“Are you sure he’s dead?”
“Yeah, Sal, I’m sure.”
“How come nothing ever showed up on the news or in the papers?”
The man smiled and sat down. “Another FBI ploy. They want us to think that the job was botched and Hagerman is still alive. Then we’ll start fighting among ourselves and bring the family out in the open.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. He was blown to pieces in his own front yard.”
“And her? You followed my orders, right? Someone’s got their eye on her?”
Sal sure was on edge, the man thought. “Yes, Sal, all is
taken care of. She’s pretty much gone off the deep end, so again, don’t worry so much.”
“I can’t help but worry. If this gets fucked up, we’re all done.”
Calling in sick for five more days after the homicide, I was out of sick leave and wasn’t getting paid. Not that I cared. Money was the least of my worries. Michael had always tried to talk me into quitting my job. We were pretty much financially set for life. A while ago, I had written a book on a high-profile serial child murderer I had investigated and had acquired a substantial advance—along with significant sales. With Michael’s salary from the FBI, I never really needed to work for the money. I did it because it was in my blood. Now, since Michael had been killed, technically in the line of duty, I would be getting a huge payout by the United States government. At this bleak point in my life, the sheriff could tell me to turn my badge and gun in tomorrow, and I couldn’t have given two shits about it.
On the third day of my unpaid sick leave, the phone calls began. I didn’t give the first couple of calls much thought. The phone would ring, and I wouldn’t answer. Unless the caller ID showed Eric’s number, in case Selina and Isabelle wanted to talk to me, or Vanessa’s, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Regardless, the number showed up as private. Eventually I decided the phone would just keep ringing
until I answered it. When I did, there was silence. Unquestionably, someone was on the other end, but nothing was ever said. After a few seconds and several times of my saying, “Hello? Who the fuck is this?” they hung up.
The long, sleek, black sedan pulled into the empty parking lot and slowly parked in one of the spaces that lined the back row. Minutes later, another sedan, dark blue, rolled into the lot and made its way toward the black car. The man driving the blue car exited his vehicle and got into the other one, facing the boss himself.
“How bad is it?”
“It’s getting worse,” the man answered.
The boss sighed. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this…I was counting on her.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t give up yet. There’s still time, but we need to be careful. They’ve got an eye on her.”
“I know, I know. The problem is, we’re going have to do something soon. He’s losing his patience, and I don’t know how much longer he’ll last.” He paused for a moment. “Keep our agent on her, no matter what, and make sure he doesn’t blow his cover. If he does, we’re all done.”
The last day of my sick leave was spent at the park with my daughters. I even managed to stay sober for a day. Doing my best to maintain a smile, my attention was drawn to a man sitting across the park, in the pavilion. He had arrived after we did and went directly to the pavilion to sit at a picnic table and read the newspaper. I didn’t think much of him at first, but my suspicion grew when I caught him peering over the top of his newspaper at me. There was something familiar about the man that I couldn’t
quite describe. I ran through my mental list of local sex offenders I had investigated and arrested. A lot of them frequented children’s playgrounds, parks, and such. Noticing immediately that he didn’t have any children with him, I put myself on guard, but still couldn’t remember where I had seen him before.
Continuing to play with the girls, I did my best to keep tabs on the newspaper man. Only when I took a quick glance and saw him with a black object in his hand did I become alarmed. Knowing he had been caught, he hurriedly put the object behind the newspaper.
I think he just took a picture of me
, I thought, while shuffling the girls to our car.
“Selina, get into the car with your sister and lock the doors. I have to take care of something,” I ordered.
“But Mom—!” she began to argue.
“Just do it!” I raised my voice while grabbing my gun out of my purse.
I started walking directly toward the newspaper man.
He had better have one hell of an explanation as to why he was photographing my daughters and me.
Seeing that I was headed right for him, the man jumped up from the picnic table and almost jogged to a small red compact car that was parked by the pavilion.
“Hey! Wait a minute!” I yelled, and began running.
It was no use. He drove out of the lot like a bat out of hell, so fast that I was unable to read the license plate. More alarmed than ever, I ran back to my car in hopes of catching up with him. If I could at least get his license-plate number, that would help, but he was nowhere to be found. It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air.
