I've always known that tragedy strikes us all sooner or later. Later, if you're lucky.
I wish I were one of the lucky ones.
He takes me back to the station, me a muted passenger in the car, too shell-shocked to speak or make small talk with him. I simply clutch the tissue he gave to me tightly in my hands and watch the buildings go by out of the passenger window.
He's told me that somebody else can tell Piper what's happened, somebody qualified, but I know that I'm the only person qualified to do it so when we get to the station he lets me use his desk phone to call her and ask her if she can come down to the station. I try not to alarm her but it's hard not to when you're asking someone you love to drive to a police station to meet you. I just reassure her that I'm fine (a lie) and she doesn't think to ask about Phoebe.
I have to give a statement. A statement. And I have to wait for him to have a free moment to take it. Of course that's not how he puts it, but that's what he means. Not that it's his fault that they're understaffed. He seats me at his desk and brings me a cup of coffee to drink while I wait.
After I've drunk the coffee I rest my head in my arms on his desk and shut my eyes tightly. I only spoke to Phoebe two days ago. Only. I should have been calling her everyday instead of letting my own life overtake me. I convinced myself that she didn't want to hear from me because of our conflicting views on her boyfriend, but really, was that true? And now I never get to speak to her again.
"Prue?"
I reluctantly lift my head from my hands and look up to find the inspector standing in front of me awkwardly, looking very much like he'd rather not interrupt whatever he thinks I'm doing right now. I wipe my eyes quickly and attempt a smile, although it must come across more like a grimace.
"I'm sorry you've been waiting," he says apologetically.
"It's fine," I say flatly, and honestly I don't care. What does it really matter?
"There's an interview room free," he tells me. "It'll be quieter there."
He gestures for me to stand up and follow him, so I do.
"Do you want another coffee?" He offers as he opens the door for me.
"No thanks," I mutter, stepping into the room. "So is this where you interview suspects?" I ask, looking around as he shuts the door.
"N-no," he stammers, looking uncomfortable. "Just…just family. Friends. People like that."
"Oh. Right. People like me."
People whose lives are being ripped apart. He doesn't seem to know what to say to this so in the end he says nothing, just takes his seat and indicates that I should do the same.
"Let's start with how long they'd been seeing each other?"
"I don't know, about six months I think."
He writes this down on a piece of paper and I fidget uncomfortably. I don't want a record of everything I'm saying in this room. I already know what question is coming and it's one I don't want to answer, even though I've as good as already admitted the answer earlier.
"Inspector?" I interrupt and he looks up from his notes expectantly. "I-I already know what you're going to ask." He puts his pen down and looks at me with interest. "And I just…I want to say it before you ask about it."
"Okay," he says slowly, sitting back in his chair now.
"I knew," I whisper, a horrible confession that seems to echo around the room we're sitting in.
"You knew what?" He asks gently.
I shake my head. Why is he making me say it? We both know what I'm referring to.
"Has he done something to Phoebe before?" He presses, leaning forward in his seat.
"Yes," I say, covering my face with my hands as the tears start to burn my eyes again. "Not that she told me, not explicitly, but I knew all the same. I could tell."
I drop my hands from my face and risk looking at him. I think I'm expecting to see revulsion over the fact that I knew that my little sister's boyfriend was a no-good piece of scum and I still didn't do anything about it, but his face is completely neutral. Still, I feel a sudden inexplicable need to justify myself to him.
"I told her to leave him. To come back home, that we'd look after her. I'd look after her. But she wouldn't do it. She didn't want to listen to me, told me I never approve of her boyfriends. Maybe it was true, maybe I never did approve of them, but it's only because none of them were ever really good enough for her."
"Did she ever tell anyone?" He asks. "A doctor, the police, a refuge?"
"No…not that I know of, anyway. I don't think she would have. She…she thought she loved him. Thought that he loved her. Anyway, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't like you're thinking."
Every word I say sounds awful. I can hardly bear to listen to myself speak and I don't know how he can stand to write it down, but he does. He's filling the page with my words, my confession, and I start to feel sick. This doesn't feel real, it can't be real. Perhaps there's been a mistake, a horrible misunderstanding. It's possible, right? I find myself having to lean forward to fight against the wave of nausea I'm now experiencing. He looks alarmed at my sudden movement.
"This isn't happening, this isn't happening," I moan quietly, head back in my hands for what seems like the hundredth time today.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice sounding distant, and I have to force myself to focus on where I am, to hold it together. "It's not your fault, you know," he adds.
I blink away the tears and look up at him, startled.
"What?"
"You…you said you told her to leave. That you knew what he was like." He sounds nervous about what he's about to say. "It isn't your fault that she didn't."
