Blackbird (16 page)

              As they put the key in the lock they were arguing, loudly. But what else was new? Ever since he’d retired they had spent all of their time together, which was proving to be more of a nuisance than a pleasure. They had looked forward to his retirement but had failed to spend any time in preparation for it. His years had been filled with work, hers with children, and it seemed now they were each living with a complete stranger.

              They were so busy arguing that they didn’t notice the broken lamp on the coffee table, or the cracked glass of the sterling silver picture frame their oldest son had given them as an anniversary present. The message light on the phone was blinking and Ye-Gin picked it up, dialing into the voicemail. He was about halfway through the first in a string of messages about his father when from across the room, he noticed his crowbar. It was normally tucked away in the storage closet, but for some reason it was sitting on the kitchen table, and somehow bent in half.

              He hung up the phone without listening to the rest and rubbed his eyes, picking it up in disbelief. He was holding it up, staring wordlessly at it when Hyori walked in, standing next to him to stare as well. The argument they’d been having was suddenly forgotten as they looked at each other, then back to the crowbar, than back to each other again.

              It was two in the morning and both of them, irritated and edgy from lack of sleep and proper food were immediately frightened. Ye-Gin held the deformed crowbar like a weapon now as his wife slid behind him and proceeded to check the house. On this pass through the living room they finally noticed the broken lamp and damaged frame. They looked at each other again and silently continued on.

              Something was definitely off, they both felt it, and as they rounded each corner of each room, bristled with fear a little more. They found nothing until they made their way into the bathroom. After hesitating nervously for a moment they yanked back the shower curtain. Something red stared back at them from the porcelain. It wasn’t a large amount, but it was definitely there. Blood. Turning once again toward the counter they noticed something else. A toothbrush. It was then that they went from simply nervous, to sufficiently horrified.

              If someone was in the house they certainly weren’t upstairs. Everything had been checked in or under and so the only place left to look was the basement. Hyori stayed in the kitchen as Ye-Gin headed for the stairs. At the last second he turned around, pleading with his eyes and gesturing with his hands for her to come with him. She simply shook her head ‘no’ furiously and waved her own hand at him, motioning for him to go on without her. Now he was not only terrified, he was irritated. The stairs creaked as he took them slowly. The quieter he tried to be, the more noise they made. This was something he had never noticed before but if he lived to tell about it the first thing he was going to do was have that fixed. Or move to Florida permanently. This wouldn’t be happening if they were staying in a hotel.

              Something dark caught his eye as he made his way to the bottom. His heart thudded in his chest so furiously that all other sound was distant and muffled. He thought he heard his wife call out to him. If she had he wished she’d shut up, lest risk disturbing whoever or whatever was down there with him.

              Holding his breath he forced himself to look at the dark figure on the floor. Slowly, ever so gently, he reached up and flicked on the overhead light. He couldn’t believe what he saw. A woman was in a sleeping bag, snoring softly like she hadn’t a care in the world. She stirred as if knowing she was being watched and opened her eyes, rubbing them in confusion.

              When she realized what was happening she began screaming. So did he. He raised the mangled crowbar over his head in panic. It was all over in a matter of seconds.

***

              There was no time to formulate a response. No time to even raise her hands over her head. She heard herself scream for a brief second as an angry, frightened Korean man raised the crowbar, or at least what used to be a crowbar, swinging it down and making contact with the top of her head.

              She’d been knocked unconscious and had woken up to the bright florescent light of the QE2 Health Sciences Center, where she was handcuffed to a stretcher with a young police officer standing watch. From there she’d been checked again, told she had a concussion, but not a serious one, and handed over to police who brought her back to the station where she now sat in a cell waiting to be questioned.

              Despite the situation she was in the wings remained absent, mostly she guessed because she didn’t feel threatened at all. In fact, she was quite calm. A good dose of Demerol had seen to that. She hadn’t felt this calm in years.

              She lay down on the small cot in the tiny cell and realized that although it wasn’t much, it was way more comfortable than a sleeping bag on a concrete floor. She lay back and closed her eyes, dozing for what seemed like hours when she was awakened unceremoniously by a cop, who escorted her into a little room where she was then handcuffed to a table.

              With more than a little cynicism in his voice he said, “Are you stable?”

              She didn’t know what he meant by that. Stable? She was certainly wobbly and tired from the drugs. “I have no idea.”

              “You don’t know if you’re crazy or not? If I take those cuffs off you are you gonna jump across the table and attack me?”

              The thought of that made her laugh. Without the wings she was weak as a kitten. She couldn’t attack anyone on her best day, let alone with heavy sedation.

              “I’m not crazy. I’m just sleepy.”

              “It would seem so. You were so sleepy you decided to sleep in the laundry room of a house you didn’t own. Your I.D names you as Chelley Amanda Carrey. Is that right?”

              “If that’s what the plastic says, that’s what it is.”

              “Don’t get smart, Chelley. You’re in a lot of trouble. Is squatting a habit for you?”

              “Define habit.”

              “Are you on drugs of any kind?”

              “Drugs? Jesus Mary and Joseph, why do people keep asking me that?”

              He looked frightened, which Chelle thought was funny. He was at least twice her size and she was tethered at that. She broke into peals of laughter, lowering her head onto her arms and snorting. “Something funny?”

              “You’re funny.”

              “If you don’t smarten up this is going to get very hard, very fast.”

              Chelle snorted again. “That’s what she said.”