Both the girls were upset—understandably, since
I shouldn’t have done something like that while they were in the car. Michael’s death even seemed to have sucked the common sense out of me along with everything else. Isabelle was crying, and Selina was on the verge.
“Mom! Why are you chasing that guy? Is he a bad guy?” Her voice was shaking.
“I don’t know, honey, I just…We’ll go home now. I’m sorry, guys.”
“I wanna go to Daddy’s house!” Isabelle screamed.
“Me, too!” Selina concurred.
“You guys! Just hang on a minute! We’ll go home and order some pizza.”
“No! I want Daddy and Jordan!” Isabelle continued.
My heart was crushed. My own children didn’t even want to be around me, not that anyone could blame them. Eric seemed confused when I called and told him the girls wanted to stay with him, but he agreed. When we pulled into his driveway, he was standing outside with his and Jordan’s son, Brandon. Isabelle jumped out of the car and ran to him, bawling along the way.
“Daddy! Mommy was chasin’ a bad guy, and she had her gun, and I was scared!”
Eric caught her and picked her up, letting her cry for a few minutes before he glared at me.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Eric, it wasn’t that bad!” I tried to convince him.
“Yes, it was, Mom.” Selina intervened, not helping matters.
After Isabelle calmed down, Eric told her and Selina to take their brother indoors. Both of the girls came over and kissed me good-bye, but it was more
than obvious they were happier here. I quickly launched into an explanation of the events, but Eric held his hand up, cutting me off before I finished.
“I don’t even want to hear the rest.” The lines in his face deepened. “Go home. I’ll be over in a little bit. We need to talk.”
He turned around and went inside, leaving me standing in the driveway. I stared at the house for a few minutes before getting in my car to drive home, crying the entire way. I was worried. Eric’s face had told me he wasn’t happy with me, and he was going to do something about it. My kids didn’t want to be with me, bottom line.
My entire life was falling apart. And while I was sitting on my living-room sofa, waiting for Eric to arrive, the thought of putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger flashed through my mind, the first time a thought like that had ever entered my head. It was terrifying to me. In fact, it disturbed me so much, I had to stand up and walk back and forth across the room, trying to erase the thought altogether.
I am going crazy!
my mind screamed. Picking up a picture of the girls and holding it to my chest, I took deep breaths and sat back down. By the time Eric pulled in the driveway, I had calmed down a bit. Not that I expected it to last. He wanted to talk to me about something serious, and I didn’t think it was the girls’ future college choices.
He sat at the kitchen table while I poured him some coffee that I’d just made. He seemed to have had aged in the recent months. Eric had always been very handsome. In his early forties, his dark hair, skin, and eyes almost gave him a Latin appearance.
But he was German, and Isabelle was the mirror image of her father. Always a fitness fanatic, Eric had arms the size of large tree trunks. But today he looked different, and it worried me. Being married to him for over ten years, I didn’t ever remember seeing him like this; he looked stressed. I put his cup of coffee in front of him and sat down.
“Well.” I pulled a cigarette out of a pack on the table. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I want to talk about you.” He locked his eyes on mine.
I lit my cigarette. To say I had been chain-smoking is an understatement.
“Me? What about me?”
“CeeCee, I know you’ve been through a very traumatic event with Michael’s death and all, but you just don’t seem to be getting any better.” He leaned forward. “I’ve heard about some things going on at work, and some of the stories the girls tell me when they stay at my house genuinely concern me. Last week Isabelle wanted to know why you suddenly talk ‘funny’ all of the time, as if you’re sleepy. Exactly how much are you drinking a day?”
My defenses going on red alert, my body stiffened up. “I have a glass of wine here and there, Eric. It’s not as if I’m some falling-down, pissing-my-pants lush! There’s no problem.”
“It sounds to me like there is. I mean, look at you, Cee…You look like you haven’t eaten or slept in months! I know this has been hard for you, but there are two little girls that need a mother!” He was getting angry. “What the fuck happened to you? You were always able to get through anything—especially for your kids!”
I stood up, walked over to the door, and opened it. “If this is why you came over—to tell me what a piece-of-shit mother I am—then you can just leave!”
