Anybody's Child by Michelle Kidd (polar express read aloud .TXT) 📕

Beth swallowed and nodded, trying to quench the panic rising once more. “Yes. I’ll have to put the phone down.”

“Okay. Lay the phone down and lock the bedroom door. Let me know when you’re done.”

“All right.” Woodenly, Beth crawled to the door not trusting her spaghetti legs, twisted the lock, and inched back to the handset. “It’s locked.”

“Good. You did great. Now, Beth, can you tell if your mother is still breathing? Is there anyone else in the house who is injured?”

Beth closed her eyes. Why didn’t this woman understand? “No, she’s not breathing.” Then she remembered Mindy. “My little sister. I’ve got to—”

“Beth, Beth . . . don’t hang up. I need you to stay on the line until the police get there.”

“But my little sister. She’s . . . I’ve got to—”

“Can you reach her without leaving the locked room?”

“No, she’s down the hall. She’s all by herself! I have to—”

“Beth, she’ll be fine. The police are on their way. Stay where you are.”

The small voice continued from the receiver after she’d thrown it down, but she ignored it. No way was she leaving Mindy alone. She rushed to the door, fumbled with the lock, and hurled herself down the hall toward her sister’s room. As she reached the stairs, a dark figure blocked her. She collided with the solid chest. Arms snaked around to clasp her tightly in an iron grip.

There wasn’t time to scream. She beat her fists, twisting and turning, struggling to free herself.

“Beth! Beth! Stop it. Be still, it’s me, Dad!”

What? It took a second for the familiar voice to register inside her panic-filled mind. This wasn’t the sound of a monster. “D-dad?”

“For goodness sake! What’s going on? Why are you out of bed?”

Beth’s knees gave way with relief. “Daddy!” His name came out as sob. Tears clogged her throat, cutting her off. She clung to him, breathed in the scent of something familiar and warm.

He lifted a hand to her hair, patting her with reassurance as he had when she was a little girl. “Okay, take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”

Beth tried to explain, but the words refused to come. Perhaps if she never spoke them, it might all be a dream. Somehow speaking the horror to her father would make it real—and it couldn’t be real. That was not her mother lying there in her own blood. The next few minutes seemed to happen in slow motion. Dad pushed her out of the way and headed for the bedroom. She wanted to scream at him not to go in. But she stood there, helplessly watching as he entered, listening to his muffled cry as he called out Mom’s name over and over.

The wail of sirens and the reflection of their strobing red lights splattered the walls of the house red. Red like her mom’s blood. Red, the color she’d see every time she closed her eyes.

 ••

Voices, sights, and sounds blurred after that. A steady stream of police, paramedics, and detectives descended upon the house. One of the female officers placed a blanket over her shoulders and led her to the living room. It was quieter here, but there was no missing the strangers still tramping back and forth. The constant activity reminded her of ants milling around a picnic.

Dad, still dressed in uniform, huddled to the side with the plainclothes detectives. She realized Uncle Mike had joined them. He gave her a reassuring smile and winked at her from across the room. He wasn’t in uniform. He’d obviously been home to change from last night’s shift. She usually enjoyed his company, but now it only reminded her of the last time they’d all been together.

Mike Mackenzie was not her real uncle but the closest thing she had to one. His grinning, happy-go-lucky face was a welcome sight around their house. Whenever he and Dad weren’t working, Uncle Mike often hung out with them. She vaguely remembered someone mentioned he’d arrived when he heard the news on the scanner, but she hadn’t seen him. Too busy to find her she supposed, like everyone else.

Uncle Mike was younger than Dad but larger in height and build. He’d become her confidant of late since Mom’s strange transformation. She felt a sharp pain at the thought of her mother, recalling the last conversation she’d had with him regarding Mom. He must think she was horrible. He’d seemed to sympathize with her, but he must have been thinking what a brat she was. And she was, wasn’t she?

Every so often, the group pointed to her with grave expressions. Dad must be explaining she was the one who’d found her mom. She wished she had been allowed to go with Mindy to Mrs. Buchanan’s house. Dad had roused her little sister early in the morning, wrapped her in a blanket, and driven her down the street to stay with an elderly neighbor. She didn't have to witness this chaos.

Beth had to stay. The police would want to talk to her soon, but what help would she be? She didn’t know anything—hadn’t seen anything—no, that wasn’t true. She’d seen more than she ever wanted to see.

Uncle Mike broke away from the group, dodging others, and sat down beside her. “Hey, kiddo. How ya doing?” His southern drawl comforted like hiding beneath her favorite quilt when she was sick.

Beth pressed her lips together, knowing if she tried to speak, she’d lose it. Instead, she gave a brief nod and focused on a worn spot in the carpet.

