Shattered (5 page)

Then as I’m finishing my cereal, I remember something Mom said yesterday. She wanted to fix a big breakfast for Lola’s family this morning. And it’s not like her to forget something like that. Why didn’t she at least come into my room to wake me up? Or even if she thought I was spending the night at Lola’s, she surely would’ve called to see if we were coming over for breakfast. Wouldn’t she at least call my cell phone?

Naturally that reminds me of my dead phone battery. So I head back to my room to recharge it and have barely plugged it into the outlet when the doorbell rings. For some reason, which makes no sense, I’m thinking that must be Mom—like maybe she forgot her key, which is ridiculous since my mom never forgets anything. Except that it seems she forgot her promise to fix us all breakfast this morning. So who knows?

But when I open the door wide, instead of my mom I see two uniformed policemen. State policemen. I just stare at them. What are they doing here? Do they think I called 911? Or did I do something wrong? Well, besides lying to my mom about last night’s concert, which I’m sure isn’t considered breaking the law or a punishable crime.

“Is this the home of Karen Neilson?” the taller policeman says in a serious tone.

I nod. There’s a strange uneasiness in the pit of my stomach.

“Are you a relative of Karen Neilson?”

“She’s my—my mom,” I stammer. “Is something wrong?”

“Is your father at home?”

“No. He’s away on—on a business trip.” I look from one solemn face to the other as they introduce themselves in a way that suggests I should pay attention, but their names go right over my head.

“What’s going on?
Where’s my mom?
Is she okay? Was there a car accident?” My heart is pounding so hard that I can feel it thumping in my ears. I know something isn’t right.
“Where is she?
”

“May we come inside?”

I step back now, moving away from the front door, and somehow I lead the two policemen into the living room. But my legs feel shaky, and when one of them eases me down to the couch, I don’t resist. “What’s wrong?” I ask in a voice that sounds small and weak. “Where’s my mom?”

“There’s no easy way to say this,” the shorter man tells me. “Your mother has been the victim of a murder and—”

“The victim?” I interrupt him. “What do you mean? Is she in the hospital?”

He shakes his head. “No, she didn’t survive the—”

“What are you saying?
” I stand. “What do you
mean?”

The tall cop helps me to sit down again, and then they take turns telling me about how my mother was in the wrong place at the wrong time, how there have been “a string of drug-related crimes... a series of senseless murders in this particular neighborhood... carjacking, theft...” But their words are disjointed, floating over me—all I can think is that
this is a big mistake.

“Who
did you say was murdered? Are you sure it’s
my
mother? I really don’t think it could be my mother. I mean, my mother is a very careful person. She would never go anywhere dangerous. And besides she came home last night and—”

“Is your mother here?” the short policeman asks.

“Well, I can’t find her,” I admit with a shaking voice. “But I know she was here. She must’ve left on an errand this morning. So I’m sure you’ve got it all wrong.”

“This is the right address, the right name on her ID,” the short guy explains. “We found it in her purse.”

“Her purse?” I swallow hard, looking from one man to the other. “You have my mom’s purse?”

The tall officer gets up. He takes out his phone and heads back toward the door. Maybe he’s going to check his facts better. Perhaps he’s really got some other woman’s purse. And really, policemen shouldn’t go around upsetting people with false information like this.

“Because I know my mom,” I say urgently. “She is the last person in the world who could be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She is a very cautious woman. You have it all wrong. You’ve made a mistake.” I stand now, like I want to see these guys out the door. Let them go to someone else’s house and tell someone else her mother has been murdered, because I know it couldn’t happen to my mom.

The short policeman looks slightly bewildered. “I know this is hard to hear, Miss Neilson. But I assure you that—”

“How do you know what you’re talking about? You don’t even know my mom. This has to be a mistake. Maybe someone stole my mom’s purse and her ID, and she’s—”

“The victim matched the ID. Of course, we’ll need a positive identification from a friend or family member. When will your father be home?”

“My dad! I need to call him right now. He’ll make you understand this is a mistake.” I hurry to the phone, dialing his cell phone number with trembling hands. Feeling shaken and slightly numb, I wait to hear his voice.

“Dad!
” I cry shrilly into the phone.

“Cleo? What’s wrong?”

“You have to talk to these men—”

“What men?
What are you talking about?”

“These
policemen
, Dad. They’re in our house and—”

“Why are they in our house?
What is going on?
Where’s your mom, Cleo? What’s—?”

“That’s just it—they’re saying—they’re saying—” And I break into sobs. “They’re saying it’s
Mom
and that—that she’s been
murdered)”

“What?
What are you talking about?
What is—?
”

“I—I don’t know, Daddy. I—I think they—they got it wrong. It must be wrong...” I fall apart now, sobbing so hard I can’t speak. The short policeman takes the phone from me, and I collapse onto the couch mumbling, “You got it wrong... It’s wrong... all wrong... I know you’re wrong.” But even as I repeat these words over and over, as if saying them makes it so, I have this horrible, ugly, unbearable feeling deep inside that what they are saying is really true.

My mother is dead.

A
ns a woman named Marsha talks to me, I feel like I’m not really here. I’m sitting on the couch in my living room, but it’s like I’m not. She’s been talking to me about grief, but I feel like she’s speaking to someone else.

“Do you have a relative or friend?” she asks with a worried brow.

“Huh?” I stare blankly at her. Is her hair real? Is it as stiff as it looks... a bad case of helmet hair... a strange shade of blonde... kind of greenish yellow... or maybe it’s just me.

