Burning Bridges

Chapter 1: The Cabin in Chicago

CHAPTER 1: The Cabin in Chicago

(A/N: the picture to your right is of Scarlett's! FAN me and VOTE, please!!! let me know if i should actaully even keep going. COMMENT too!!)

Scarlett's POV

Sometimes, it escapes you how fast one unexpected incident changes your whole life, and turns it upside down, as the devil sits in the corner and smiles at the merciless way he’d uprooted your whole reality. Every part of your imperfect existence is thrown back at you, almost like it’s accusing you of not being careful enough to predict the onset of the catastrophe. It hits you harder when you have no one to turn to, no one to blame, and no one to tell you that it’s all going to be alright. Looking into the past events of the day, I hadn’t even thought for once that I’d hear what I’m hearing now. But here I was, damned and—

“excuse me, miss…uh..I’m from the police. We hear you are from a victim’s family. Any uh… details, anything you can tell me about to uh… help with this investigation?” a police officer, who had the vibe of inexperience radiating from him, interrupted me.

He had a notepad in hand and a pen in the other. He took unnecessary pauses in his sentence, as if he didn’t know how to get on with his work. A newbie, I decided, a rookie.  He looked about twenty-five, thirty at it’s most. His hair was short, almost like the way it is in the army, but just a teeny bit longer. His eyes bore into mine, as if he were judging everything going on inside my head. Idiot, I thought. I’d never hold any expressions in my eyes or my face when I’m put through tough situations. I preferred putting up a mask, like I am doing right now. I knew what he’d find in my hazel eyes. Blankness. Devoid of any emotion. No clue, Mr. Newbie.

I shifted my gaze from his questioning ocher eyes to the charred remains of the house. It certainly was a cabin, more than a house. Wooden walls, wooden frames, the last thing that would NOT catch a fire, certainly, but in the middle of a forest? Unlikely. I didn’t really know why what HAD happened, but I had a bad feeling that  it was not an accident. The smell of burnt flesh hit my nose every now and then and made me feel nauseated. The sight of flashing red and blue lights from the ambulances and the police cars intrigued no memory and I could find no reason why my dad would be out here in the middle of the night. What would my father be doing here? He never took a step out of Boston. He never travelled east. Or maybe he did. I never really knew what my father did, except that he’d leave awkwardly, without an explanation, every time his cell phone rang. Sometimes, he wouldn’t return home for weeks and when he’d return, he’d look exhausted, and I wouldn’t really ask him why, knowing that he didn’t really like it what I questioned him, or demanded an explanation. When I’d ask him for one, he’d say he had “business”, and after mom died, we didn’t really talk much, unless it was really important.

Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t have a sour relationship. It was just that we really understood each other and were comfortable with the silence. He never asked about my life, and given that I didn’t specifically have any, I didn’t think he would. To respect the privacy he extended towards me, I never asked him to elaborate about his “business”. We had this sort of father-daughter relationship going that really worked well for us.

“uh…miss?” the officer repeated, “can you help us with any details? Can you think of any reason why Mr. Woods would be out here? Any reason? Any details?” he raised his eyebrows in question.

“I…I don’t know..” I answered like a dumbass, “I mean, I don’t know”. Okay, I’d meant to answer something sensible the second time, but these words were the only ones that came out of my mouth. I guess you babble like an idiot when your head stops working, or starts working real hard.

“uh, okay. Tell me when you think of something.” He answered with a friendly smile and strode off, as I stared at the back of his beige shirt until he disappeared in the rest of the house. To hunt down evidence, I thought. Lame. I bet two hundred bucks they won’t find any lead.