“Your mom was a great lady. The best I ever met. I’m really sorry, kiddo.”

She sniffed and nodded.

“You see anything . . . hear anything? They’re going to want to question you. You up to it?”

Beth shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it, couldn’t talk about it—not yet.

Uncle Mike wrapped his arm around her and squeezed. “Listen, I’ve got to take off, but you need anything—anything at all, you call.”

“You must think I’m horrible . . . all those things I said.” Beth clutched his arm.

“What? No, listen to me.” He turned her so she faced him. “Honey, as you get older you realize people say things in anger. You wouldn’t be a kid if you didn’t get frustrated with your parents from time to time. It’s their job to make you miserable.” He was trying to make her laugh, but his joke fell flat. “Hey, your mom knew you loved her. Don’t you doubt that for a minute.”

They both looked up as one of the detectives approached. He bobbed his chin in Uncle Mike’s direction by way of greeting. “Mackenzie.”

“Take care of my girl, Wiseman, she’s had a rough time of it.” He gave Beth another departing wink as he left.

The man had a kind face, looking apologetic as he tugged at his pant leg and squatted beside the chair so he was eye level with her. “Beth, I’m Detective Wiseman. I understand this has been horrible for you, but we need to have you come down to the station and answer a few questions.”

“Why? I didn’t see anything—well—except for . . .” a lump in her throat stopped her from finishing the sentence.

“I understand. But because you’re the one who found your mom, we’re going to need a statement.”

“We can’t do that here? I’m really tired.”

“I realize that, but—”

“Excuse me, Detective Wiseman, may I speak to you in private?”

A grim-faced police officer, the one who had given her the blanket earlier, stood in the door frame. She cut her eyes at Beth and waited to be acknowledged.

“Excuse me a sec, Beth. I'll be right back.” He tapped a finger on her knee in what she thought might be a gesture of kindness. She watched as he disappeared around the corner. The sound of their murmuring voices buzzed like angry bees, but she couldn't make out the words. He returned after several minutes.

When Detective Wiseman stepped back into the living room, his demeanor had shifted. His brows were furrowed. He produced a white handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his forehead. It looked as if he’d eaten something sour. As he approached, the compassion of moments earlier was replaced with a guarded expression. “Maybe you’d better come with us.”

“Is . . . something wrong?” The subtle change caused her mouth to go dry. The air practically crackled. Several of the other officers stopped to stare.

He drew in what appeared to be a weary breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’m hoping you can tell me. Can you explain why we found this buried at the bottom of your closet?” Detective Wiseman held up a clear, plastic bag, containing a knife.

Beth’s hands shook. The dark stain could only be one thing

When Beth and her father arrived at the police station, they were routed to separate areas for questioning. Wiseman pulled Dad to one of the smaller rooms, while another sharply dressed investigator insisted Beth follow him to a different location. The stocky, middle-aged detective exuded more charm than necessary when he introduced himself as Detective Arnold. Beth noted right away he didn’t dress like other cops she’d seen on TV. He had a polished, sophisticated edge with his dark blue shirt and large gold cufflinks. His persona didn’t fit the dingy precinct.

Arnold was one of those men her mom would call a hottie with his athletic build and dimples. She sucked in her breath, startled by the sudden sense of guilt when she realized she’d gone a few minutes distracted by something other than her mom’s death. Hours after the initial shock, she found her grief returned in cycles, followed by periods of numbness.

To Beth, his blue eyes sat a little too closely together behind gold-framed glasses. Her senses bristled at the way he looked at her. Despite the kindness in his voice and the friendly manner, she sensed a fierceness lurking below the surface. His strong cologne made her already pounding head throb.

He smiled, removed his jacket, and hung it over the back of the chair. “Have a seat, Beth.”

She eyed the deeply gouged table, shocked someone would vandalize police property within view of the surveillance cameras. She realized she was way out of her element. It forced her to see the seedier side of life she had chosen to remain oblivious to—until now. It was easy to pretend, living her squeaky-clean, middle-class existence, the other world didn’t exist. Why should she have to sit in the same place murderers and thieves sat?

Resentful of being put in this position, she pulled out the offending chair. Her lip curled with disgust, as if the sins of those who’d previously occupied it might somehow transfer to her.

“Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? I bet you haven’t eaten. There’s a vending machine down the hall.”

Who wanted food? It was all she could do not to throw up. “No, thank you.”

“You sure? I’m headed that way to get a soda.” He threw a thumbed fist over his shoulder. “No trouble. You young girls like to watch your figure. How about water?”

Seriously! This guy was so out of touch with his Brook Brothers suit. Mom would kill her for being rude—ugh! She