Glass on Pavement

Chapter Two

Cheryl shut off the car and leaned her he back against the seat. What a long day. She'd searched the wreckage several times, and found nothing else of use besides the contents of the glove box. Remembering the notebook, she glanced over at the passenger seat where it rested. She felt slightly guilty for not mentioning it to the sheriff, but if she had he probably would've taken it in as evidence. Cheryl wanted to read it for herself.

She put her car in park and reached over to grab the notebook. The leather was cool to the touch, and made her realize she was shivering. Her police uniform wasn't the warmest of attire. She pulled her large flashlight from the glove box and opened the notebook, shining the light on it. There was a photo of a small girl, and a woman who Cheryl assumed was her mother. The handwriting on the page beside it was lean and scraggly, written by the hands of someone who had a million thoughts whirling in their mind. If she squinted hard and held the book close, she could just make out the words on the page.

This is not a diary. Sorry if I've disappointed you, but I'm not the kind of girl to write down at the end of the day, "I baked cookies today with Grandma." First of all, I don't have a grandma. Well, I do, but she is far, far away. Second of all, that's just boring. No, this is an autobiography. Don't like writers? Don't like our creative minds and independence? Well good, because I didn't ask you.

I'll start from the beginning.

***

I remember that day as if it happened only minutes ago. The images are branded onto my brain, no matter how hard I try to block them out. No matter how hard I close my eyes, no matter how hard I bang my head against the wall.

The night was cold and crisp, the kind of night when singing birds fell silent and huddled with their hatchlings in hastily reinforced nests. I remember sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor, waving the arms of my homemade doll. Rain pounded against the window so hard I swear I could hear the frame shuddering. The walls were covered with cracked grey paint, and the mattress on my bed frame sagged with age.

Then something drowned out the furious beating of the rain against the house. Yelling.

"Dammit you can't defend her anymore, woman!"

"Johnathon!" my mother screamed. "NO! You leave her alone!"

I heard the rough sound of my mother's body impacting the wall, several times. Then I heard her soft cry of pain, and my father's footsteps sounded in the hall. "Where are you?" he growled.

I whimpered and shrank back, then slid underneath my bed until my back was pressed against the wall. I heard the linoleum of my bedroom floor creaking and knew that my father had entered. "Here little Hailey," he crooned. "Come out come out wherever you are, oh sweet child of mine."

Then I could hear the song in my head, Sweet child o'mine . . . . The tune contrasted with the terrible fear thumping in my chest. My breathing became heavy, so loud I was sure he could hear. I gasped and slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. There was silence for a moment, and then his face appeared next to mine.

"Gotchya!" he snickered and wrapped a hand around my leg, dragging me from underneath the bed. I screamed and clawed at the floor, grabbed at the underside of my bed frame. By the time he had me from underneath the bed, my fingernails were torn and spilling blood.

"Mommy!" I squealed. 

"Shut up." My father growled as he slapped a hand over my mouth.

My mother appeared in the doorway then. "Hailey!" She rushed forward and tried to wrestle me from my father's grip. He backhanded her, hard, and she slid back several feet. She rushed forward again, and I wriggled away from my father. Mother snatched me up and ran down the hallway, blinded by tears of fear. She shoved the front door open and grabbed the keys. When she darted outside, my hand hit the door frame and I dropped my doll.

"Mommy, my doll!" I cried.

She didn't hear me in her mad rush for the car though. She threw the back door open and strapped me into my car seat in record time. When she got in the driver's seat she was drenched, and my father was running across the lawn. The car shuddered and my mother cursed, turning the key again. The engine finally roared to life. My father's hand was latched around the door handle now, and the tires squealed as my mother backed the car out of the driveway. I saw a flash of my father tumbling down the driveway befo--

A thump on the window startled Cheryl into dropping the notebook. She shut her flashlight off and peered out of the window. Her neighbor was standing there, squinting at her. She sighed, put her flashlight away, grabbed the notebook, and climbed from the car.

"Hey Miss Cheryl, what're you doin' out here this late?"

Cheryl rubbed her arms. "Police business, sorry Dave."

Dave smiled. "That's all right. I'll walk you to your door."

Cheryl nodded in acknowledgement, but didn't stop the awkward rubbing of her arms while they walked to the front door. She paused with her key in the lock and turned to face Dave. "Hey, what were you doing out here anyway?"

"Seen you was sittin' in your car."

Cheryl's lips parted slightly with the effort it took to keep her blush contained. She unlocked her door and pushed it open. "Oh."

Dave put a hand on her arm and looked her straight in the eye. "You take care now, all right?"

"All right."

"G'night, Miss Cheryl."

"Goodnight." Cheryl watched her neighbor walk across the lawn to his porch with a strange tightening in her chest. Her arm felt slightly warm where his hand had been. She shook her head. Get inside!

It was dim in the entry hall to her small two bedroom place, and when she flipped the light on Goliath the cat darted into the hall closet, black and white tail flicking before it disappeared. Cheryl shook her head with a chuckle and kicked her shoes off. She made an appearance in the kitchen, only long enough to slide a TV dinner into the oven, before she slumped into the couch in the living room. A purring Goliath joined her moments later, snuggling his black and white body into the crook in her bent legs.

What had happened to Hailey? Cheryl rubbed the binding of the notebook and squinted hard at it. It wasn't a diary, but it was probably even better. She opened the notebook up and tried to find her place, but the entry ended exactly where she had stopped reading. The last word was "before", and the last letter was blotchy and drawn out as if the girl writing it had been startled.

Why had she stopped writing? Cheryl scanned the page for anything else important, but the only thing she could find was a date: July 4, 2010. Not a diary my ass, she thought. She closed the book again and noticed a name pressed into it. Duncan.

She smiled with satisfaction. Hailey Duncan, I am one step closer to solving what happened that night. I won't let you down.