It was the last day of school of my sophomore year. I remember the day perfectly. June 6th, 2014. We had a last minute English quiz, Mrs. Jenson using it to see how much we remembered from the beginning of the year. The shrill of the phone broke the concentrated silence of the room. We all looked up in anticipation, hoping that the office was telling her that we could be released early into our summer break. "Yes. Yes, she's right here. Ok, I'll tell her to come down immediately," Mrs. Jenson spoke into the phone. She disconnected and walked over to loom over my desk. "Chanelle, you're needed down in the office as soon as possible. You may take your things with you," she whispered discreetly, too low for curious eavesdroppers. I started to protest, gesturing down at my half-finished quiz. Mrs. Jenson silenced my words as she collected my paper. I groaned and made my out of the room, alert to the envious glares of my peers as I closed the door.
I strolled leisurely down the hall to the office, reveling in the freedom so close at hand. As I passed the bank of eastern windows, I noticed a police cruiser idling in front of the main entryway. Crap, what is this really about? What did I do wrong? I asked myself nervously, fidgeting with my hair. I took a deep breath and opened the attendance office door. The first thing I noticed was Mrs. Ramos, our elderly and usually trustworthy secretary, talking in hushed tones to Officer Benson, the new police recruit from out of state. They both looked up guiltily when I walked in, before Mrs. Ramos scuttled away, mumbling about paperwork needing to be filed and Officer Benson took on a professional stance, blanking his face of emotion, but not before I could see the glimmer of suppressed pity. The look sent a pang of surprisingly raw fear through me.
Benson squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. "Chanelle Lopez?" he said my name, the end liting into an uncertain question. I nod once; crossing my arms defensively and my gaze sliding down as I steadied myself and looked back up at him, nodding stronger this time. Officer Benson's lips pressed into a tight grimace as he moved us to a more private area of the office. "Chanelle, I'm sorry this has to come from me. Earlier today, your parents were in a very serious car accident. They were rushed to the hospital as soon as possible, but...neither of them made it," he said emotionlessly, as if reading from a script, only his shining eyes giving away the impact of delivering this news to me.
He tried to pat my shoulder reassuringly, but it turned out to be just awkward, not that I felt it. My mind went blank and numb, before a resounding denial rang through my mind. I snapped back, seeing Benson looking at me with genuine worry in his eyes. "They can't be dead. Are you playing some kind of twisted prank on me right now? Because that's not funny; it's a sick joke," I accused, voice a little hollow and ringing false for some reason.
Benson was shaking his head half way through my weak accusation. "Chanelle, I would never joke about something as serious as this. I hate to put you through even more stress today, but we actually need you to come down to the morgue to positively identify the...bodies," he said, voice breaking at the end. I had an odd sense of having lived this before, probably from all the crime and police shows that I watched as an addiction. I felt an odd tickle in the back of my throat, biting my lip hard to keep the hysterical laughter contained. I nodded, still protected by my denial bubble, thinking over and over again that this was all just a mistake; Benson was taking me home as a favor to my parents, who were still living, for an end of school party.
I lived out this little fantasy as Officer Benson led me out to his cruiser and buckled up robotically. The decent length drive was awkwardly tense, with me living me little fantasy and staring studiously out my window and Benson sneaking quick, worried peaks at me every couple of minutes, waiting for the meltdown. I was blissfully oblivious, before I was jerked out of my head by the parking of the cruiser in front of a very large, rather unadorned building, with a couple of ambulances parked just to the side. The sight made a small fissure in my denial bubble, a small sliver of doubt creeping in.
I jumped and my heart leaped to my throat when me door opened and Benson looked down at me, trying for a stony face but the edges a little weak, letting me see his pity and sorrow. I bit my lip as I hastily unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed out of the low cruiser, forcing Officer Benson to take a few steps back as he closed my door behind me. He nudged my shoulder and touched my elbow lightly, leading me to the large, automatic glass doors. I steadied my breathing, but every step sliced another small hole in my safety bubble, making my heart pound a bit louder and my hands shook as I hid them in my pockets. We took a quick left, and walked down a long corridor, our footsteps echoing eerily. We entered one doorway, nothing distinguishing it from all the others we had passed. The only thing in the room was another door, and I glanced up at Benson in confusion.
He looked down at me and said, "They're through that door. The identification will be as quick as I can make it. Are you ready?" I bit my lip nervously. Was I ready? What if - what if they were actually in there? I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I nodded, too fast. The officer sighed softly as he opened the door, one hand on my shoulder as he led me inside.
The first thing that caught my attention was all of the sparkling chrome in the room, from the double sinks to the cabinets. I almost missed the Medical Examiner, a small woman in medical scrubs, standing at the foot of two lumpy, sheet covered tables. My eyes were drawn from the woman to the objects on the tables, the hidden curves and size mimicking...human bodies. My breathing froze in my throat, just as Benson nodded to the woman and she tenderly folded the sheets back from the table nearest to where she stood, doing the same to the other.
My dad's shock of dark brown hair drew my eyes first, drinking in every morbid detail: the cuts on his head and shoulders, his quickly paling skin from the blood loss, the looseness of his skin and muscles, pre-rigor. I looked away to the other table, my face crumpling when I saw my angelic mother on the second table. Her long blonde hair was in a golden fan around her pale face, her death seeming more peaceful than Dad's had been.
I felt the first hot, hard tear trace down my cheek, more quickly following as I pressed my hand to my mouth in an attempt to stifle the quiet sobs. Benson put a hand on my shoulder and turned me away from my par - the bodies. He steered me out of the room and across the hall to an office. He pulled out one of the plush chairs and I sat in it gratefully, my knees weak with emotion. Casually, he pushed a box of Kleenex towards me, which I pulled closer, taking one and wiping my cold, wet face. I mumbled my thanks, too numb to say much more. Benson sat on the chair next to me, propping his ankle up on his knee and turning towards me, eyes downcast in regret.
"Chanelle, I know all of this is hard to take in, but I need to know who else in your family I should notify. I've already called your family's lawyer, who's going to be handling everything you need from here," Benson said softly, pushing a yellow notepad and a pen onto my lap. I shakily wrote down the names and numbers of my brothers, holding back more tears at the thought of us being orphans. I handed him the pad and pen and crossed my arms. Benson got up without a word and closed the door behind him as he went to go call my broken family.
There was a quiet tap at the door before it opened unexpectedly, revealing my father's lawyer, Mark Anders. He closed the door with a muted click and sat in Officer Benson's vacated seat, patting my knee consolingly. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Chanelle. Your parents were good people, some of my favorite clients," Mr. Anders said regretfully. I nodded and gave him a small, weak smile to show my appreciation. He smiled back sadly and withdrew his hand, sitting straight. "I've already called your brothers, and unfortunately, due to their busy jobs and schooling, they won't be able to come until a later date. I've had your parents' funeral preparations set into motion and I have their up-to-date will wishes filed. Everything is being arranged for you as we speak. The only thing left to do is for you to decide what you're going to do with everything," Mark said, and my life from then on changed.
All of my family's things were packed up and sent to Beverly Hills, California, leaving me with a suitcase full of clothes and another of a few choice, special items for me to take with me on the plane ride over. After calling a taxi, which promised to pick me up in about twenty minutes, I took one last, reminiscing walk around my home, our expensive, high rise condo.
