“I understand, and I appreciate what you’re saying. This program isn’t far different from the first. We have to get her stronger more self-reliant on her sobriety, not the program. This one requires the accountability you said you’d like her to have. So she could return to her life and you. That’s what you want, right?” The doctor asked.
Queen stared at the house she grew up in, and memories of her mother both sober and drunk assailed her. None of them were good. Now her mother was in her sixties, and after forty years of drinking, she had no idea what normal would be for either of them. The sad truth was she wasn’t sure if she cared. The institution was only part of the equation to assuage her guilt. Deep inside, Queen knew that her mother would never be self-reliant.”
“Ms. Douglas?”
“Yes, yes. I can’t visit for a while. I have a case... that I’m working on. I can’t come.”
“We prefer you don’t,” the doctor cut in. “She’s had a few setbacks after your visits. How about we schedule a call next week to see how things go?”
“Take her phone,” Queen said.
“Excuse me:?” The doctor said.
“You want her to stick to the new program then really teach her the value of cooperating. Take her phone. If she needs me, you contact me.”
“Well... we don’t typically...”
“Take the damn phone, okay! She has setbacks when she talks to me, too. Right? Well, guess what I have when I talk to her. I’m paying you everything I have to help her. She’s your responsibility now.”
Queen hung up before the doctor could respond. The burden of responsibility made her sag back into the seat with despair. When she felt this bad, she was thirsty. She grabbed her keys and got out of the car all in a hurry. They had found another child. After a year of limited social activity due to the COVID, the schools reopened up only a month ago. Already the Guardian Angel killer was back in Falcon Cove and on the prowl. A young black girl, just like the others, went missing from the bus stop. Queen's head spun with images in her head of the crime scene. She told Apollo she was going home to rest for a few hours. The truth was, she needed to escape to the place she often visited when things got tough.
The key engaged and unlocked the door, and she pushed it open with the palm of her hand. The house was dark and silent. The electricity worked. Every billed was paid to keep in place for her mother's return. After all, it was Queen's responsibility since she was a child to ensure so. She spent her money maintaining her childhood home, her own home, and all the medical expenses and costs to keep her mother alive. The financial burden had her suffer bankruptcy and so much debt she lived off early a fifty dollars a week. Delilah never knew. No one did. Queen was good at keeping her mothers' secrets.
Inside the house, she didn’t bother to turn on the lights and instead went straight to the kitchen. The cabinets didn’t have much in pots or dishware. Most were filled with half-empty bottles of liquor, and Queen’s choice was Jim Beam. She grabbed the one she hadn’t finished on her last visit and a cup, then went over to the kitchen table. There she sat everything down and went through the motions of removing her gun, her badge, her blazer, and unbuttoning the cuffs of her sleeves. She sat and poured herself a glass full.
When she checked her messages on her cellphone, she saw the same requests from reporters across the country asking for a comment or an interview. The Guardian Angel killer was back, and there was a buzz of excitement in the air. Soon the feds would swoop in, and the case would slip her fingers to theirs. And more black girls would go missing or dead. Years of this hunter preying on the disadvantage had given the county a reputation. Queen drank down half of the whiskey in three swallows.
Her phone rang in her hand.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Where are you?” Apollo asked.
“Home,” she said.
“That’s a lie. I’m here, and you aren’t,” Apollo said.
“What are you doing at my house Apollo?” Queen asked. “I told you about popping up on me.”
“I’m concerned about you. The way you ripped into Davis at the station. Where are you!” Apollo insisted.
Queen sighed. “I...”
The phone line beeped. Another call came through.
“Hold on,” she said to Apollo and clicked over. “Hello, this is Queen.”
“Ms. Douglas, this is Evergreen calling.”
“I told the doctor to not bother me—”
“Yes, mam, but I am going through your mother’s records. We are still missing some of her information that we requested weeks ago. Her social security card, birth certificate, and Medicaid card—”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Okay. I’ll get it to you in the mail. I will.” Queen said and took another drink.
“Mam, you said that before. Can you please make sure we have these things?”
“I’m paying the bills, aren’t I?” Queen snapped.
“Yes, mam, but this is the procedure. We need to finish her file. And if we do, you will not have to incur all of the expenses. Your mother—”
“Fine! Fine! Fine! I’ll get it to you this week!”
“Great, have a good evening,” the caller said and hung up.
Queen clicked over to Apollo. “Sorry for yelling. I’m on my way home. Be there in a few.”
“I’ll wait,” Apollo said.
“Whatever,” she said and hung up. Queen finished the glass of Jim Beam. She pushed back from the table and went to her mothers' room. She avoided her mothers' room on most days when she came to the house. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t sent all the paperwork back to Evergreen. She’d have to dig through her mother’s things to find it.
Inside the closet, she found more clothes and shoes than her mother ever chose to wear. She reached to the back of the closet and pulled out the metal case that kept all of her mothers' personal papers. When the facility had asked her a few weeks ago for the documents, her mother had responded to texts for information and told her they would be inside this case. Queen carried it over to the bed and turned on the lamplight. She had to search the drawers for the key and got lucky enough to open it. Opened the container to pictures, money, and several documents. She found the birth certificate but not the social security card. She sighed. She dumped the contents on the bed and began to push them around. Her fingers touched a picture. Queen frowned and lifted it. Her mother was much younger in the picture, possibly in her early twenties like Queen. She stood to the left of Tyson Montgomery, and on the right side of him was Delilah’s mother. Tyson had his arm around Delilah’s mother's shoulder. Queen’s mother smiled brightly at the person taking the picture with her hand resting on the arm of Tyson. The first time Queen had seen anything that indicated that Tyson and Delores were friends with her mom. In fact, her mother hated them both and would curse Delores out then slap Queen around every time she was sober enough to discover Queen was spending time with Delilah and Delores against her orders. The picture seems even stranger after hearing the story Delores had told of her past with Tyson and the Montgomery’s. Why would her mother keep the photo? And who was the person behind the camera taking the picture? Queen never knew her father. Not a single word from her mother about his identity. Could he be the man her mother refused to speak of?