Memories Of A Witness

Chapter Five

"Miss Maxwell? I'm Detective Tina Windsor, and this is my partner, Detective Dennis Harrington."

She didn't look up when they talked. Megan stared at the slim digital tape recorder on the table between them. She was at the small redbrick house of the brother of her father, whom she had obviously never seen before.  When she was brought here, a group of family and friends had already congregated here after hearing the news. They were grieving and consoling one another.

"I understand your pain and I'm very sorry for the loss of your father, Miss Maxwell. But I need you to answer some..."

Her words failed to come to her, just like every other condolences that had been sent to her.

She kept replaying his bloody corpse in her head, even though she didn't want to. Because every time she thought of it, it robbed a part of her. Tears stroke down her face, her lips trembling. Everything felt so surreal as if it was a dream. Maybe it was a dream.

"Are you ready?"

Megan looked up.

Detective Tina had a long boney face with a rose colored tint on her cheeks. Her curly blonde hair was tucked behind her ears. Her eyes were filled with concern and empathy as her delicate lips smiled faintly at her.

She nodded.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

She wiped her tears away. "It was around 9 o'clock. Before I go to bed he always checks on me,"she said. Salty drops fell from her chin and she tried to stay as composed as she could. "But—But he didn't come. So I went to him, and..." she trailed off and sobbed even more, only interrupted by her need to draw breath.

The chaos of the scene popped up in her head again. She had screamed, ragged and harsh. She  buckled onto the ground and she remembered that her whole body had trembled uncontrollably. Megan wanted to get up and run away but she couldn't. She was horror-struck and stared at his corpse. It felt like eternity. Until I seemed to hear footsteps, the susurration of her death. She had jammed her fist into her mouth to stifle the scream. Silence. No footsteps, nothing. She was imagining things. Fear engulfed her conscience, knocking all other thoughts aside. Her legs were frozen into place, so she crouched into a crawl and dragged herself towards her room, gasping and choking. She was biting her tongue, trying to avoid making any sounds. Maybe he was still here. She thought she could feel his presence behind her. She looked carefully behind her and there was nothing.

"You went to him and what? What did you see?" a voice asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.

"He was lying on his stomach," Megan said. "I couldn't see his face, but I knew it was him. Blood was coming out of his neck and his head."

"What did you do after witnessing the incident?" 

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, shaking off the fear she was feeling yesterday. "I ran to my room, locked it and called the police."

"Did you tell anyone else about the incident?"

She shook her head.

"Did anyone else see it happen?"

She wagged her side to side. "My dad was very protective over me. He never let people visit me," she stuttered. She narrowed her puffy eyes. "But he allowed a friend to visit me two days ago. Her name is Candice."

"Do you know her last name?" asked a deeper voice. It was Detective Dennis.

"No,  I have her number though." She shakily brought out the small, old device from her pocket and reluctantly gave it to them.

The overwhelming obstreperous emotions came back again. Now she breathed heavier and louder than she ever had before.

"What did you two do then?"

Megan explained everything to them. She elucidated from her drinking to the bizarre call she had received from her yesterday. It took a long time for her to finish, because her weeping had hindered her to speak. Nevertheless, the detectives were very patient and understanding. But they remained undeterred and asked many other questions and she set forth her responds.

"What is your father like?"

"He's... quiet. He doesn't speak a lot. Well, we used to speak a lot, but not anymore."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I have no idea at all," she whispered.

"You lost your mother and your memory ten months ago. Were you able to recover some of your memories?" asked the guy.

This time she took--through her blurry eyes-- a closer look at him  and suddenly remembered him. He was the Detective who interrogated her after she had woken up. He was tall, muscular like her dad, and his dark hair shadowed his stern expression. His face was devoid of any compassion or kindness.

"No, I don't," she said and looked at the wet handkerchief in her hand.

"OK, thank you, Megan. I think we're done here and I really appreciate how cooperative you were despite your sudden loss. Some people like you would lock themselves up in their room and not say a single word."

"Wait! Will you catch him, Detective Tina?"

She smiled at me. "Yes, we will."

The police finished with their inquisition and headed to the kitchen, where her uncle, Josh and his wife, Bel were waiting.

Megan sat immobile for a few minutes, wiped the new tears away with the handkerchief and went to the guest room. Her new temporary cocoon. The room was stuffy, dirty and bleak. She opened the door, closed it and collapse onto the rough canvas mattress. The rusty roller-blinds barely let any light through, and she was grateful for that.

With nothing to stop her, she let the shear of grievance completely take over her.