My chest heaved with my rapid breaths as I shakily screeched, "Paddler! Detective Paddler! O-oh my God I'm gonna throw up. Holy crap. There's-there's something you might wanna see!" Bile was rising in my throat, and as I tried to keep it down, my attempts were futile. I retched. It was as if two hands had reached inside of me and yanked out all of this afternoon's lunch. I coughed and sputtered, struggling to regain what little breath I had before.
"Are you quite finished? Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up, I'll have Detective Britcher take the rose and scan the prints. I know this looks bad hon, but this just means we're one step closer to findin' her," Paddler said in a soothing tone. I nodded weakly and dragged myself inside the station and into the bathroom. Once there, I shut the door, and slid down until I reached the grimy floor.
My mother is not dead.
My mother is not dead.
My mother is not dead.
My mother could be dead.
My mother is not dead.
"Just calm down Scar," I whispered to myself but the emotions were rushing back and forth throughout my body, leaving me caught in a whirlwind of pain, confusion, fear, and sadness. I felt something wet hit my cheeks. Hot tears streamed down like Niagra Falls on my face, and just like that I was crying. I stood up in a stupor and forced myself in front of the mirror. I let the tears blur my vision; I didn't want to see the broken girl looking back at me. Because I knew when I saw her, I'd see mom, and in that moment I hated her. I hated her for letting herself be taken away from me. I hated her for not trying to come home. I hated her.
I took a deep breath.
Shoving all my emotions into the deepest pits of my stomach, I slowly stagger towards the door. I twist on the worn-down doorknob and push. I glance to my right and see my father and Detective Paddler talking in hushed, urgent tones. I start in the opposite direction.
Ignoring their calls, I continue on my way out of the station and onto the main road. Every last thought of the "right" decision that tried to pass through my head hit a wall of despair and crashed. It almost felt good to slip back into familiar habits. Almost.
I started towards the bar.
***
I picked up the miniature glass, brought it to my lips, and let the cool liquid slide down my throat. I welcomed the familiar sting it brought with open arms. Slowly, my mind became foggier as I poured out my heart to the bartender who was stupid enough to let a 17 year old drink.
"...and I don't even know what my dad's problem is. It's like...he's always got some," I swallowed dramatically and made a hand motion, "stick up his butt. 'Don't do this, don't do that.' Well you know what I say to that? Forget you! Yeah that's right! And that, my friend, is called stickin' it to the man." I slurred, blissfully unaware of how much of an idiot I looked like.
"Scarlett Blake you get over here right this instant!" Some angry dude by the door was yelling my name really loud. Oh hey, I think that's dad!
"Oh hey dad! Did ya come to join me? You frequent this place don't you? After all, you are an abusive alcoholic." Something in the back of my mind nagged at me after saying that, but I ignored it.
"You're drunk."
"And you're a horrible father. I like this 'state the obvious' game!"
"You're coming with me right now. We're going home," he seethed.
"Naaahhhh. I kinda like it here with," I hiccuped and squinted, trying to read the bartender's name tag, "Davie? Darcy? Oh! Danny! Yeah I like Danny," a giggle escaped my mouth. I noticed Dad clench his fists.
"Scarlett. I'm not going to tell you again. Get up and come with me. I thought you were done drinking."
"And I," I gestured to myself, "thought you," I pointed dramatically at him, "were done with the whole 'ooh scary I'm clenching my fists I'm gonna hit you now' thing. Guess old habits die hard."
"That's it," he grabbed my wrist, not too gently may I add, and yanked me out of the bar.
"Hey! I was having fun with my new friend Davie! Woops!" I giggled loudly, "I mean Danny! He listens to me. I think I love him." I dreamily added. Pulling my wrist from his grasp, I attempted to re-enter the bar.
"Scarlett! Scarlett get back here! Scarlett!" He yanked on my wrist again and I stumbled around to face him. I opened my mouth to let out a reply, but no words came.
A rough hand that I knew all too well connected with my cheek.
