Mr. Bojangles

Darcy placed the leather-covered journal back into the top drawer of the mahogany desk. Her hands were trembling uncontrollably and her knees threatened to buckle beneath the weight of her fear.

“What are you doing in here?” His husky voice was laced with anger.

Bracing her hands on the smooth desktop for support, Darcy looked up to find Sergeant Mowery in the doorway. The kind brown eyes she had always found so compassionate and caring were filled with malice. How long had he been standing there? Had he seen her with the diary? Darcy could only hope that he had not.

“My pen…um…I was doing my homework and my pen ran out of ink.” She silently prayed that he could not detect the panic in her voice. She cleared her throat. “I was just looking for a pen.” She quickly scanned the top of the desk and picked up a pen. “Here’s one.” With all the strength she could muster, she forced her legs to walk around the desk and stop in front of Sergeant Mowery. “I’ll bring it back down when I finish my vocabulary.” She tried to sound nonchalant, and even managed to smile up at him.

He stepped around her and moved behind the desk. His large hand immediately covered the drawer that contained the incriminating journal.

“Darcy.” She froze in the doorway. “This is my private office. I do not want you in here. Is that understood?” She slowly turned to face him, nodding her head in silence. She again prayed that he did not see the fear she was certain was evident on her face.

“The other children understood and obeyed my rules. I hope you will, too.” His warning was clear and sent ripples of panic through her entire body.

Then his voice took on the gentle tone she had become accustomed to. “Go finish your homework, Darcy, and I’ll call you down when dinner is ready.”

When Darcy reached the stairway, she grasped the railing and ran up the steps as swiftly as her shaky legs would carry her. She shut her bedroom door quietly behind her. Shock kept the tears from falling from her eyes.

Should she call the police? No. Sergeant Mowery was the police! Without the journal, it would be his word against hers. And what if he picked up the downstairs phone and overheard her accusations? Would the police be able to get there fast enough to save her?

Darcy walked across the small bedroom and collapsed on the pink ruffled canopy bed, amongst an array of stuffed teddy bears. She grabbed Mr. Bojangles, her favorite bear, and hugged him tight against her chest, burying her face in the soft brown fur that was becoming worn with age. Hot, salty tears pooled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, soaking both Mr. Bojangles and the pastel pillow sham that laid beneath her head.

She laid on the bed, hugging Mr. Bojangles for almost an hour before she heard a soft knock at her bedroom door. She slowly sat up, clutching the bear in one hand and absently swiping her eyes with the other.

“Darcy,” she recognized the kind southern voice immediately. “It’s Anna, may I come in?”

“Oh Anna,” Darcy jumped from the bed. “I’m so scared!” The words flew from her mouth before she realized that Sergeant Mowery was standing behind his wife.

They made such a handsome couple. Sergeant Mowery, with his military-cut black hair and perfectly trimmed mustache, stood over six feet tall. He was in perfect physical condition, and portrayed the very essence of power. His large suntanned hand rested protectively on his wife’s shoulder. Anna Mowery was a petite woman with short red hair and the bluest eyes Darcy had ever seen. She wore little, if any makeup. She had a natural beauty that needed no enhancement from artificial products. Unlike her husband, her skin was fair and susceptible to freckles. She looked up at her husband with loving admiration and concern.

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” Sergeant Mowery’s piercing dark eyes contradicted the concern he inflicted in his voice.

Darcy wrapped both arms around the large stuffed animal that had been her security blanket for the past eight years. It had been a gift from her mother on her fifth Christmas. “He’ll be there to comfort you whenever Mommy can’t be there,” her Mom’s quiet voice echoed in her mind. “We’ll call him Mr.Bojangles.”

“You knew then that you were sick, didn’t you?” she asked her mother silently.

“Don’t cry, dear.” Anna stepped into the room and pulled Darcy into a gentle embrace.
Darcy allowed herself to be comforted by the woman she had grown to love, almost as much as her own mother. She slowly breathed in the scent of honeysuckle when she placed her head on Anna’s shoulder. “Help me!” She silently pleaded.

“Darcy.” Sergeant Mowery’s voice broke their embrace. “If this is about me getting after you in my office, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Darcy shook her head. He sat down on her bed, taking one of her hands in his. “I know you miss your Mom, Sweetie.” He paused long enough to inhale a deep breath. “Anna and I will be adopting you next month, so you don’t have to worry about being switched to another foster home. And, dear, I’ll make the same commitment that I made to Anna…’til death do us part.”

Later that night, when she was certain everyone was asleep, Darcy slipped out of bed and sneaked down the stairs. She had to get that journal. “…’til death do us part.” She still had goose bumps from his cryptic warning. She had to get the journal tonight or it might be too late. Without it, no one would believe her.

Darcy checked the door to the office. The knob turned and she was able to enter to room. Cautiously, she made her way through the darkness to the desk and fumbled for the right drawer. She slowly pulled the journal from its hiding place and quickly shut the drawer.

Once safely in her room, she stared at the book in her hands. She hesitantly opened it and found a new entry.

Dear Diary,
Darcy found you today. I wish she hadn’t. I like her. But now she knows I killed Billy and Suzanne. Reporting a third runaway foster child may cause an investigation. Maybe I’ll make her’s look like a suicide…

Darcy jumped from the bed and quickly pulled on a pair of faded jeans. “He’s going to kill me too.” She exchanged her long nightshirt for the wrinkled sweatshirt that was lying on the floor. She then grabbed the journal and hid it under the back of the shirt Mr. Bojangles was wearing. She turned toward the window, pondering if it would be safer to go downstairs or just try to jump out the window.

She felt something cover her mouth, and then everything went black.

Darcy opened her eyes to a sea of darkness. A wave of pain rippled through her head subsiding to a pounding at her temples. Her arms and legs were restrained and her mouth was gagged. She closed her eyes against the blinding darkness, and concentrated on the voices she heard in the distance.

“But she wouldn’t run away, Jack.”

Don’t believe him Anna, her mind screamed. I’m here!

“She wouldn’t have ransacked her room like this. Something’s not right.” Anna pleaded.

He was looking for the journal, Darcy thought. Did he find it?

“I don’t have time for this, Anna. I told you we were inviting trouble by bringing foster children into our home.” Darcy strained to hear his voice. “They’re all the same. They grow up to be drug dealers, thieves, and even murderers. Then they blame it on society and the system. For God’s sake Anna, I’m a police sergeant. It’s my job to rid the city of these scums, not take them into my home!”

Darcy could hear Anna’s soft sobs as he continued, “Now put that stupid bear in the box with the rest of her things. I’m going to work.”

Mr. Bojangles!

Not long after his heavy footsteps faded, a door opened, casting a dim light across Darcy’s closed lids.
“Oh, honey, are you all right?” Anna quickly removed the gag and the restraints. Darcy breathed in the scent of honeysuckle when Anna pulled her into her arms. “I knew you wouldn’t leave Mr. Bojangles.” She handed Darcy the stuffed animal and smiled.

On the other side of town, Joe Montgomery set the large ham and cheese sandwich on top of the papers strewn across his desk. The phone rang a third time and he contemplated not answering it. Wasn’t he allowed a lunch break?

“Internal Affairs, Joe speaking.”

Silence.

He glanced at his sandwich. “Internal Affairs.”

“Joe,” the voice was barely audible. “This is Anna Mowery, Jack’s wife. I have some interesting reading for you.”