Entry #516358, added on 06-20-07 @ 6:24 pm EDT
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| Chapter Thirteen | Entry #516358 |
I slam on my breaks a few houses away from my own when I spot a car in my driveway. It's a black compact car. For a second, I contemplate turning around, going anywhere else. But where would I go? I have no one to turn to.
I drive slowly up to my house and cut the engine. What will be waiting for me inside this time? More scientists? Doctors, perhaps? But I wasn't prepared for who greeted me inside.
"Hello," the handsome man says to me. "I'm Detective MacFadyen, FBI."
"FBI?" I echo, incredulously.
"Bethany." My mother stands behind the man, who had risen from the couch when I entered. "Please join us."
I stare at my mother in disbelief. How can she trust anyone after what's happened to her? If a doctor could be on their side, why couldn't the FBI? But then, to her, their side only consisted of Eric. And in her mind, he was gone forever.
"I have a few questions," the man says. I want to believe that he is too attractive to be a bad guy. He's in his early thirties, with great skin and perfect hair.
I look at him, then decide that I have no choice in the matter. I sit down on the loveseat next to my mother.
"Ma'am," he says, speaking to my mother. "I wonder if you'd let me speak to your daughter alone about the incident."
My mother smiles widely at him. "Of course, Detective. Take your time." She doesn't even glance at me before marching out of the room, leaving me to stare at this strange man.
"What do you want?" I ask, trying to leave the menacing tone out of my voice.
"I want to know what happened two nights ago." He's being patient with me, but I can tell that he's already tired of dealing with this case. He has more important things to do. It shows in the way he fiddles with his watch runs his fingers through his hair.
"Nothing happened," I answer.
"Miss James," he says, obviously holding back "I don't have time for this."
"Why are you here, anyway?" I demand. "Why does the FBI care about what goes on here?"
"I work in the domestic bureau."
"And?"
He looks furious by this point, and I hold back a laugh. This man does not work for the scientists. There's something about the way his jaw tightens and his eyes look innocent. No, this man is not a dirty cop. Yet I still have no intention of reveiling anything to him.
"Miss James, why are you being difficult?"
"What is there to know?" I ask him. "We had a bit of bad food. My mother and her boyfriend got a bad case of food poisoning."
"And how did your mother's boyfriend end up unconscious, with a bump the size of a golf ball on his head?"
"His food poisoning was worse. A wave hit him and he fell. Hit his head."
He sighs and looks down at an open pad in his hand. "Your mother seems to think it was on purpose. She says it was her boyfriend's doing."
"My mother is paranoid. She thinks it rains on purpose. Why would Eric poison her and himself?" I stare blankly at him, waiting for an answer. I'm proud of myself for keeping my voice emotionless. "Sir, there is no domestic issue here, just a misunderstanding."
He doesn't believe me, I can tell.
"And tell me," he says, and it's obvious that his suspision has shifted to me. "Why weren't you hit by this sudden wave of food poisoning?"
I look him in the eye with a dead stare. "Wren and I weren't very hungry that night."
He had been shifting uncomfortably under my gaze, but when I say this, he freezes. "There was someone else here that night?"
Crap. Of course he wouldn't have known about Wren, and now you brought him into it. Good job. "My friend, Wren, was here, having dinner with us."
"And he left before this whole thing happened?"
"Yes, but he came back to help me when I found my mother had passed out."
"Where were you when she passed out?"
"What does it matter?"
"Miss James." I want to make him loose his temper. Maybe then he'll understand how angry I am that he's here, digging into my business, when he should be out helping little kids in abusive homes. Then again, maybe that's what he thinks I am - a teenager in an abusive home who won't tell anyone what's going on.
The detective takes a deep breath and starts again. "Miss James, will you please just answer the question."
"I was on the porch, speaking to Wren before he left."
He nods. "Can you tell me Wren's full name?"
"Wren Stoner," I say through gritted teeth.
His brow crinkles. "Why does that name sound familiar?" He looks toward the ceiling, contemplating it, then abruptly gives a snap. "As in Miss Jean Caroline's nephew?"
What is the matter with this man? How does he know someone like Wren's aunt? I decide I don't want to know. "The one and only," I reply.
He closes his writing pad and puts it in his jacket pocket. "Thank you for your help, Miss James." My mother has walked back into the living room and he nods at her once before telling her that he'll let himself out.
Once he's gone, my mother turns to me. She's not the happy person she was when I walked into the house just minutes earlier. "Why did you lie to that man?" she asks.
"I didn't lie." My voice is flat and cold.
"Bethany!" she shouts. "Why did you lie to him?"
I turn my body toward her. "Because what good would it do to tell him the truth?"
"They could put Eric in jail for what he did."
"Yeah? And what about Wren?"
Her face is the picture of surprise. "Is that all you care about?"
I drop my head in my hands. "He saved my life, mom. No, he's not all I care about, but I don't want him to get in trouble." I lift my head to look at her. "It's only self-defense if Eric was attacking Wren, and he wasn't. He was attacking me."
I stand and walk over to my mother. "Mom, Eric doesn't matter anymore, ok? He's not going to hurt anyone else."
My mother looks disgusted with me. "How can you know that?"
I don't answer her. Instead, I walk to the stairs and climb them to my bedroom. When the door is shut, I hurry to the window and watch as the FBI agent disappears into Wren's house.
I want to leave the house. I've been sitting in my room for the last four hours, and I'm not sure that I can stand it anymore. It's been almost three days since I last saw Wren. My mother is still upset, sleeping away the time that she didn't spend at the nursery.
To top it all off, it's been unnervingly quiet. I haven't been chased by any scientists or choked by someone I once trusted. Yet, at least.
Before I can think about it, I'm rushing out the door, calling to mom that I'll be back later. I'm just going to the grocery store for some food. My mom hasn't exactly felt like cooking lately. I jump in my car and head for the nearest Wal-Mart.
This time, I don't look around for people. Maybe I should have.
I'm walking through the frozen dinners when I see her. She is standing behind one of the glass doors of the freezers in the ice cream section. The mist on the glass distorts her salt and pepper bun and her form-fitting jeans, but I still recognize her.
I turn on my heel and try to get away as fast as I can, but before I reach the end of the isle, I hear the freezer door slam closed.
"Miss Bethany James!"
I freeze in place and let out a barely audible groan before turning to face Miss Caroline. "Hi, MIss Caroline. Any news from Wren?"
Miss Caroline stomps toward me until she's barely a foot away. "Miss Bethany James, would you like to tell me why a man with the FBI showed up on my doorstep two days ago looking for my nephew?"
I wish I could lie to her, I really do. Like would be much easier if I was dishonest. Yes, I could lie to an FBI agent to keep Wren out of trouble, but lying to his aunt is a whole different scenario. I just had to figure out a way to tell her half the truth.
"Yes, ma'am," I answer. "They came to my house too."
She taps the toe of her shoe very insistantly on the floor. "And? What do they want?"
I meet her eyes and realize, only after a few seconds of blinking, that they do not in fact have large flames in them, but are actually a very serene shade of green. Only their expression is rather heartless.
"They came to get our side of a story that they have all wrong."
Now, I'm certain that I'm not imagining the flames. "And what would that be, exactly?"
I shake head. "I'm afraid you may have to ask Wren on this one," I tell her, before turning once again and quickly rushing to the end of the isle. I walk as quickly as I can to the check-out counter and manage to get away before she can catch me again.
Wren is going to get a nasty surprise if he ever shows up again. |
© Copyright 2007 GryffindorGurl (UN: magicfreak11 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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