Early in the MOURNing- Fiction

 Early in the MOURNing

   I was sweating. My eyes darted around his desk. I look at his tricera-cop dinosaur mug, his framed photo of him and his heinous wife at the Olive Garden on their anniversary, and then back up at his round figure. I can’t figure out what to do with my hands. I wipe my clammy palms on my pants. “I need you to tell me everything that happened this morning as best as you can remember it. Remember, you’re not in trouble, we just want to figure out what’s going on,” Officer Kilby said to me from across the desk. 

“I want a lawyer.” I blurted, shifting in my seat. The room fell silent. Officer Kilby got up and left the room. I tried to remember everything that happened this morning. I tried to remember what to tell him. 

***

“Good morning stranger,” Tate greeted me as I walked into the teachers’ lounge for the first time in months. It was just as I’d remembered it, but nearly everything had fallen from the bulletin board that hadn’t been changed since the last time I was here, and there were no longer napkins and utensils on the table. The microwave looked broken. The copier had a post-it with “Jammed” written sloppily on the screen. I felt a yawn rising in the back of my throat, but I did my best to hold it in. It was nearly seven in the morning, but to me it felt like the middle of the night.  

“Welcome back, Brooke.” Kristi uttered maternally as she brushed past me and headed back to her own classroom, hot coffee in hand. I sat down and started emptying my sugar free redbull into my tumbler. I heard the gentle crack of the ice as the lukewarm liquid flowed over it. 

The ache at the front of my head has become familiar. I sipped on the redbull and looked over to Tate.

“Ah, It’s that bad?” he asked with a chuckle. “I haven’t seen you drink one of those since the summer.” 

“I never wake up this early.” I replied blandly and took another sip. Tate walked over to the coffee pot and started pouring himself a cup. There were three more minutes of peace before the kids were to be let into the building. My eyelids felt heavy. I glanced back over at Tate. His face looked different, distressed even. He was staring down into his coffee mug like he could see a bug floating in it. “It’s too early for an existential crisis” I joked. 

“That’s not it.” He said, sounding distracted. 

“One more minute, we better get going,” I said, peeling myself from my chair. I headed to the door but I could tell he was’t following me. I turned back to face him. He slowly handed me the mug, seeming unsure about what he was doing. As I snatched the mug from his gentle grasp I annoyedly muttered  “What on earth is going on with you tod-” and then I saw it. Floating at the top of his coffee was a finger. Neatly manicured in red gel polish, presumably an index finger. Bony, white, severed. I gasped. I started to panic. I dropped the mug on the ground and it shattered. We looked at one another, flustered, until I ran to the curly-corded landline on the wall and called the front office.

***

The handle of the door rattled and I saw Officer Kilby’s large stomach in the doorway where he lingered, finishing his previous conversation. I can’t make out what he’s saying or figure out who he’s talking to. He comes in and closes the door behind him. “You get one call Ms. Kent, use it wisely. And from now on anything you say can and will be used against you.” My heart starts racing and I feel my chest get tight. He knows. 

“I thought I wasn’t a suspect,” I ask shakily. He groans and hands me the phone. I take it reluctantly and look at him, waiting for him to leave. He doesn’t budge. “Could I have a moment?” I feel the guilt biting at the back of my throat with every word. Slowly, he rises from his desk and leaves again. “Please pick up, please pick up” I plead under my breath with desperation. 

“Hello, this is Tate” I hear his voice clearly. 

“Tate, they know. You have to come get me. I wouldn’t do well in prison.” 

“How could they know? Do you have our story straight?”

“Yes, I remember it all but they’re not going to believe that. We sound too innocent. I mean, it was in your coffee? Really?” I scoff. “You have to come pick me up.” 

“ I can’t leave right now, I have a meeting with Principal Heath in two minutes. Just tell them the story, it worked for me, and it worked for us last time, in the summer, remember? You’ll be out of there in an hour, tops.”

“Fine. But what about the finger? Someone knows what we did and they put it there to scare us. Or maybe even frame us.” 

“Brooke, I don’t think it’s framing if we’re guilty.” The sardonic tone in his voice made me feel as though I was suffocating. 

“That’s not helpful.” I can hear Officer Kilby’s voice in the hallway getting closer. “I have to go,” I slam the phone down onto the receiver before he can reply and take a deep breath as I hear the doorknob rattle once more.