The next morning, when I'd decided to stop laying there awake and get dressed, the phone rang. Thinking it was Mark I didn't answer it formally.
"Yeah?" I asked into it.
"Mr. Callaway?"
I was taken back. "Oh sorry…yeah this is. You can call me Kane…" I hated being called Mr. Callaway. It reminded me of my father, or of Mark.
"Well Kane, I'm a detective. I've been assigned to investigate the murder of your family…" I cringed at how impersonal it was.
"Alright…"
"I need to ask you some questions, would you like to meet me for lunch?"
I sighed. "Yeah…sure."
He said to meet him at the hospital at noon and I hung up the phone feeling uneasy. Not nervous, necessarily, but uneasy. I didn't want to have to deal with any of this.
I explained everything to Mark and the fact that he'd brought me here and I didn't know where we were, so he gave me his car keys and told me how to get back to the hospital. When the time came I did, and met the guy where he told me to meet him. I didn't bother wearing a mask because I knew how silly it would be to meet a detective.
He was taller than average but I still looked down at him. He reached out to shake my hand when we met, and I could see in his cold eyes that he sympathized, though he still had to do his job. Before we left for the lunch itself he asked if I would mind coming to look at their bodies. I didn't want to, but I kept thinking of revenge, of killing whoever did this, and so wanted to cooperate.
His name was James. He had short brown hair and a goatee, and round eyes. He appeared to be very friendly, though he had a callousness to him. I credited it to his job.
"Have you filled out any police reports?" he asked me. We were on an elevator going down to the basement morgue.
"No…"
"Well you need to, so I'll give you all that stuff in a little while. Why don't you tell me what happened?" the elevator stopped and he stepped out. I followed him down a corridor of linoleum and into a the morgue itself. There were two separate autopsy rooms on either side of it, but all the vaults were in this place. He nodded to the security guard as we went inside, standing in front of the metal drawers. Before he opened them he asked me to tell him what happened, and I told him how I'd gone out to go shopping and how I'd come home. I left out the part about how I'd freaked out because I knew that he already knew, and I didn't feel that I had the strength to tell him. I just told him the basics. I came home, found them dead. That's it. He nodded slowly.
"Are you ready?" he asked. I sighed and nodded, and he pulled open two of them, next to each other. I felt winded when I saw them.
They weren't clean, still covered in blood. I began to cry. My head tilted to the side as I looked at Claudette.
She was damned little…and dead. Her skin was so unnaturally colored, and the bruises were grayish and disgusting. Her eyes were closed and her hair messed up. I noticed some small bruises on her neck as well.
Claudette was two years old. Killed on her birthday. Tears ran down my face. Here I was, constantly miserable because my life was so damned long and horrible, and complaining. And there was Claudette, not given a chance. I suddenly hated myself for all of it. I reached over and ran my fingers through her hair, frightened for a moment that she would break like she had in my dream. James put his hand on my shoulder, straying from the way he'd been acting and showing a sign of compassion. I took in a shaking breath and turned to Amber…my Amber…
Of course I loved them both, and loved them infinitely, but Amber…it hurt me so much more because I knew her. I don't mean to belittle what I felt for Claudette at all, because each of them struck me equally, but Amber…I had so many memories with her. And so many…things. Like in public, the way I could look through a group of people and just know it was her instantly when I saw her purple hair. The way she was so much smaller than I was, and the way we held each other when we slept. The way she laughed at me when I was confused and then would hug me. The way she'd pout when she was frustrated. The way she could play with Claudette or Jake for hours and hours and never get bored. The way she jumped when I tickled her. The way she laughed and laughed and laughed at movies. Her slight accent, her intense eyes. How her hair would shift when she looked up at me. The way all of these things I loved, and the way I would never know them again.
"Amber…" I said softly. I slipped her hand into mine, hating the way that it was cold. Her nails were painted. She was so fucking beautiful, and for that I was miserable. I squeezed her hand before letting it go, my fingers trailing over to her stomach. Our son…my jaw was trembling. I leaned over and kissed her cheek, my tears splashing onto her face. I was struck by the way they just sat there on her face, with no one to wipe them away. So I did.
