can tell by the look on his face. Pictures of destruction that I’ve caused. Riley better let me take over soon before those come out. She won’t be able to handle it.

         “I’ll tell you what I remember,” she whispers, laying our hands flat on the table and staring at them. Our eyes scrunch shut and she searches through her memories, beginning to really wonder what is real and what isn’t. I hold back the worst for now.

***



Riley

         We ate dinner then and caught up. Brandon teased me like normal and caught me trying to cheat at cards. It was Spades and I always wound up losing with dad when we played. After a few rounds mom decided she was going to go do some work in the den. Dad, Brandon and I sat watching some reruns of shows we’d grown up with.

         “So what do you think kid,” dad said getting up and stretching. “Think you’re going to like college?”

         I smiled. “Really think I am.”

         “Well whatever you decide to do, we’ll be proud of you.” He squeezed my shoulder with a smile then said good night to Brandon and me.

                                                                                          ***

         “We watched TV for a bit longer and then…then…” she trails off and her mouth clamps shut as she shakes our head. She has no memories past that point, I made sure of it.

          “What is it?”

         “Nothing. After dad went to bed, I don’t see anything else,” she finishes lamely, grasping our fingers around the coffee, desperate to hang onto something.

         “You don’t remember going to bed, or your brother?” She shakes our head violently. “What about your mother? Did you see her the rest of the night?”

         “No I…I went to bed and then…how did I get here? Why did you say the only one alive? Where’s my family? Where are they!”

         Price stares at her in disbelief then opens the folder and slowly begins to pull photo after photo out and lay them on the table.

         She freezes instantly at the first few then begins to go catatonic when they’re all lying in a nice little arrangement. Pictures of our mother, father, brother. Pictures of them in our home.

         Pictures of them covered in blood.

         Mother was on the couch, half sitting. Her mouth gaped open in silent scream. A memory flashes violently across Riley’s mind and she flinches. Us with a knife she’d grabbed after dad and Brandon started on us again. She’d stood there and done nothing so when the bad boys left, we grabbed the knife. Riley covers our mouth and stares at the wounds we put in mommy’s chest. Five to be exact. The age when it all started. The age when mommy betrayed us.

         The next one shows Brandon. He was the next to go, but not with the knife. Her eyes dart left and right, over the pictures, shaking her head in disbelief then she stills. Her consciousness is breaking down, the wall she unknowingly throws up to keep me in falls to nothing.

         Houston we have a problem.

         Riley slips away, farther and farther into the deep cocoon she creates for herself. She won’t resurface anytime soon. I grin as the familiar feeling of rushing forward overwhelms me and suddenly I’m staring at Detective Price. Through my eyes.

         My killer eyes

         I fold my arms across my chest and grin at the pictures.

         “Riley, are you alright?” Price stares at me confused. He can tell something’s changed. “Think you can explain some of these photos to me-”

         “I’m not Riley,” I snap, my tone no longer light and fluttery, no longer innocent. I’m the strong one, the fierce one.

The one who would kill for us. Oops, already did.

         Price sits back. “What do you mean?”

         “Do I need to speak slower? I am not Riley.”

         “Alright, you’re not Riley. Who am I speaking to?”

         He catches on fast. “I’m Remy.” I move the pictures around on the table and laugh when I uncover the ones of dad. “I did a good job, don’t you think?”

         “You did this? Why would you murder your family?”

         “Not my family,” I say simply. “They hurt her, for a very, very long time.”

         “Who are you, Remy? Why are you here,” Price asks as he reaches for a page button on the table. Poor guy, can’t handle a psycho on his own.

         “Riley created me,” I say narrowing my eyes. “She had no one else to turn to so she made me.”

         “Made you why?”

          “To protect her from them.”

         “What happened to Riley?”

         If he only knew. “Nothing, not after she made me. I shielded it from her, kept her innocent…well as innocent as she can be. I took the abuse,” I say and pull my shirt up to the edge of my bra. “Now I’ve got my revenge.”