              Finally the officer sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere for the time being at least. “Alright Chelley, maybe we’ll just let you sleep off the painkillers before we talk again. Perhaps once you can feel the bump on your head you’ll realize just how much trouble you’re in.”

              Without waiting for a response he left the room. Another, younger officer came in and escorted her back to her little cell where she promptly lay down, falling into a sound sleep. When she awoke some four hours later, still groggy but with a great deal more clarity she realized what had happened. “Ah, shit,” she whispered to herself.

              “Ah, shit indeed,” a voice said from across the room. “We’re going to have that little talk now.”

              “Oh no we’re not. I know my rights. I’m not talking to anyone.” Truth be told she really didn’t know her rights, but she had seen enough one hour cop dramas to know that it was the thing to say in such a situation. She followed it up with the next piece of obligatory dialogue. “I want a lawyer.”

              “Oh you have a lawyer do you? You don’t even have a place to live. How can you possibly have a lawyer?”

              Chelle took him in. He was at least six foot two and quite broad. Despite that he seemed like what her father had always called, ‘a little wiener.’ She decided she was better off keeping that opinion to herself though. “I want to make a phone call.”

              The cop rolled his eyes and begrudgingly let her out of the cell, showing her to a courtesy phone. Although her jacket had been taken away with Robert’s business card in it, she knew the number for Cole’s Bar off by heart. “What time is it?”             

              “It’s two in the afternoon. Hope your lawyer isn’t taking an extra-long lunch today.”

              She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself more than anything in the world, but bit her tongue and dialed the bar. Robert always answered the phone in the office when he was there. She bit her lip and prayed. He answered on the third ring. “Cole’s Bar.”

              “Robert?”

              “This is Robert Cole.”

              “Robert, this is Chelle.”

              “Chelle,” she heard the smile in his voice. Hopefully it would still be there when she was finished telling him what was happening. “I hope you’re not calling in sick on your first day. That’s no way to make an impression.”

              She took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I need your help.” It was taking everything she had not to choke on the words. She never asked for help. Ever.

              The playfulness in his tone was indeed gone. “Chelle? What’s wrong?”

              “I didn’t know who else to call.” She heard the tears in her voice and quashed them down, intending to go on but stopping short.

              “It’s ok. Tell me what’s happened.”

              “I’m at the police station. I’ve been arrested.”

              “I’m coming.”

Chapter Seventeen

              It occurred to Robert as he made his way downtown that he hadn’t even bothered to ask Chelle what she’d been arrested for. It could have been anything. He barely knew this woman and could have been heading to the police station to bail a murderer out of jail. She certainly didn’t seem the type, but then again, neither had Ted Bundy. He shook the thoughts out of his mind as he drove trying to focus on the road. Simply darting from his office had been short sighted. It was the middle of winter and he hadn’t even grabbed his coat. He was freezing.

              He parked at the station and locked his car, shivering as he bounded up the stairs as fast as he could. With the exception of his mother yesterday he couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt such an intense need to rescue someone. Her phone call had pushed everyone and everything else in his mind directly to the back burner, and he would be happy to let them stay there until he could get to her and straighten this out. Whatever was wrong, no matter what it was, he had already decided he was going to fix it.

              Behind a sort of Plexiglas cage an officer sat, the soft tippity tap of keys coming from inside. Robert stood there for a moment but the portly little man didn’t even look up. “I’m here for Chelle Carrey,” he said.

              “Have a seat.”

              Have a seat? How could he possibly have a seat when he felt like he was going to crawl right out of his skin? He needed to see her…
now.
He did attempt to sit, but only for a moment before he stood again, beginning to pace. Five minutes passed. She was back there somewhere waiting for him, he could feel it. He wanted her to know he was here. That he had come for her and he rubbed his hand against his throat, stifling the need to yell out and tell her so. He was about to ask the officer at the desk, who was still typing, how much longer it would be, or if they had let her know he was here at all. Just then another officer came through a set of double doors and into the waiting area.

              “Excuse me,” he said, physically stopping him from passing straight on through by standing directly in front of him. “I’m here for Chelle Carrey.”

              “Oh, the squatter. Friend of yours?”

              “Yes, she is. Can I see her?”

              “If you want to pay her bail.”

              “Yes,” he was practically shouting. “I very much want to pay her bail.”

              The officer stopped for a moment, giving him a queer look. Robert realized he may have been acting just a little too overenthusiastic. “Ok, buddy. We’ll get you fixed up. Just have a seat and we’ll get everything together.”

              Robert once again sat down, and once again jumped right back up. He paced. He ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his arms in a fit of anxiety.
Squatter
they had said. Somehow between the time he’d dropped her off and today she’d been caught. Guilt flooded his system and he cursed at himself. He hoped he hadn’t been the cause. She was most definitely guilty of it, but from what he had seen, really wasn’t a criminal at all. The Gwoks had plenty of things she could have taken, but the house had been in order. Nothing touched. When she said she didn’t use or take things that didn’t belong to her unless she had to, he believed her.

              The officer made a phone call and Robert decided to make a phone call of his own. Two hours passed before paperwork was filled out, money changed hands and then they brought her to him. She looked tired, disheveled and worse, dejected. The officer turned to her and said, “See you in court Miss. Carrey. The doctor said for you to get checked out in a couple of days too or go back if you feel dizzy or black out.” She nodded without a verbal response and then looked to Robert, looking away almost immediately.