WHAT HURTS THE MOST
Chapter Six
Sarah picked up her schoolbooks
and walked to the parlor. She saw her father looking out the window, hands
clasped behind his back. He looked serious. Maybe sad. Sarah couldn’t be sure.
"What are you thinking
about?" she asked.
Cal turned around. "Oh,
nothing, sweetpea," he said. Nothing of your concern, at least, he
thought.
"Oh. You just looked like
you were thinking about something."
"I was. Nothing of
importance, though."
Sarah shifted her books in her
hands. "I have to get school. I’ll see you tonight."
Tonight. She made the mistake of
saying that. She knew that he wouldn’t come home tonight. He'd be out drinking
brandy or whiskey and smoking cigars.
Cal nodded and pulled Sarah into
a hug, kissing her forehead. "I’ll see you tonight, Sarah."
She nodded and turned away
towards the foyer.
"Sweetpea?" Cal called.
Sarah turned around.
"Yes?"
Cal was standing in the entryway
to the parlor. "I love you."
Sarah nodded. "I love you,
too."
"Just remember that, all
right?"
Something was not normal. The
only problem was, Sarah didn’t know what was going on. Instead of asking
questions and being late to school, she just nodded. "I will."
Cal smiled sadly. "Good-bye,
Sarah."
*****
Sarah was right. Her father
wasn’t coming home for the evening. It was seven o‘clock. She could practically
see him sitting in a smoky bar, drinking and smoking to his heart’s content,
not even thinking about the effect that might have on other people.
Like me, Sarah thought. Sure, he claims he loves
me, but I’ll bet he doesn’t. He just says it because he thinks I’m naive.
Sarah walked to Detective
Peterson’s building. A block after leaving her home, she heard a gunshot. It
sounded like it was a few blocks away. She jumped, her heart racing. She looked
around her, just to make sure someone wasn’t shooting at her.
She ran to the building, not once
looking behind her. Her heart was still beating as fast as it could. She was
worried that someone with a gun might jump out at her.
In the alley behind Detective
Peterson’s building, she saw a group of police officers crouched over a man.
"I think he shot
himself," one officer said.
"Yes, he did. See, gun in
his hand, pulled the trigger, went through his head, the guy dies," the
other officer said.
"Any identification on
him?" the other asked.
"I’ll search."
She couldn't understand what they
were saying after that. But instead of spying, she decided to go attend to more
important matters.
Sarah continued walking and
entered the detective agency. She went down the hallway to the door that read
Detective Peterson. She knocked on it and was greeted by the same man, along
with a thin cloud of smoke.
"I think a man was just shot
outside your building, Detective," Sarah said.
"I know," Detective
Peterson said.
Silence.
"You know?" she asked.
"Yes. I saw him put the gun
to his head."
"Shouldn’t you have tried to
stop him?"
"Miss Hockley, there’s not
much a person can do when one sees a man about to kill himself. You can’t call
out to him and say that it’s wrong. Their mind is all messed up. Hell, they
could shoot at you, kill you and them. All you can do is hope they end up in a
better place."
Sarah looked out the window and
saw that they were covering the man up in a body bag. She wondered who it was,
who was going to be affected by it, why he chose what he did. What could make a
person think there was no way out?
"I have the information
about your mother," Detective Peterson said, handing her a file.
Sarah held it in her hands.
"Thank you." She paused. "Can I stay here for a while? I mean,
no one’s home, and I’m a little shook up. I heard a gunshot before I got here.
I think it was him. The man in the alley."
He gestured to a chair.
"Stay as long as you want, little lady."
Sarah sat in it and looked
through the files on her mother. Rose Dawson. Thirty-two years old. Lives in
Boston, Massachusetts. 627 Drew Lane.
"There were a few other Rose
Dawsons, but they were all fifty or older, so I’m assuming this is your
mother," Detective Peterson said.
Sarah nodded. She felt a chill go
through her body. She wasn’t sure how she was going to sneak out without her
father’s permission. During the summer, once school was out, she would say that
she was going to stay at a friend’s house for a while.
She saw that as she stayed
talking with Detective Peterson, the sky grew darker and darker. She thanked
him again for finding her mother, then left.
The cool air swirled around her
body as she left Detective Peterson’s office. She hugged the folder on her
mother close to her in an effort to try to keep herself warm. She looked down
the same alley where the man had killed himself just an hour ago. No one was
there. It was like the incident had never even happened.
Sarah walked briskly home. She
knew it was unsafe to be walking around at this time of the night alone,
especially being a young woman.
She saw a man standing in the
doorway of her home. She hesitantly kept walking, her footsteps getting
lighter. When she came close to the man, she saw that he was a young police
officer, a man of maybe twenty years of age.
She walked up the stairs and to
the porch. She tucked a piece of brown hair behind her ears. "Can I help
you?" she asked.
"Yes. You live here,
correct?" the officer asked.
"Yes. Is there a
problem?" Sarah asked.
"What’s your relationship to
Caledon Hockley?"
"Cal Hockley? He’s...he’s my
father. Why do you ask?"
The police officer let out a
breath. "Miss Hockley, I’m terribly sorry to be the one to tell you this,
but your father...he died."
Sarah blinked in disbelief.
"Excuse me?"
"We found him dead near
Peterson Detective Agency this evening at around 7:15. We believe he committed
suicide. He shot himself in the head."
Sarah started breathing heavily.
The lump in her throat hurt more and more. She felt tears coming out of her
eyes.
Her own father. Dead. Committed
suicide. Those words together just didn’t make sense. She was convinced that they
had gone to the wrong house, that her father wasn’t really dead.
Sarah started sobbing. She felt
like an idiot doing it in front of the policeman who had just told her.
"Miss Hockley, I’m so sorry.
If I can be of assistance in any way--"
Sarah opened the door and slammed
it behind her. She locked it just for good measure.
The words swimming in her mind
still felt empty to her, like they belonged to another person. Someone else’s
father committed suicide by shooting himself in the head tonight. But not her
father. No. No, he wouldn’t do that.
She leaned against the door and cried
some more. She slowly sank down to the ground, her body hunched over.
Suddenly, the thought of him
going out for brandies and cigars didn’t seem as bad now.