And I decide I really like it.
Chapter 38
They sayit’s best to learn to accept the things you can’t control. To conform your mind to all that surrounds you. Be thankful for those things you can control, and let the rest of the pieces fall where they may.
I say, fuck that.
At least that’s the eloquent motto I woke up to this morning, when I opened my eyes to an empty bed, a cold room, and an absent heartbeat; not just faint, but absent. After the initial shock wore off, I was able to hold a trembling hand to my chest long enough to figure out that my heartwas, in fact, still beating. However, only every ten seconds or so. Per Google—yes, I looked it up—that means a whopping twenty beats, give or take, during each interval are missing.
Gone.
Now, as I stand in place on the sidewalk, twisting my mood ring in the hope some comfort will magically rub off on me, I think back to Grams. She always said there’s a die-hard fighter in all of us, ready to be awoken the moment you need it most. My question is: how do you summon said fighter? There should be some sort of code word, right? Seeing as my life’s hourglass is down to the last few grains of sand, I’d really prefer the fierce version of myself to the scared one right now.
I take a deep breath and stare hard at the bland, unassuming view before me.
This is silly. They’re just doors, I remind myself. Two white columns located on either side, old red bricks forming the walls around them. Of course, that hugeAshwick Police Stationsign hanging above my head does add a slight edge to my nerves. There might be no relation to the man anyway, so I need to get this over with already. Without another thought, I grab the handle and yank the door open.
It’s a small, quiet office, just as I expected for a town like this. There aren’t many people here, but several personnel work away at their desks, another lingers around the coffee machine. All eyes turn to me when I enter, though, and I get the impression they don’t receive many visitors.
I take the few, short steps to the front desk, where a heavyset woman with greying hair smiles kindly from below a pair of reading glasses.
“Well, hello,” she greets, shuffling through a stack of envelopes. “How may we help you?”
“Hi.” I glance around before scooting closer so I can lower my voice. “I have sort of an unusual question, actually.”
“Not to worry, we get our fair share of those here,” she says with a laugh. “Go ahead, hun.”
“Um, is there a Wayne Mulligan still working here, by chance?”
“Oh lord, has it been awhile since I’ve heard that name.” The woman removes her glasses and shakes her head, inspecting me closer. “You need him in particular, or just looking for whomever now holds the Chief of Police position?”
“Him, specifically.”
“Hmm. I’m afraid that’s going to be a bit on the tricky side of things, seeing as he’s now six feet under and all.” She chuckles awkwardly but seems to notice the way my face falls because she immediately quiets, straightening out her top. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I just meant that, well, he’s no longer with us.”
“Can you tell me how long ago he passed?”
“It’s gotta be, what, seventeen years now? He was near seventy when he got hit by that last heart attack.”
Near seventy. That would have put him around Grams’s age at the time. I chew the inside of my cheek, that feeling in my gut deepening. “Did he have any family? Anyone I can speak to briefly just to ask a few questions?”
“Oh, well he did at one time, but, um . . .” The woman stops, clears her throat, then tosses a glance over her shoulder. “Hey, Pete!” She looks back at me and offers an apologetic smile. “One second, dear. Pete! You there?”
“Yeah, yeah, what is it?” A balding, uniformed man with a thinning mustache steps out from one of the back offices. His eyes dart from the woman to me, and he quirks an eyebrow as he approaches us. “Can I help you?”
“This nice young lady has a few questions about Wayne Mulligan,” the woman explains. “Thought maybe you’d be the best one to help her, seeing as how you were with him the most toward the end there.”
The officer nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, all right.” He extends a hand toward me. “Deputy Mark Tallon.”
“Lou Adaire. Nice to meet you.”
“You as well.” He releases his grip and gestures behind him, toward his office. “Why don’t you follow me?”
After thanking the woman for her help, I follow Deputy Tallon inside a small room, where he closes the door and sits behind his desk. I take a seat across from him, trying to figure out how to even begin.
“So, how did you know Mulligan?” he asks, leaning back against his seat and taking a long sip of coffee.
I bite my lip. “Well, I didn’t exactly know him.” Deputy Tallon furrows his eyebrows, and I shake my head at the ridiculousness of this whole situation. “The thing is, I’m actually trying to figure out if maybe I’m related to him somehow?”
