It Takes Time: The Story

To End a Life

    The moment she received that phone call, Cassandra O'Dowd felt nothing or, maybe, she felt too much. Her life, which had been nearly perfect merely seconds ago, came crashing down like the unforgiving ocean waves on the towers of an unsuspecting sandcastle. The gallery, which had just been entertaining and fun, suddenly became a symbol of pain and despair. Nothing was right, not now and not ever again would things be right. Slowly, Cassie blinked. Once, twice, three times, she blinked because that's all she knew to do.

    "Mrs. O'Dowd" a girl in a black and white waitress outfit says as she stops beside Cassie with a tray of full champagne flutes, "are you alright? You're crying." Cassie hadn't realized it but the girl is right; she is crying. Her phone, which is still in her hand lights up and she hurriedly answers the call and places the phone to her ear. The waitress looks slightly annoyed but waits silently as the man on the other end of the line addresses Cassie.

    "Mrs. Cassandra O'Dowd? This is Chief Murphy, my deputy called you a few minutes ago to give you the news... Is there any way I can meet up with you to give you the possessions that were pulled from the wreck?" The man goes quiet waiting on her answer and Cassie slowly sinks to her knees right there in the center of the room despite having spent hours trying to keep her black slacks spotless.

    "Please, sir, tell me you're lying. Tell me my husband put you up to this so that he can surprise me later tonight. Please tell me this isn't real..." Cassie's voice cracks and a violent sob rocks through her suddenly delicate body. "Tell me that my husband and baby are okay and that this call is a mistake."

    "I wish I could, ma'am. I really wish I could, but I can't. We have evidence that this is, in fact, your husband's car... We found the license plate in relatively decent shape and, when ran through the system, it led us to you. Mrs. O'Dowd, are you at the gallery now?"

    Feeling like a sack of flour, Cassie nods only to realize he can't see her. "I am." By now, many of tonight's guests have turned their eyes on the previously cheerful artist. Cassie inhales slowly. Maybe this is a joke. A sick, twisted joke that only Oliver would find funny. There is no way he and Clare were in the car... they were supposed to stay home this weekend and we were to go out on Monday for our anniversary. This must be some kind of horrible joke...

    "I'll be there in about twenty minutes." Cassie was about to hang up when she heard the "chief of police" clear his throat. "And... ma'am, I truly am sorry for your loss." His voice is gruff and then gone as he hangs up and the end tone buzzes in her ear. Turning towards the waitress who remained beside her, Cassie inhales softly.

    "I'm praying this is a joke but I'll have to wait and see...."

#

    Exactly twenty minutes later, Chief Murphy pulls up in his brand new black and white cruiser, his lights flashing but the siren is off. He walks to the front door of the gallery where a teen boy with a severe case of acne attempts to ask him for his ticket only to be flashed the Chief's badge and bypassed. Once inside, Steven Murphy finds himself looking at walls covered in paintings but one painting, a large one at the end of the hall, seems to demand his attention.

    The painting is of a family, a man with wavy sandy brown hair and green eyes, a woman with strait, platinum blond hair and blue eyes, and a little girl with honey blond curls and blue-green eyes. The scene shows the family on the couch, the father's arms around the mother's waist as she curls into him and cuddles their little girl, the light of an unseen tv shinning dimly on them. Or, at least that is what the Chief sees at first glance but, as he moves closer, the scene seems to shift into something almost entirely different.

    At second glance, he notices that the little girl is painted mid squeal and she appears to be laughing as the mother pulls her baby towards her. The arm around the woman's waist is pulling her back towards her husband and his other hand is on her stomach as if to tickle her, she is painted mid laugh as well. The father is looking at his wife and daughter with so much love in his eyes that Murphy feels as though he is intruding on a private moment and has to look away.

    "Amazing, isn't it?" The gallery director, Macey Bennet, asks as she sidles up to the ageing officer. "I haven't a clue how Cassandra does it... How can someone paint themselves in such a way without a photo or a video as reference? How is she able to put so much onto canvas? How is she able to make it seem as if we are intruding on such a private moment?"

