Superficial (DE)

Forty-three.

"You were supposed to have been keeping track of this case and keeping us one step ahead—," the voice said calmly, pausing. "Three of my distributors were picked up today in three separate raids," the man grit, anger seething through his teeth it sounded. "Three more people that can testify against my organization,"

"If I find out your little bitch of a daughter was snooping where she doesn't belong again, I'll kill her this time," the man promised, followed by a thud. "You can only give a man one life sentence, no matter what he does,"

There was another brief pause before another loud thud, and another and another. Michael's winces turned to groans and then to full blown wailing as he was beat.

"How many voices did you hear?" The detective asked, looking up from his notepad. He had a black ballpoint pen pinched between his thumb and index finger as he patiently awaited an answer from Cerise.

She blinked a few times, her big brown eyes heavy and swollen from crying. Cerise parted her chapped lips to speak but nothing came out, her voice strained. She moistened her mouth with saliva before trying to speak again. "Two— maybe three," she said lowly.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around her own body, a self soothing measure as she stood outside of her father's hospital room. She felt diminished, small, inside a big scary world. The sound of her father's wailing echoed loudly in her ears over and over as if she were stuck in the moment still, like a broken tape recorder, plaguing her like some sick form of psychological torture.

"Did you see them— the men?" The officer continued.

"No," she answered meekly.

"Did you recognize their voices maybe?"

"If I find out your little bitch of a daughter was snooping where she doesn't belong again, I'll kill her this time," the man promised.

The cops eyes were blue, but the piercing kind. Crystal clear, like the shimmering water of Fiji. They were intimidating as if he where looking right through, like he could see the lie she was about to tell.

Cerise recognized one of the voices, she recognized it so distinctly. She could never forget it, the thick upper east side Italian undertone and the demonic chill it left in its wake. The one that spoke behind the gun aimed at her head a couple months ago. Cerise wouldn't dare confess his name after what happened to her and especially after what had happened to her father.

Michael was beaten to a bloody pulp. His face was covered in lumps and his eyes swollen shut. His head was gashed open, a pool of warm thick blood collecting beneath his head. The sight was so gruesome Cerise had to fight for her own life to keep from throwing up and getting her father help.

"Ms. Harvey—," the officer spoke, trying to regain her attention.

Cerise blinked a few times, re-finding those piercing blue eyes again before forcing herself to shake her head no. "N-no," she answered shallowly. "Please— I can't answer anymore questions,"

Her voice was frail, weak. It was now the early hours of the morning and she hadn't eaten nor slept in close to twenty-four hours. Her body was drained and her mind was fatigued and the hospital was freezing only adding further to her discomfort.

The blue-eyed officer fished a business card from the breast pocket of his uniform and handed it to her. "I will be in touch, Ms. Harvey,"

Cerise smiled meekly, accepting the card before heading back to her father's hospital room. As soon as she was out of sight from the officer, she balled up the business card and tossed it in the nearest trash can without even checking to make sure she'd made it in the basket, opening his room door. Cerise quite frankly didn't care to see how he was doing after what she'd discovered last night. She was furious and disgusted beyond measure but she had to keep a straight face for her mother, the woman that always ran to his aid whenever he needed her.