I will survive

Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

After that little announcement, Cole pushed me around the rink a few times, then we went home. He looked like he was in pain, but I made no inquiries. He'd tell me if he wanted to.

After dinner, it was awkward between us. I hadn't eaten again and Cole wasn't talking to me. I was starting to think I'd said something, but what had I said to hurt him that much?

Neither of us confronted the problem at hand, leaving is hanging in the air between us accompanied by a hope that the other would deal with it first.

The next morning was possibly even worse, and I was really getting worried.

The silence that hung in the air as I got ready for the police was crushing. Cathy had given me the silent treatment loads if times, but this felt different, and I had no idea how to take it gracefully.

As promised, a police officer was at our door at 11:30, and I must say, I'm impressed. Being punctual with the amount of snow there was is no easy accomplishment.

I was happy that the officer was chatty – I'd had enough of silence. I just had to make the occasional sound of agreement, and the lad would rattle on. His chattering made nice background noise.

But my thoughts were elsewhere. I was starting to consider that Cole wasn't happy with my decision to keep the possible baby. But somehow the thought of an abortion has become horrifying. And anyway, why would Cole even prefer me to accept an abortion? And why are we even worrying about this? I don't even know whether or not I'm pregnant. I hope not, but if I am, I'm keeping the baby. After seeing the child and mother yesterday, I can't kill my own baby.

Ugh, stop over-thinking everything! Just talk to Cole when you get back!

“Okay, it was nice meeting you Miss Walker. Just walk right into the building. The receptionist will be able to help you out. I'm actually on duty, so I should start cruising the streets.”

I almost made another consenting noise out of habit, but caught myself at the last moment and said, “Nice to meet you too sir.” Good think I can remember names – it's called sarcasm, in case you're wondering.

I walked into the station and asked the receptionist, “Um, I'm Melody Walker, and I'm here for an interview. Where – what do I need to do?”

“Hang on…” and the woman flicked through loads of files, consulted the computer, then continued, “You need to go – actually, I'll call Agent James. He'll come an pick you up.”

“Okay, thanks.” Trainee? Where's the supervisour?”

As promised, a man soon appeared and introduced himself as Agent James. We exchanged pleasantries and he led me to what I think is an interview-room. I should start watching crime shows.

“So, we're going to have this recorder running for insurance reasons. I'm going to ask you questions, and you're going to answer them. And all that other stuff like answer honestly and precisely.”

Wow, informal. I shrugged and said, “No problem.”

“Okay. Should we start?”

I took a moment to collect myself, then nodded. Agent James pressed play.

The chair wasn't comfortable.

“Miss Walker, you are fifteen years old, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you say that your father abused you regularly?”

“Yes.”

“And your sister, Catherine Walker?”