I’m going to make myself crazy one day.
Shaking everything off, I focus on getting dressed in a pair of joggers and a tight black T-shirt sans bra before rushing down the stairs, putting my hair in a high ponytail. Mr. Pickles is sitting on the last step when I descend and his eyes are showing mild annoyance, a look I’m all too familiar with when he’s hungry or needs to potty.
“Want to go out?” Magical words as these set him off, and I have an excited pupper on my hands rushing toward the kitchen, scratching at the wooden door until I reach him. He seems too impatient today, and I decide to just let him roam the backyard instead of a walk for now. We can do that later. “Sit.”
At my command, he does as asked and after a few seconds of eye contact, I open the door and let him out. But fuck me I wish I didn’t. I wish that my life was different, and reality wasn’t merging with my dreams.
Because thumb-tacked to my door is a picture I’ll never forget. Can’t unsee.
It’s the body of a man, bloodied and without eyes, lying on a concrete floor with the words, taken care of written in red sharpie. At least I chose to believe so for my sanity, because the color has a muted tone that looks a bit darker in spots as if it were blood.
The bile that rushes up my throat feels like liquid fire as I bend over, emptying the yellowish substance onto the floor a few steps from where the picture remains. I’m not touching it. I can’t see that again, and after the last bit of bile leaves me, the scream comes.
It’s loud and I’m shaky and I have no idea how I make it up the stairs to grab my phone, but I do. Mr. Pickles follows me, watching me after seeing my duress, and doesn’t leave my side while I grab the detective’s card from my nightstand.
I’d placed it there after his visit to the hospital, never thinking I’d have to use it.
With shaky limbs and tears in my eyes, I dial his number and after the third ring, there’s the sound of traffic in the background and loud breathing. “Detective Consuelos speaking.” My throat feels tight, and I try to speak but nothing comes out. Instead, there’s a sob from me and a bark from my dog. “Hello? Hello? Who’s calling?”
“Help.”
“Who’s this?” he asks, the noise level dropping a bit and the sound of a car door closing follows shortly after. “I can’t help you if I don’t—”
“Gabriella Moore...” I’m choking, chest burning as the sensation of a million ants crawling under my skin takes over “... murder. Please.”
“Miss Moore, it seems you’re free to go. Someone has come to your rescue,” a female cop says hours later, her expression angry and full of disgust. But then again, that’s how everyone here’s been looking at me. From the prisoners to the officers and anyone else who’s in this building and has been in my presence.
They see me and eyes narrow. Whispers begin.
No one has asked me about the photo.
No one has asked the why or whom I think would do such a thing.
No one has looked at my video cameras or asked me if I knew the victim.
Nothing. I’m being made guilty without due process.
Moreover, the moment Detective Consuelos walked up to my door I knew something was very wrong.
The pounding of my front door is loud, the person on the other side inpatient. “This is the Seattle Police Department, open the door.” After saying this, the banging didn’t cease nor was I given a moment to walk over from the front sitting room. Instead, it was kicked open as four Seattle P.D. officers stormed inside with their guns drawn. I scream and all four turn my way being led by the detective working my case, his service weapon pointing at my head. “Hands up, Gabriella!”
“Detective, what is going on?” I ask, complying with his request. I’m sitting on my couch with both arms up and fingers stretched out, so they see I have nothing in my hand. “Why did you break down my door?”
“Where’s the body?” A woman asks me, and I turn my attention to her. Take in the judgement in her icy glare while also noticing she’s not wearing a badge.
“I’m the one that called in the photo. I’m the one being harassed.”
“Bullshit.”
“Stop with the lies,” Consuelos and the woman say in unison, the latter backing down but not before sneering in my direction. What’s her problem?
“What the hell is going on?” I’m angry and scared and the tears haven’t stopped since I found the picture. My body feels beaten and used; my soul heavy while my heart is full of fear. “Detective Consuelos, please answer me.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Moore, but I’ll need you to stand and turn around.”
“What?”
“Please stand and put your hands behind your back, don’t make me use force.”
“Why are you doing this? I called you for help.” As I ask this, the two other males with them leave and start going from room to room, calling back empty as they stomp around. I can hear things falling and a few glass items meeting their demise on my floor, but what kills me is the yelp of my dog as one of them grabs him. “Detective, I demand an answer.”
Said man gives me a look that makes me shrink back. So much coldness. “Gabriella Moore, you’re under arrest as an accomplice to murder.”
“Who came?” I haven’t used my one phone call yet. There’s no one to come and help me, and I’d rather sit here for a year than talk to Elise after our last encounter. Theo? But he has no way of knowing, especially, since he’ll be in L.A. for another day. “There’s no one that I—”
“Hurry up, the person is waiting up front.”
“Okay.” The other women in the holding cell give me wide berth, moving away from the now open metal door. No one moves until I step through and I feel like a monster, so uncomfortable, that I put my head down and follow without another word. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, though. Can feel the judgment and hate but continue walking until we’re out and I hear the one voice that makes this nightmare better.
“Oh, sweet girl. What have they done to you?” Theodore’s words cause my head to snap up and tears to fall. Moreover, I don’t hesitate and throw myself into his arms. He catches me, cradling me against his chest while I let go.
The woman who walked me out scoffs, but then quiets down. Theo’s head snaps to the side, his body slightly shaking. “Who the fuck are you? I want your name and badge number.”
“Sir, you need to watch your tone. I’m a—”
“It’s you who doesn’t comprehend the severity of your actions, but I’m sure your boss will be here soon enough to explain.”
“That’s laughable. Captain Bron wouldn’t dignify himself by...” she trails off then and the temperature inside the room seems to drop. I try to lift my head to see what’s going on, but Theo’s warm hand scratches my scalp lightly while keeping me in place.
Something is happening.
Then steps come closer. Heavy and loud, stopping close but not speaking.
I’m scared. Tired. Angry.
So full of ire for how unjust I’ve been treated, but more than that, I can’t take anymore.