"Thank you." I pause, then start to say, "I…" but trail off. I want to tell him I'm grateful but I can't get the words out because if I speak then I'll cry. He seems to understand anyway, because he briefly gives me an awkward smile and a quick nod before returning his attention to his notes.
I don't know how I tell Piper, but I do. By the time she arrives I've stopped crying, not because I can't cry anymore, but because the last thing I want is for Piper to feel she has to comfort me. I don't cry again until after Piper has fallen asleep sometime after 1am.
I sleep with the light on that night. Or rather, I don't sleep but lie on my bed wide awake while feeling as if I must be dreaming all the same. There's no moment of remembrance the next morning because I never fell asleep to forget.
The first light of morning is gray and cold, an unwelcome intrusion on the comforting stillness of the dark night outside. Soon the sun will rise and it will really be morning, and I'll have to stop pretending to sleep and get up. I'll have to start calling people to let them know what has happened. I'll have to start making plans for implausible things like a funeral.
When I get downstairs I find Piper sitting at the kitchen table huddled in a blanket with a stone cold cup of coffee in front of her, staring blankly at it.
"Piper, how long have you been up?" I ask, sitting down next to her.
She looks startled at my appearance and she shakes her head wordlessly, giving a small shrug before returning her gaze to the coffee cup. I stand up and grab the cup, taking it over to the sink and tipping its contents down the drain.
"I'll make you a fresh one," I tell her, in full-on big sister mode already.
"Doesn't matter," she mumbles. "Not really thirsty."
I set about making the coffee anyway, to give me something to do so I don't have to sit and stare at the kitchen table like Piper, even though it's what part of me wants to do.
"I'm going to start calling people today," I tell Piper over my shoulder. "Let them know."
"Like who?" She asks, shifting around in her chair to look at me.
"Her friends. Victor. You know. People."
"Oh right. Dad."
"He deserves to know."
"Yeah, yeah he does," Piper agrees.
I pour out two new cups of coffee and return to the table, handing one to Piper.
"Do you…do you want me to help you call people?" Piper asks tentatively.
In truth I do, but I can tell Piper doesn't want to do it so I say briskly, "No, I can do it. Don't worry about it." Piper nods slowly and blows on her coffee. "You can go see Leo if you like," I prompt. "I don't mind."
"Hmm, maybe," Piper says noncommittally. "Maybe."
One of Victor's first questions is why I didn't call him sooner. I have to bite back the urge to tell him that he's damn lucky I've even called him at all. He might be our father biologically but as far as I'm concerned that's as far as the relationship goes. It's only because I know Phoebe cared for him (okay, loved him) that I'm calling at all. Answering Victor's questions isn't easy and I suddenly wish I'd let Piper do this.
"They haven't caught him?"
"No."
"Well where is he then?"
"I don't know," I mutter through gritted teeth.
"How long had she been seeing this man?"
"Six months."
"Six months? And she was living with him?"
"Sort of."
"And you let her?"
I lose my temper at this. How dare he make it out to be my fault? Like I'm the parent in this situation. Parent by default maybe, but he's the one who should have been here, said something, not me. Not to mention the fact that Phoebe is - was - an adult anyway, not a child I could order around. And I did try to talk her out of it. I did try.
"You really don't get it, do you?! You're the parent, Dad. Where were you? How did you feel about her moving in with him? Oh wait, you didn't even know!"
I slam the phone down before he can respond to any of this but my fury quickly transforms into tears. After all, what Victor's saying is only what I've been asking myself.
When he calls back five minutes later I keep my temper in check and try to be as civil as I can. Maybe Victor's trying too, because he doesn't say anything else to make me really want to lose it again, just asks me questions about how Piper is and when the funeral is.
I sleep the third night only because I have to, exhausted and unable to keep my eyes open any longer. It's not the restful sleep I've been hoping for though. I wake up just after 3am, my cheeks damp and struggling for breath. I have to bury my face in my pillow while I cry in case Piper hears me.
When I've eventually stopped crying I get out of bed and head to Piper's room. We've left the all the hall and landing lights on, and like me Piper has left a bedside lamp on because when I go into her room it's lit and she's awake. She doesn't ask what I'm doing here. She doesn't need to.
"Do you mind?" I whisper, gesturing to the empty side of her bed and she shakes her head.
"I can't sleep," she admits as I climb into the bed next to her.
"Me neither."
"I can't stop thinking about Phoebe. What are we going to do?"
"We're going to get up everyday and keep breathing," I tell her firmly. "We're going to take it one day at a time. We're going to carry on living. It might take a while, but we will do it. One day at a time."
"One day at a time," she repeats in a whisper.
I sigh and burrow down under the covers.
"Go to sleep, Piper," I murmur.