Shatter (On hold-rewriting)

Chapter II

Detective Ray

“And make sure he doesn’t get away.” I slip through the door and walk down my hall. My steps echo as my feet walk against the polished, stone-tile floor.

'What could Diana want?' I think to myself. When Diana was younger, she and her sisters made an attempt to visit me everyday at work. Nowadays, they try to stay away from this place; they have distanced themselves although, maybe it is I who is the one distancing us.

I look around at my surroundings and pause as my eyes rest upon a portrait on the wall. Two people from the painting stare down at me with welcoming eyes; a man and a woman. Their faces show no signs of fear or worry; they are just simply happy and at peace. If one would look at the painting now, they would assume that couple is living a joyous, serene life together today. Unfortunately, that is not true. How would I know? I’m the man in the picture and the woman is dead.

I stare at it blankly for long, agonizing moments before I turn away. I cannot bear to look at it a moment longer. I close my eyes and trying not to let a tear escape my eye. I can picture each feature of her clearly from her warm, genuine smile to her deep blue eyes that would make soldiers yield their weapons and babies stop weeping.

I force myself one last glance at the portrait, but when I look up, I notice something peculiar. Above the picture frame there is a large flat piece of polished wood hanging on the wall. The height of the wood makes it challenging to see the words carved delicately into the wood, but I manage to read most of what it says.

“Rest in Peace: Elizabeth Katherine Ray,” I read out loud to myself. The thin shavings of wood still rest upon the letters which means that it must have been placed there fairly recently. That only reminds me that I lost her just recently. It all seems surreal; that I’ll just wake up and this nightmare I’m living today will be over and I’ll go back to the way it used to be. I don’t want to believe she’s gone; I can’t face it; I will never admit it.

“Father,” a gentle voice reaches my ears. I turn and see my daughter standing before me with a concerned look plastered on her face.

“Hello Diana. I was just about to come to see you,” I say straightening my spine.

“Father, you and I both know that isn’t true.” I frown and look to the ground. Diana often tries to “read” me of sorts. She knows that I am going through times of agony now and I acknowledge that she is as well; however, she thinks that she can help me be myself again; that she can “fix me”. However, I have a piece of me stolen that I can never get back; ever.

“It’s about mum isn’t it?” She says. I turn my gaze to her, but she is looking at the portrait. Her profile looks much like Beth’s with, of course, a few minor differences; however, their personalities couldn’t be more different. Beth loved to take risks and enjoys the thrill of danger while Diana is more of a conserved woman with no need for adventure.

Diana turns back towards me and looks me directly in the eye; her deep blue eyes that replicate Beth’s are full of concern.

“Father?”

“Yes Diana?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” she states matter of factly. I sigh and turn away.

“I haven’t, have I?”

“No.” There is a long, cumbersome silence before she speaks again; each word she seems to grow more impatient. “Are you going to answer me or not?”

“I need to get back to work. Go home Diana,” I command. A hurt look crosses Diana’s face, but it is soon flushed out by artificial happiness.

“Fine, I will go home, but sooner or later you’ll have to do something about this.”

“I am certainly doing something about this Diana,” I snap. Her expression turns to pure shock. “I am making sure I avenge Beth by putting her murder to justice and I am already partially there because I have already captured the culprit.”

“You have? How can you be so sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure. The lad has guilt written all over him.”

“You mean the fellow you captured is a young boy?”

“I wouldn’t use boy as the word to describe him my dear; man is a much better suiting word for him; however, criminal is even more suited.”

“How do you know?” I pause and look at her. My mouth opens however no words can escape. I couldn’t tell if it was the shock that Diana was pressing for answers and questioning me; especially over the subject over her mother’s death or whether it was that I don’t quite know the answer to that question.

I look at Diana and she is staring at me expectantly waiting for an answer. She raises an eyebrow. My head is telling me to say that I just know, but my heart is telling me that I have no clue. My brow furrows. Realizing that my face shows how unconvinced I truly am, I turn away from her. I take a deep breath in, straighten up my spine and take a step in the other direction.

"Go home Diana," I mutter.

“Sooner or later you’ll have to face the truth,” Diana says. I hesitate; my foot is picked up ready to begin walking, but it doesn't. I get that feeling in my gut that is telling me she is right; however, I do not want to believe it; I don't want to accept it.  

Diana sighs in exasperation and rolls her eyes at me. I open my mouth to say something about it, but I just can't get the words out. The part of me that's agreeing with her is stopping me. After a few moments of her waiting for a response, she turns on her heels and stomps away down the hall; the sounds of her footsteps fading as I finally lose sight of her.