         His eyes widen at the sight of my chest, stomach. They’re bruised black and blue, barely an inch of normal colored skin left. He leans closer to see hands outlined in some, fingers on others, cigarette burns, and a few others I’m sure he can’t figure out. I put my shirt back down then roll up the sleeves of my shirt and let him gawk at those bruises too. Hands perfectly outlined in purple and black detail like finger paintings tattooed on our flesh. I glance back down at the photos of Riley’s family, our family. The marks I left would be permanent.

         “Do I need to show you my legs too or do you get the picture,” I say keeping my sleeves up.

         “You’d escaped them, why did you go back,” he asks genuinely curious.

         I lean on the table and stare at him. “Have you ever been abused, Detective Price? Ever been beaten to a bloody pulp day after day by the people meant to protect you?” He shakes his head. “It never really stops. They beat you in your sleep, through nightmares. Riley can’t even stand to have a boy touch us,” I snap. “Not that she consciously knows why.”

         “You drove back to finish the job?”

         I laugh harshly. “I drove home to get my revenge. Let me tell you what really happened, Detective Price.” I shove the photo of my dead mother towards him. “Let me show you.”

                                                                                        ***

         I pulled into the drive and threw the truck in park. I yanked the key from the ignition and stuffed it in my pocket as I stepped out and slammed the car door as hard as I could. I wasn't even on the porch yet, but I heard the yelling from our rundown home. I stomped up the steps loud enough so that I could be heard. Dad came storming out the front door, beer bottle in hand. When he saw me he leered, eyes immediately darting to my chest.

         “So you came back, did you, ungrateful whelp,” he said than spat over the front porch railing. “Get your ass inside.”

         I forced a smile on my face and stepped inside. Our parents never did notice the difference between me and their real daughter. The door slammed shut and I heard the lock slide into place. There’s commotion from the kitchen. Brandon yelled at mom for being a pathetic waste of space and couldn't clean or cook to save her life. Dad stayed close behind and the second I was in the kitchen his hand reached down and grabbed my ass.

         “Look who came crawling back home, Brandon. Must have missed us,” he sneered. His fingers pinched here and there.

         I felt my cheek flinch with a tick Riley had developed, but other than that, I didn't move.

         Brandon smiled, like father like son, but mom didn't move from her place at the sink. She didn't acknowledge my presence. I became invisible to her the day dad first crawled into my room and locked the door.

         “You decided to come back,” Brandon said stalking towards me.

         “I missed home,” I muttered as sweetly as his sister.

         “She seems different, don’t you think Brandon?” Dad moved to the front of me, his hand going from ass to hip and trailed across my stomach. My skin crawled and I twitched to hit him. “What do you think?”

         “Maybe she met a boy when she ran away. Maybe she told someone her sad, pathetic story.”

         Dad’s hand froze on my stomach and he leaned into my face, beer breath filled my nose. “Is that right? You cheating on your family with a boy?”

         I didn't say a word. Dad moved aside and Brandon was in my face. He punched my stomach and I doubled over. Then he took both fists to my back and I fell to my knees.

         “Dad asked you a question, bitch.”

         I coughed and tried to catch my breath. I shook my head, knowing my tongue wouldn't stay civil if I tried to speak. Brandon searched my pockets and took the truck keys with a smirk and one last kick to my side. Satisfied, they both exchanged a few more comments then left the kitchen. I staggered to my feet and glared at my mother. She finally turned and stared at me. Pity, that was all I ever got from mom. Pity.

         “You know better,” she scolded quietly.

         “Do I mom? Do I really?”

         I started towards her and the knife block perched on the counter nearby.

         “Not like you ever taught your daughter to stand up for herself, to defend herself when evil men touched us in bad places,” I whispered and reached for the biggest knife. I pulled it out and ran my finger down the blade. “You could have stopped it all.”

         Mom stared at the knife and backed away, her hands held in front of her. As if that would protect her from my rage.

