Below are just a few of the 6000+ words I wrote during my writing ‘marathon’ on late January. I thought you might like a little teaser…And if you’re not already on my email list, please join by opting in at the top right!
Aaron wasn’t sure what good his presence was. He sat in Cheryl’s home, in her living room, and listened as the police officers recounted the details of her suicide.
She had overdosed on pills and pot.
The irony was not lost on him, and he felt physically ill.
There was apparently a note, but he wasn’t privy to the contents.
Cheryl’s mom, June, sat in a chair in the corner and cried intermittently. Cheryl’s younger brother (only 17 years old, he learned) sat in stony silence, as if he were numb. Which he probably was.
Only part of him registered the scene, as if from a distance. Robert took charge, of course, extracting each person’s experience of the night before and that morning. Aaron recognized that he was trying to tie them together, to get a complete picture of what had gone so wrong.
Why a young woman was dead.
Robert turned to June last. “Mrs. Young,” he said. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen yesterday or even the day before?”
Mrs. Young shook her head. “She went to work, she walked the dog, she watched TV…”
“Any change in her routine?” Robert said. “Any upsets with her friends?”
“Friends?” June’s brow furrowed in concentration. “There was one thing. Unusual, I guess you’d say…an Army friend came to visit with her.”
Aaron felt Scott stiffen beside him.
“I thought it was odd it wasn’t one of you,” June continued. “But she still has friends in the Army and it’s her business who she associates with…”
“June.” It was unlike Scott to interrupt, and it set Aaron’s nerves on edge. “Do you remember the soldier’s name?”
She shook her head. “I’m not good with names,” she said, “and you all look alike to me, especially with those camouflage things you wear.”
Robert pulled a file folder from his briefcase and extracted a photo. “Mrs. Young, is this the man who was here?”
She took the picture with shaky hands, and dabbed her eyes with a tissue for the hundredth time. “The clothes are different,” she said, “but this certainly looks like him.”
Aaron saw Robert take the photo from her as if in slow motion. Somehow, he knew. He knew before Robert tilted the photo unobtrusively toward them.
Jared’s head shot.