“A grandparent? Or an aunt? A neighbor?”

“Why... ?” I squint at the sunshine coming through the blinds. Mom usually tips them up by this time of the day. She worries that the direct light will bleach the dark green couch.

“Someone you can stay with,” Marsha explains. “A friend perhaps?”

“My best friend moved away today,” I say in a flat voice that doesn’t even sound like me. “And now they tell me my mom is dead.” I begin to cry again. My head hurts from so much crying, my throat feels raw and sore, and my eyes burn. I want to sleep for a long time... and wake up from this nightmare later.

“Officer Lake told me your father should be home sometime before midnight. Do you think you’ll be okay until then?”

I just look at her. Doesn’t she get it? I will never be okay again...
ever.

“
Or I can arrange for someone to come over and stay with you until then. We have volunteers who are happy to step in and help.”

I turn away from this woman with weird hair. I want her to leave. I don’t want her strangers coming into my house.

“I know this is very hard for you, Cleo. And I really don’t want to leave you alone like this. Are you sure you don’t want to come to the—”

“I don’t want to
go
anywhere,” I say for what feels like the tenth time. “I want to stay here. And I’m not a child. I do not need a babysitter.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. But you are very upset. And it’s understandable. I really hate to leave you alone like this.”

“Please, go.” I try to force some life back into my voice. “Really, I will be okay. I just need to deal with this in my own way.
Please?

“
Well...” She stands and shakes her head. “You do have my card. I hope you will call me if you need anything. If not today, perhaps tomorrow or next week.”

“Yes.” I stand too. “I’ll do that.”

She looks at me as if she knows I’m lying. But then she picks up her purse or briefcase or whatever it is and leaves. And now I am alone. Really alone.

She’s barely driven away when the phone rings again. It’s been ringing like this about every five minutes. And instead of picking it up, I just let it go to the answering machine. This time it’s Dad’s golfing friend.

“Hugh, this is Glen. I just heard something terrible on the news. Was it really true? Is that Karen Neilson your wife? I sure hope not. But call me, man, tell me what’s up. And remember I’m here for you, buddy.”

I turn the volume way down on the answering machine, then head for my room, which still looks trashed from last night—dried-up salsa, tortilla crumbs on the rug, soda cans, unmade beds. But I turn off the light, close the drapes, step over the trundle, climb into bed, pull up the covers, and take in a jagged breath. My head is still throbbing, pulsating behind my eyes, ringing in my ears. I close my eyes and begin counting backward from a thousand.

When I wake up, it’s to the sound of my cell phone ringing, and for a moment I forget... and then I imagine I’ve been having a bad dream. But then I answer my phone, and I can hear it in my dad’s voice. This is real.

“Are you okay?” he asks with so much concern that I know I’m going to start crying again.

“I... I don’t know.”

“I’m in shock too, Cleo. But I’m about to board the plane. I just wanted you to know.”

“Yeah...”

“I have a connection in Chicago with a three-hour layover. I’ll get it changed if I can. Otherwise it’ll be after eleven by the time I get to the airport. And I’ll just get a taxi to bring me home.”

“I could pick you up.”

“No, I don’t want you driving into the city at that hour. Not after what... well, you know.” “Yeah. Okay.”

“I wish I was there for you, Cleo. I just can’t believe this...

It feels like a nightmare.” “I know. I keep wishing I’d wake up.”

“I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

“Hang in there.”

“You—you too.” My voice cracks. “I’m coming home.”

“I know.” Then we both say I love you again and hang up. I’ve never been really close to my dad. I know he loves me—and I love him—but he’s always traveled so much with his work, and Mom was always the one there for me. I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone and trying to make sense of this madness, lining up the facts as if they are numbers. Numbers that should all add up.

My mother is dead.

She was murdered by strangulation.

Her body was spotted early this morning by a jogger who immediately called 911.

Several hours later, detectives found her purse, minus credit cards and cash, in the bushes nearby.

Her car, now reported stolen, is still missing.

Estimated time of death is between ten and midnight last night.

But it’s the location of this incident that made me so sick to my stomach that I vomited several times already.

My mother’s body was discovered in Riverside Park, a strip of greenway that borders the river running through the city,
right next to the Coliseum.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess what my mother was doing there last night. Still I need to know. I push the key to access my voice mail; afraid to breathe, I listen to the female electronic voice telling me,
“You have four new messages
—” Before she can finish her sentence, I push the key to listen to my messages. The first one is recorded at 7:49 p.m. Friday. It’s from my mom, but I clench my teeth as I hear her speaking—she sounds very upset.

“Cleo!
” Mom’s voice is tight but controlled. “I
just spoke to Vera and she informed me that you and Lola have gone to the concert! She thought you took Dad’s car, which you know you were forbidden to do. I’m leaving Trina’s party right this minute. I am getting into my car and going home. If you get this message, I expect you to do the same.”

The next message is also from my mother, about an hour later, but she’s still agitated.
“Cleo, while I am slightly relieved to see that you did
not
take yourfather’s car, I am extremely concerned as to where you and Lola are right now. Vera maintains that you are at the concert, and her guess is that you took the metro to get there. I cannot even imagine you would do something so foolish, but she seems quite sure of it. So I am going to drive to the city and go directly to the Coliseum. It’s not quite nine yet, so I expect to get there before ten. I will call you as soon as I arrive so we can plan to meet and I can drive you girls home. I am so disappointed in you, Cleo. I cannot believe you did something so thoughtless. And I can’t believe you did it behind my back.
Call me!”