I hated it so much, that she was dead. I sobbed as I looked between the two of them.
It wasn't fair. I had loved them so much. And anyone who reads this will know how much I fucking loved the both of them, how much I worshipped Amber and how much I adored Claudette and the way I would've done anything for them. I realized, though, that no, I wouldn't have given my life for them. I'd rather die with them. I'd rather have been dead just then, than be alive without them. And that is why I realized that I'd rather not give my life for someone else. It killed me to think of Amber in my situation, staring down at the body of her husband.
So many people say that. They say "I'd give my life for you" and they don't know what it means. I bet half the people that say that have never lost someone they loved. And of course it sounds selfish, but it's true. Rather than take death from Amber I'd rather take pain. I can't bear the thought of her being as miserable as I was.
I didn't want to leave them alone. At the same time I wanted to be as far away from it as possible, not their bodies necessarily but the truth. I wished it wasn't happening, that they were alive, that none of this was true. And I knew it was. James slowly closed the shelves without my say so, tearing them away from me. I choked on my tears as they were consumed my darkness and then gone. He brought me out into the corridor, patiently and respectfully allowing me to compose myself before we went back upstairs. We went out to his car and to a diner. He paid for lunch.
While we ate we just chatted. He was polite to not talk about Amber, instead making conversation about wrestling, about how it's all carried out and all that. None of what we talked about involved Amber or Claudette until we finished eating. He reached into a briefcase he'd brought with him and placed an 8x10 photograph on the table. I cringed.
It was my dining room wall, I could tell by the chandelier than hung in front of it and by the painting on the wall. It was a print of Flaming June (detail) by Lord Leighton Frederic. Amber loved it. There were two bow gun bolts sticking out of the wall.
"Notice anything strange?" he asked me. I sighed.
"Umm…the bolts in the wall?" I said, almost sarcastically. He placed another picture in front of me, a picture of the bow gun itself.
"Look, Kane," he said, pointing to the picture. "This gun, the one that Amber had, holds three bolts in it."
"Yeah?"
"Look…" he said, pointing to the ones sticking out of the wall. "Obviously this was shot during the fight. Pardon my saying, but Claudette didn't do it and the duck sure as hell didn't. No wounds on Amber match the arrowheads on these bolts, as you saw all of her wounds were bruises and scratches, and then the blows to the head. You're daughter was strangled. And the third bolt is nowhere to be found."
"What are you getting at?" I felt aching rise in my head and rubbed at my temples.
"Whoever did this, whoever attacked your wife, was hit by one of these arrows, and didn't leave it around for forensics. So right now that's what we're going to look for…blood, you know? It's going to be difficult, because as you saw, there was a lot of blood anyway, but we're going to see what we can do. It's unlikely, but that's our biggest clue right now to how to go about this."
I nodded slowly, staring down at the bow gun and at the bolts sticking out of the wall. Hatred rose in me. "I understand," I said to him.
"I need to know if there was anyone that either of you have made enemies with lately that would do something like this…" he said. "I'm sure we would be able to get more out of this if the evidence hadn't been…tampered with before we got there…" he gave me a solemn look. My jaw dropped at the darkness that rode in his expression.
"Oh my God," I said, "you're not going to go say that I'm the one that did this, are you? That's complete bullshit!" Tears rose again. He nodded.
"Calm down, Kane, I didn't say that…"
"I know you were thinking it, James."
He sighed. "Fine…the deal is that because this is so open we're going to be looking at every possible scenario. But person to person you're right, but I really don't think you did this because I can tell by the way you speak of them. But…you know…" he leaned back in the diner booth. "So can you think of anyone?"
"Yeah…" I said softly. "Well…there's this guy Paul Bearer…he took care of my brother and I after our parents died and he provoked our friend Scott to attempt suicide…and shortly after that Scott's wife, Debby, assaulted him. I haven't spoken to him since…and then there's this girl named Kitten who kind of freaked out a few months ago when she visited us…I don't know that she's angry and I honestly don't think she would do this but I have a feeling that she knew it would happen. And then…" I took a shaking breath. "There's always…Amber's ex-boyfriend, who left her the night that she and I met. His name is John…"
"Would there be any of your friends or other wrestlers who might have a grudge against you?"