He stayed put. “Come over here and sit down. I’m not finished.”
My eyes began to well up with tears as I conceded. “Okay, finish.”
He scooted his chair next to me and took my hand. “Look, CeeCee. You know I have never stopped loving you. You
know
that! But our daughters are all I have, and I just don’t think you’re able to take care of them right now.”
My heart began to thud in my chest. Beginning to tremble, I sensed what was coming.
“I hate more than anything to do this, but the girls are going to stay full-time with me for a while, at least until you get yourself together.”
I was staggered. “You can’t do that! I need them!”
“I’m sorry, CeeCee, but I am doing it. If you want to fight me on it, I’ll file for temporary custody with only supervised visitation rights for you. You can’t take care of yourself right now, let alone those two little girls. Jordan and I feel that it’s best.”
“Oh,
Jordan
does, does she?” I tore my hand from his and stood up. “What the fuck does that bitch have to do with anything?”
“She’s their stepmother and she loves them. You know that.”
Seriously beginning to lose my composure, I begged. “Eric…please! I need them!”
“I’ll let you see them on weekends, but only if your dad is with you.” He tried to hug me, but I pushed away. “You need help, CeeCee. For Selina and Isabelle, please, go get some help.” His eyes were watery.
“Get the fuck out of my house!” I screamed.
Eric sighed and nodded, then walked to the door. Before he left, he turned around and looked at me with nothing but compassion—and pity.
“If you don’t want to do this for yourself, then at the very least do it for your daughters.”
“Get out!”
He closed the door behind him, leaving me on the floor in a heap of blubbering self-loathing. Now I had officially lost my children. As for Sean, even Vanessa had been making excuses over the last month about why he couldn’t stay the weekend. As I lay sobbing on the floor of my kitchen, the vision of the gun to my head returned, and this time it didn’t go away. I crawled over to the counter and stood up long enough to grab a bottle of vodka before slumping back down on the floor. What a pathetic excuse for a human being I was. After setting my bottle down on the floor, I made my way to the cabinet above the desk in the kitchen. I always kept a small revolver in there, one Naomi didn’t find, in case I needed a gun quickly. Holding it in my right hand while cradling the bottle of vodka in the other, I took long drinks every other minute. I sat in the corner of my kitchen and began to spin the barrel of the gun, looking at all of the bullets and wondering which one would be the one to end all of my pain.
God must’ve had me on his watchdog list that night because I passed out before making the decision to take my own life. Dreams of Michael flooded my subconscious, as if he were right there with me. He was caressing my cheek, telling me that things would get better and not to give up. However, when he touched my cheek, it felt so real, I jerked myself awake.
The morning light flooded through the kitchen, so bright, my eyes immediately began to close. My cheek still tingled from where I had dreamed that Michael touched it. Raising my hand to feel it, I realized I was still holding my gun. Horrified that killing myself had even been a option, I tossed the gun across the kitchen floor, trying to get it as far away from me as possible.
Believe it or not, that was the day I decided to go back to work. I couldn’t fathom that I had actually contemplated shooting myself. It sent chills through my body every time I thought about it. What if I had done it in my drunken state? My daughters would be grieving right now and probably would be ruined for the rest of their lives.
Even though my head felt like an ax had been embedded in it, I managed to get myself up, showered, and dressed. I didn’t bother to call Naomi and tell her of my impending workday, because I would then have to address the hundreds of unanswered messages left by her and Coop checking on my well-being. That was something that could be dealt with later. For right now, getting myself together and driving to the department was the best I could do.
Everyone was shocked to see me. I ignored their stares and whispers, knowing they thought I had gone off the deep end and had left the department for good. Naomi was on my heels the minute I walked into our section of the building and followed me right into my office.
“I have been calling and calling, for Christ’s sake!” She was fuming. “We thought something happened to you! Didn’t you hear us pounding on your door for the last two days? I almost told Coop to kick it in,
but he called Eric, who thankfully told us you were still alive!”
“Where’s the homeless murder file?” I was scattering papers across my desk.
Naomi’s jaw dropped. “You have been gone for five days without any word, and you want to discuss a murder case? Did you hear a fucking word I’ve said?”