Mary's Bones

TWELVE

Pain etched into my bones as my side molded into the chair. Chaos reigned havoc throughout the station. Between the overbearing stench of brewed coffee and the overwhelming number of voices talking at once, I could hardly hear myself think. Then, there was the ringing that echoed from the busy phone lines at a few of the officer's desks. I had been in and out of the police station so much that the noises became tolerable after a while.

My eyes stalked John around his office as he struggled to gather what little paperwork he had scattered around his desk. Somehow, I got here twenty minutes after his call, and he was still barely finished. I rolled my eyes, scoffing under my breath.

"Is that attitude I hear, missy?" he asked playfully.

I blew a curl out of my face, stretching my arms. "Yes, actually. Rosemary and I aren't very happy with our predicament right now."

At the mention of Rosemary, a flip switched in John's demeanor. "Are you okay? Is Rosemary okay?"

"Yes, John. I was kidding." I laughed. "But seriously, these chairs are not doing any good for my back."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm trying to move as fast as I can. There's always something last minute." He sighed apologetically.

"It's okay." I hummed in reply. "We'll just finish off your donuts until you're done."

"Of course," he muttered with a roll of his eyes. But the playful smile never left his face.

I giggled and slid down in the chair, stuffing his last donut in my mouth. The sweet taste from the pink strawberry icing and sprinkles livened my taste buds. I relished in the few seconds of goodness before something outside his office, in the station lounge, caught my attention.

My ears perked at the mention of Helena's name. I straightened and turned, straining my eyes on John's office window. The window provided an open view into the rest of the station so I could see all the chaos firsthand. A loud, raunchy voice shouted Helena's name through the glass.

It hadn't taken me long to figure out the noises were coming from a woman. She was hunched over one of the officer's desks near the entrance. I couldn't tell whether she was crying, laughing, or moaning in pain. She was probably doing all three. A nest of curly brown hair, similar to mine, rested on top of her head in an unkempt bun.

Something felt off about her. Perhaps, it was the dazed expression that haunted her face. She hadn't sounded like she had taken any sort of drugs. However, her face said otherwise. My eyes then found a cuff of silver connecting her wrist to the edge of the desk. Why was she handcuffed to the desk? Maybe she wasn't too well in the head.

I frowned, watching the scene unravel. Her noises transitioned into hiccups, then ugly sobs. And Helena's name continued to slip out of her mouth. This time, louder.

"Don't mind her. She's drunk," John whispered in my ear. I jumped and placed a hand to my chest, ignoring my wildly thumping heart.

When I had calmed down, I asked, "She's drunk? So, why is she here? Is she in trouble?"

He shook his head. "Not necessarily. She's been here for an hour. She was dragged out of a local bar after getting into a fist fight with one of the other customers. We're waiting for someone to pick her up. They should've been here over ten minutes ago," he informed.

I nodded cautiously. "She keeps saying Helena. Is she—" I hadn't been given a chance to finish my sentence.

"Helena Byers mother? Yeah, she is," he answered. Hearing that, I shut my mouth, though my eyes never left her.