    "It is amazing. She is very talented, I think, I'm not an expert but..." he trails off before picking up on another thought. "Is that Cassandra, the woman in the painting?"

    "It is. She's here if you'd like to meet her. I bet she could use it... poor dear hasn't seemed herself in almost half an hour and her face is puffy, I suspect that she's been crying..."

    Murphy suddenly began to feel very bad. The artist must be who he is here to see... Cassandra, the artist, must be Cassandra O'Dowd, the newly pronounced widow... Murphy hates instances like this one, the ones where he has to be the barer of such bad news, it's one of the reasons he could have never been a doctor. "Please, ma'am, I'm afraid that she's who I'm here to see." Macey's eyebrow shoots up to meet her hairline.

    "Sir, I can assure you that Cassandra has done nothing wrong. That girl is such a good person I doubt she could harm a spider without guilt plaguing her for days." The warm eyes of the director have gone cold as icy as she jumps to defend a woman she is sure could never commit a crime. Murphy gives a dry laugh and shakes his head.

    "No, ma'am, nothing like that. I'd actually prefer to be making an arrest. Please, ask no more questions and take me to Mrs. O'Dowd." Macey nods stiffly and leads the Chief towards a room in the back where he suspects the poor woman has taken up hiding. When Mrs. Bennet opens the door, Murphy is able to hear the half silent sobs of a person in immense pain. Steven's heart goes out to the woman who looked as if she were still years shy of forty. "Mrs. O'Dowd? My name is Steven Murphy, we talked on the phone half an hour ago, I have that box out in my cruiser if you'd like to come with me to retrieve it."

    The sobs raise in volume and Murphy resists the childish urge to cover his ears to block out the pitiful sound. "This is real?" A broken voice finally whispers as Cassandra lifts her head revealing her blotchy face and blue eyes still shimmering from lingering tears. The Chief sets his hand on her shoulder and offers a slight squeeze of condolence. Even the man whom had spent twenty-seven years clawing his way to the top of the police hierarchy had never faced a case that grabbed at his heart strings quite like this one does. He nods his head slowly.

    "I'm afraid so, Ma'am." The scene of the crash still plays out in Murphy's head as he assures her that such a horrible thing has truly happened. The car had been unsalvageable with metal twisting out at random as if a demented can opener had ripped the car into pieces. Clare O'Dowd, whom was two-years-old, was found close to a fence almost fifteen feet from the crash site. When paramedics arrived on scene, Oliver O'Dowd was already beyond saving. The toddler passed shortly after she was found.

    Grabbing a tissue out of a box to the side of her, Cassie stands up as she blows her nose before grabbing a second Kleenex to dab at her eyes. Once she has a grip on herself, though a shaky one, Cassie gestures for the officer to lead the way to the cruiser as Macey Bennet allows Cassie to hold onto her arm for support. This is horrible, the director thinks to herself as she sees the dead look in her friend's eyes. The poor woman just had her whole life swept out from under her. I don't know what I'd do if I lost my David...

    The gallery had closed in the time it took Cassie to calm herself and Murphy feels a tang of regret as he realizes that the poor woman has lost even more by him interrupting her here. Once at the cruiser, Murphy pops his trunk and pulls at a small box. Inside are items Cassie clearly recognizes as theirs. A small pink blanket with white bunnies on it hangs halfway out of the box and the broken blonde is quick to snatch it up and hold it to her chest as her mouth opens in a silent scream. Under the blanket, there is a small leather notebook and a box topped with a bow and a card. Cassie notices the notebook as well and gingerly picks it up and cradles it as if it were the baby she lost. She sinks to the sidewalk and sits down. After about five minutes of sitting and staring at the hard evidence in her hands, Cassie looks up at the officer with frozen eyes and a smile like a cracked mirror. "I think I believe you now, sir."