The Last Piece of You

The First and Only Chapter

My sister is dead.

That is how the facts stand. Stock straight, unyielding, nothing can shake the facts. My sister went out on the morning of my birthday. That's a fact. It was snowing that day. Another fact. A sleepy truck driver dozed off and swerved across the road into my sister's lane. Fact. Facts, facts, facts. As strong as they may be, they have no feeling to them. This police station I'm sitting in right now, it's full of them. It's in the air, thick like a sort of smog. Facts. No room for feeling or condolences, just facts and justice.

The first thing I thought when I entered the station is that it smells like death. Not exactly the nicest thought, I'll tell you that. Even while I think it, it's like I'm crossing a line that I didn't even know was drawn. I can't imagine how many different people have been sitting in this very spot. With their own situations and stories. Isn't it amazing to think that everyone is just like you? That they have their own consciousness, feelings, doubts and worries. My sister always liked to think like that. Maybe in my dazed state of grief I've inherited some of her qualities.

"Miss Hutton?" His voice cuts through, a police officer sounds about my age but with voices it's always hard to tell. I pull my head up from my hands, allowing my hair to fall from behind my ears and frame my face with its inky strands.

"You flirt." I could almost hear my sister whisper those words in my ear, lips so close I could feel the warmth radiating from them, a voice that could audibly convey a smile.

"Yes?" I force myself to hold his stare, repeatedly telling myself that he's just a police officer to calm myself down. His face looks weathered and each crinkle along the corners of his eyes has a different story to tell. My eyes wonder along every single one of them, just to avoid his eyes.

"We have something for you." He leads me deeper into the police station. Into a room, not unlike the interrogation rooms in all those crime shows, where a treasure chest in a plastic bag lays on a table. Horribly tacky, probably the kind of thing you'd find in a pirate costume set purchased from a chain children's toy store. "It was in the boot of the car. We thought it might mean something to you or at least you could take it off our hands." He cracks a smile but realising that this isn't exactly the best time to make a joke, he hastily straightens his face out.

His awkwardness amuses me but it's a hollow sort of feeling, an echo of what I would usually feel. I would usually have laughed and made a witty remark to break the tension. Usual me would have tossed her hair back and smiled, slowly calculating what would be the best way to get his number. I'm not usual me, usual me had a sister that was alive. Instead, I thank him quietly with a stony face and watch as he slowly exits, probably breathing a sigh of relief as soon as the door closes.

Its artificial plastic shine puts me off. How fake it is with its printed 'wood' pattern and how ironic it is for someone like my sister to have it in her possession. It is a physical representation of the opposite of what my sister was. History, antiquities, vintage clothing, you name it and my sister would have known all about it. She was 'old-fashioned' but she certainly wasn't a traditionalist. It's hard to sum up a whole person into words. Words can convey a multitude of things but they will only ever be letters printed onto paper or plastered across a screen. There my mind goes again, as if it's trying to escape this reality by wandering down as many different paths as it can.

I touch the chest's smooth surface, my mind's cogs turning and deducing. The day my sister left was my birthday, now it will only ever be a day tainted with grief. Just a day ago, somehow feels like it was an entire world away. She left to get me a present. "Oh Victoria, I'm sorry alright? I just forgot with all the work and deadlines." She tossed a cassette tape at me and smiled, "To keep you occupied while I'm gone."

I still haven't played it. I just can't bring myself to listen to her voice again, sweet as honey as it lit up a room. Suddenly it feels like the walls are crumbling, my eyes sting as tears threaten to pour out and carve their way down my face. Air, I need air.

I pick up the treasure chest in its plastic bag and rush out of the room. The more time I spend in this place the more I feel like I'm being choked. I must look like quite the pretty picture, grief streaked across my face with dabs of panic and blotches of red under my tear stained cheeks. As soon as I'm standing outside in the cold breeze I begin feeling marginally better. A hand pats me on the shoulder.

"Ma'am are you alright?" It's that police officer again, I don't even know his name. His face shows concern but I can't be sure if it's genuine or merely an act of duty. I breathe out a slow breath and watch as it turns into a cloud of vapour. It disappears in seconds, here on minute and gone the next.

"Can I get a ride?"

It's awkward, really awkward, but I think he's getting used to it with me. I never considered what it would be like inside of a police car, it never really seemed to be the kind of situation I'd be in. My sister? Sure. Just not me.

He keeps glancing over at me, these small little looks to check that I was still there, that I wasn't about to just collapse in on myself or start crying hysterically. I get the feeling he's not the white knight kind of guy. The entire ride is silent but I know how to keep myself occupied. I observe the interior, noting little things like the note from his mother that he keeps stuck along the air conditioning grating. A little bit of brightness in this otherwise hopelessly boring vehicle.

'Come home safe Nick. Mum xoxo.' I wish I could have said that to my sister, I wish those words had just managed to make their way out of my mouth as she left. I wish she was alive. The engine stops and the police officer, Nick I assume, gives me an expectant look. I slowly get out of the car with the plastic treasure chest in hand. Nick steps out but he stays leaning against the car instead of following me. I appreciate the gesture, he's keeping his distance but he's here if I need him.

This is the place my sister died. The very stretch of concrete, the very trees, the very ground, the very river and sky that my sister saw just before her life ended. I'm crumple to my knees, placing the little plastic wooden chest down on the floor. With trembling hands, I open it.

Inside is a cassette player with a little note attached. 'I bet I had you running all over the house looking for a cassette player! Well, here's one. I bet you wish it was gold.' A small little smiley face is drawn next to it but it gets smudged by a tear. Tears streaming down my face that I didn't even realise were there. I hold the last piece of my sister close to my chest and slowly my mouth curls up into a smile.