         “What are you doing? You can’t, you wouldn't!” She backed through the doorway and into the empty living room. Dad and Brandon must have gone outside. “Don’t do this!”

         “Why not mom? You could have saved both of us.” I paused as she backed into the couch. The fear in her eyes was overwhelming, nearly driving away my resolve. She shook her head frantically, whispering for me to stop, please stop. Then I remembered the first time I started to form in her daughter’s mind, when I gave her the resolve to go to our mother and tell her what was happening. She’d told Riley to deal with it. There was nothing she could do.

Riley was just a girl, a little, scared, helpless girl.

         I screamed in anger and dove towards her. The knife slid into her body so easily that I did it again, and again. Her blood spattered my face, my clothes, but I didn't stop, not even when she begged for mercy, gurgling my name as blood welled into her mouth.

         “What the hell is going on,” Brandon yelled as he came around the corner. He paused when he saw the knife embedded in mom’s chest and me standing over her shivering body. “What did you do!”

         I grinned as he stared in disbelief then opened his mouth and screamed for dad.

         “Oh daddy won’t save you tonight,” I sneered stalking towards the fireplace. I grabbed the poker and slung it over my shoulder like a bat. “You really think you could just abuse me all those years and not pay for your sins?”

         “All we ever did was take care of you-”

         I laughed, full of bitterness shaking my head. “Touching your sister and coming into her room to play with her, yes you took care of me and now,” I pointed the poker towards his face, “I’m going to take care of you.”

          I swung the poker at him the same time I lunged forwards and he didn’t move fast enough to get out of the way. The metal collided with the side of his head. He fell to his knees, groaning in pain. I brought the poker down on his back until he didn’t move anymore. A few seconds later and dad came barreling in, shotgun aimed at my head.

         “Put it down. I don’t want to shoot you.”

         His words were false, but slowly I started to lower the poker and stared him down.

         “That’s it. Now, we’re going to clean up your mess then you and I are going to go spend time alone. Get out of this town, but first you need to be punished.”

         I started towards him. The closer I got, the lower the shotgun was aimed until it was pointed at the floor. I loosened my grip on the poker and let him grab my hand. He had to set the shotgun down to take the poker from my other. The moment the barrel touched the floor, I screamed and drove the tip of it through his groin. I shoved him down until he was pinned to the floor, cursing, hands grappling for the metal rod protruding from his pants. Now he knew how it felt.

         I stepped back and grabbed the shot gun. I braced it against my shoulder and smiled as his frightened eyes glared back at me.

         “You've been a naughty boy,” I said then pulled the trigger.

                                                                                        ***

         I sit back in my chair and fight the urge to continue smiling at the stunned look on Price’s face.

         “You did all this,” he asks motioning towards the photos, “without Riley knowing? How? The 911 dispatcher said you, she sounded genuinely panicked.”

         I shrug. “When I was finished, I went upstairs and washed off, changed clothes. Came back downstairs and went out the front door. I pulled the truck keys from Brandon’s pocket, but before I could drive us away she came back. She walked in the house, saw them dead and called 911.”

         Price took a few notes then sighed. “So Riley didn't kill her family. You did.”

         “Splitting hairs just a bit.”

         “You need a psych evaluation before I can believe anything you just said,” he tells me slowly.

         I lean towards him and whisper. “It’s called split personality.”

         “You've been diagnosed,” he asks surprised.

         “Nope, but I’m smart enough to know, since she was ten.”

         “And how old are you?”

         “I have no age.”

         He doesn't respond to that. “You’re confessing to two counts of murder and one attempt, you understand that?”

          “Two murders?”

         “Your brother lived. He’s in the hospital.”

         I don’t say a word, but my eyes take in every little detail as quickly as they can. No handcuffs and his gun holstered at his shoulder. The door might be locked, but I can pick those without a problem. Hospital’s not far from here.

         Detective Price asks why I’m still smiling and I shake my head. Our dear brother Brandon is in for a little R and R.