Darkness. Yelling. Pleading. Images flashed as she was tugged by her mother down the stairs. The car screaming to a start, and the thick hands and whispered voice gone forever. Until now, and all the pictures, sounds, and touches came back to her as she rocked and tried to picture her mom's arms, safe and warm around her.
She chewed her fingernails as she told Detective Johnson the details of the night before. He nodded as he jotted down his notes. Richard had been distracted lately; mumbled to himself. He would look off into space and mutter what sounded like "my flower." At night, he would lock himself in the office and she heard the printer running. About two weeks this had been going on. For the past year or so he would disappear for a couple of days each month. No, she didn't where he went. He seemed agitated before he left and calmer when he came back. She had her theories; prostitutes, gambling where at the top of the list. She tried asking once but he became angry, told her it was none of her business. Had nothing to do with them. She was afraid.
Last night he became even more agitated, paced the house. "Have to make it right," he whispered over and over. Once in a while she heard "my flower" and "why." Yes, she asked him what was wrong, but he shouted, "Shut up, bitch, you're fucking just like her." And he grabbed her, shook her, and tossed her against the wall. She showed Johnson the bruises on her upper arms. Deep purple thick vines on her white skin. Johnson imagines a large man with meaty thick fingers. No, he never touched her like that before. She had seen him angry before, but she felt like there was more, something darker, something he never told her. Then he left. Grabbed his brief case and left in his Cadillac that he had restored.
He looked at her and told her they didn't know his whereabouts yet. They had his car. He mentioned the contents. No, the breton wasn't hers, and he never gave her roses. Sam hestitated, he didn't want to ask her the next question. Tears welled in her eyes as she said she didn't know who Peg was, never heard him mention her. Then the flood came, and she fell against his chest. With out knowing what else to do, Sam put his arms around the distraught woman and held her loosely.
She chewed her fingernails as she told Detective Johnson the details of the night before. He nodded as he jotted down his notes. Richard had been distracted lately; mumbled to himself. He would look off into space and mutter what sounded like "my flower." At night, he would lock himself in the office and she heard the printer running. About two weeks this had been going on. For the past year or so he would disappear for a couple of days each month. No, she didn't where he went. He seemed agitated before he left and calmer when he came back. She had her theories; prostitutes, gambling where at the top of the list. She tried asking once but he became angry, told her it was none of her business. Had nothing to do with them. She was afraid.
Last night he became even more agitated, paced the house. "Have to make it right," he whispered over and over. Once in a while she heard "my flower" and "why." Yes, she asked him what was wrong, but he shouted, "Shut up, bitch, you're fucking just like her." And he grabbed her, shook her, and tossed her against the wall. She showed Johnson the bruises on her upper arms. Deep purple thick vines on her white skin. Johnson imagines a large man with meaty thick fingers. No, he never touched her like that before. She had seen him angry before, but she felt like there was more, something darker, something he never told her. Then he left. Grabbed his brief case and left in his Cadillac that he had restored.
He looked at her and told her they didn't know his whereabouts yet. They had his car. He mentioned the contents. No, the breton wasn't hers, and he never gave her roses. Sam hestitated, he didn't want to ask her the next question. Tears welled in her eyes as she said she didn't know who Peg was, never heard him mention her. Then the flood came, and she fell against his chest. With out knowing what else to do, Sam put his arms around the distraught woman and held her loosely.