"I don't…think so…" I said. "I mean…Scott got into an argument with Hunter Helmsley a few months ago but they made up like three nights later…and I know Hunter and I really don't think that he would ever do something like this, especially after some stupid fight about cookies or something. And if that were the case, it wouldn't be me effected by it…"
James nodded something and scribbled down all the names I'd mentioned, writing and underlining above the list "Question". He sighed and capped his pen, dropping it on the table. "There's another possibility…" he said.
"Yes?"
"Do you think it's at all possible that this could have been some crazed fanatic? I mean you and Amber are both famous wrestlers, even Claudette and the duck have made appearances on television, too."
I was shocked into silence, considering this and falling quiet for a few minutes while I thought. "I really don't think something like that would happen…I mean it's highly uncommon and in the main, people normally like us. Both of our characters were faces, so I don't think that anyone who could take wrestling seriously enough to kill them would think that we were evil or something." I felt like I was going to cry again. He sighed.
"Alright…well that's all I need to know for now. I'll keep you updated on what's going on."
I didn't say goodbye to him, just got up and walked out of the diner. He followed me, asking me if I wanted a ride back to the hospital where my car was parked, but I waved him off, saying that I needed to be by myself and think, that I'd get a taxi. Reluctantly he agreed and left. I sat down on a bench on the side of the road. I felt very lonely and horrible.
"Kane? Oh my god is that really you?" I looked up to see a very familiar face. I gasped.
"Becky!" I stood and hugged her. "Damn this is…strange. Do you live here?" I asked her. She nodded slowly.
"Yeah…" she said slowly. "I moved here a few months ago."
She had really grown into her features.
"Damn how old are you now?" she smiled.
"I'm almost twenty," she said. Her expression darkened. "I uh…I saw the paper, today," she said. My heart throbbed. "I'm…really sorry, Kane," her eyes glazed over. "For what it means I feel it, too. I couldn't believe what I was reading. I was crying all morning."
"Well what are you doing out here?" I asked her, changing the subject. She groaned and looked up at the diner.
"I work there. I live down the street, so I just walk to work…" she looked down. "I don't feel up to working though, I'm thinking of blowing it off. Do you want to come over for a while?"
"Sure…" I followed her to her house. It was small, but nice. I asked her what had become of Glenn and Kitten. She brought me into the kitchen and made coffee, bringing me into the living room and sitting down on couches.
"Well…I haven't talked to Kitten in a while. I mean…we were really close but she started getting all weird all the time and we haven't really talked to each other since I moved here. Glenn I've kept in touch with though…we dated for a little while last year. He's in an independent federation…keeps traveling all around New England trying to get discovered. I kept telling him that he should give you a call but he's too polite to do it…"
I nodded. "I'll definitely help him out," I said. "About Kitten…I talked to her a few months ago, you know. She called me and was hysterical so I drove out to get her and then she came to an event, met Mark and freaked out and left. I don't know what was wrong with her…"
"Well she's psychic, you know…"
"Yeah I know. I don't know why she freaked out though."
"She has dreams a lot, and they're usually nightmares, and she always got really scared by them. I remember when that happened, you know. She told me. She had a horrible dream that you were cutting your wrists and that you were setting things on fire. And usually when she has dreams, when she doesn't tell anyone about them they come true…and she told me and then got all worried about you and called you…"
"Why didn't she tell me?"
Becky frowned. "I don't know. Maybe she didn't want to upset you. But she told me and then she freaked out and got really worked up and upset about you. She cared about you, ya know? And truthfully, that might have been the worst dream I've seen her have. Because normally she'll get a little edgy and she'd tell me about them and they'd be nothing, but this one really scared the hell out of her. And it was a lot darker than the ones she normally has."
I felt my stomach turning. "Yeah…" I shook my head. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."
Becky looked like she was going to cry, and I felt like I was going to cry again. My body ached for Amber. I missed her. I felt lonely and hated and unloved and cold. I looked up at Becky. I took her into my arms, a soft, warm hug. She cried, I cried. For a long time we were like that.