Chapter 3:
Mortician's Vice (pt. 2)
I saw the devil in her eyes, her once pleasant innocence draining into an opaque void shrouded in a mist of captivating misery. That's what was left of Laura Wells; a beautifully vibrant shell of apathy. She appeared tranquil, at peace, yet her distance loomed across the room.
There wasn't much inside. The plaster on the walls were pale white and the only viable expressions came from a couple of small scale paintings that hung over the canvas, none of which captured the heart warming essence of those in the lobby. The curtains were far more welcoming. They were tan and etched with an assortment of brown birds that lay draped over a large window peering out into a streamlined view of metropolitan Springwood Hills. Although the only view that could be seen profoundly was a circular field of flowers arranged competently around the freshly cut lawn, and residents walking along the sidewalk to admire the scenery.
Laura sat isolated on her bed covered in nothing except her uniform hospital gown. The bedding lay wrinkled and tossed aside the floor in disdain. I approached her, unsure if she'd even recognize me. She didn't respond to my presence. Her eyes were solely focused on motions of the morning sky.
A nurse approached me, wearing a scold over an otherwise pleasant smile. Something told me she wasn't fond of what was to follow.
"Hi, I'm Janice. Can I help you with something?"
"Detective Macintyre" I responded, reaching my right hand toward hers. "And this is Detective Welch." I moitoned toward Roy, who was busy cramming a footlong meatball sub down his throat, and dripping sauce on his cheap, white dress shirt. "Our office called a little while ago. We're here following an investigation into the death of several young adults. We need Laura to answer a few questions."
"Oh, I see. Well, Laura hasn't been the most pleasant patient to deal with but given her situation I can't say as I blame her for her behavior."
"What's she been doing?"
"You see the sheets on the floor, and the uneaten food on her table? Yeah, she's been pretty unresponsive ever since she got here."
"Has she been administered any tests?"
"We're actually awaiting the results right now. They should be ready within the next hour or so. You and your partner are free to wait in the lobby with the others" she said with a tone of clear arrogance.
This woman was stubborn. Then again, aren't they all? She reminded me of my ex-wife that way, always giving orders with no delicate bone in her body. Our being here must have upset the balance of power she believed only belonged to her. And I've gotten pretty good about reading the minds of most women. Right now, it looked as though she had given me the finger at least ten times.
"I'm afraid you misinterpret our purpose here. Laura is a witness to an alleged murderer and if she's competent enough to speak, we'd like to hear what she has to say. Now are you going to interfere with an open investigation or let us do our job? Because right now you only have the one choice."
Janice stood in silence with a blatant expression like I had just scared a newborn child. I maintain my dominance, resisting my natural instinct to make a formal apology. Frankly, I'm surprised Roy didn't get a word in, or even how strikingly similar my words were to his own. Maybe I'd been off my game for too long. I thought I'd lost my touch.
"Laura, you have visitors."
I didn't smile or make any notion of my pride. Better for Janice to see me as authoritative than whimsical. Roy offered an off-handed glance of affirmation toward my approach as we thanked Janice for her cooperation with a simple nodding gesture.
I looked Laura in her eyes, which now appeared heavenly by comparison, and knelt beside her, taking a quiet sigh which was just long enough to gather my words, and spoke softly.
"Hello Laura, I'm Detective Macintyre. We met the other..."
"I remember," she motioned in whisper. Her voice shy, and reserved, captured a spirit about her that her outward essence didn't express. The skyline of mother nature left her vision in a trance. I didn't bother correcting an otherwise minor, private offense, nor did I envy her subtle confusion. I passed it off with a careless over the shoulder glance.
"Right. Of course you do." I said delicately before clearing my throat to reevaluate my approach. "Laura, we're here to assist you anyway we can. In order to do that we need your cooperation as best you can give it." I smiled and attempted to peer into her eyes. Feeble really. There barely was enough depth to perform such a miracle.
"He raped me" Laura moaned. She repeated that phrase a few times, even if the last mentions were mumbled to herself. Each time I could sense more and more of herself drifting away to a selfless worth. Her tears alone tore at me like no one's have done before, captivating me in an endless echo of atrocity. "He raped me" she whispered. "That bastard...he raped me." Laura collapsed into my arms and wept.
I brushed her disheveled hair from her eyes back around her ears, her tears soaking in my me unconvincingly with half a heart and buried her head in my chest, and I caressed her gently. I turned back to Janice, who kept occupied by cleaning the remnants of Laura's lunch. "Where are her parents?"
"They were down in Hawaii celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary when Laura's incident was first reported. They should be here within the next hour or two."
I took a long and pronounced sigh, rose from the bed, and rubbed the bridge of my nose while turning to Roy. "We're not going to get anything from her" I whispered discretely.
My cell rang. I didn't recognize the number but assumed it had a connection with the case. "Excuse me" I said to Janice before answering. She cut me off before I could.
"We ask that you have your phone on vibrate while inside, so you don't disturb the comfort of our patients" she nagged in a high-pitched, bitchy tone, like she was looking for any excuse to express her distaste for our current situation. Her smile wore a sick mixture of gratification, pleasure, and animalistic annoyance, balanced with a sadistic art of selfish pride.
I gave her a hash stare in return. This was the only instance I wished a woman could read my mind. She only thought she had a grievance with me. If she heard some of the words that came to mind she'd have to re-evaluate her misguided feelings. Bitch didn't come close to how I truly felt.
I turned my back and accepted the call. "Yeah?"
"Cole, Gibson. Forensics got a match on one of the bodies. Get down here."
"On my way." I hung up and directed the next remark to Roy. "They got an I.D. on one of the vics."
Roy scoffed after finishing his coffee. "What took 'em so long?"
"Janice, keep us informed on her progression. If anything changes, for better or worse, I want to be the first to know."
Laura's tortured shell of femininity earned my last glance. Any ounce of strength that once resided in her were now remnants inflicted with a chronic disease. She remained motionless, staring helplessly through her view of an outside world that had shown it's true identity. It's a weird thing to try and comprehend, the art of humanity. We can paint beautiful things that can captivate and bring an overwhelming sense of wonder to those who they their eyes upon it. Yet, with one misplaced act, we are capable of condemning an entire lifestyle to the depths of Hell.
That's the irony, and quite a strange concept to understand for those new to the world. Reality isn't a series of colorful strokes of a brush, but decades of crude and heinous false creations. We belong to a reality of figment, where the good deeds are drastically overshadowed by the evil we poses.
Laura is just a statistic, a representation of how beauty can be turned into tragedy, how love can replaced by hate, and awe is dismembered only to become chaos. That's the legacy we leave behind. It can afflict anyone, even the innocent who are desperately trying to live their lives.
Death knows no limitation, a truth we understand all too well.
It's not often my heart wept for a stranger. In fact, I've never let my emotions manifest themselves in such painstakingly subtle way. Not since the fallout of the Murdock Case have I been so invested and connected to someone I barely knew, but somehow this felt more personal, in a way I couldn't quite figure out, like it was rooted in some far away Shakesperian tragedy. Hell, in that moment, it sure felt as if we were about to live one.
ns 18.68.41.139da2
