The Game of Deception

Chapter 4-1

I wake in a pool of perspiration. My face is damp and my hairline drips in thick, salty sweat. Kam sits next to me with a tight grip on my arm. She"s clearly been awake for a while. She"s dressed, and is holding a steaming mug in her other hand. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her hair is a mess, yet she somehow owns the look. It"s as if she meant to come off as a naturally tired and stressed out beauty.

“You were screaming and kicking, Markie. Are you okay?”

“I, I… I don"t know.” I manage through shallow breaths.

“Well, pull yourself together. We better get this bed cleaned up before that cop with the hots for you shows up.”

“I just barely went to sleep. What time is it?”

I search for my alarm clock as I speak. It"s gone. Had I even put it there, or was that part of my dream? My God, I hate this delirious confusion. I"m still half asleep, and I"m lost in exhaustion.

“Holy s**t, open your eyes!” She snaps. “It"s 7:30 and I"ve been trying to wake you up for an hour! What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

I squint and shake my head. My neck rolls back and forth, trying to fight an uncontrollable sleep nod.

“I took a couple allergy pills. I really am trying. I dreamed he was here, Kam. He was standing outside my window.” Her silence is bone chilling. “And what do you mean the cop with the hots for me?”

Now I"m awake. I"m fully awake, and completely taken back by her statement. Her face is expressionless, downright smooth. Looking like a wax figure, her eyes are empty, staring past my face and into space.

She quietly mutters, “I had nightmares, too.”

We sit in silence, I await her return to reality. Finally, she lets out a sigh, and turns to face me. Just like that, she"s back. The corners of her mouth turn up.

“I think that detective likes you. He"s cute, too, you should totally go for him.”

“He doesn"t like me, dumbass, he has to talk to me "cause he"s the lead detective!”

I can"t help but to gripe at her. The nerve of my sister is relentless. No matter what the situation, she still finds a way to exasperate me. She does it on purpose, too, I just know it.

“You"re so blind sometimes. You could have anyone you want, yet you turn down the decent guys who really like you and date losers all the time.”

I rub my eyes before stretching my arms above my head.

“Whatever, Kam. You want to talk about losers, why don"t you take a second look at Brock?”

“I"m serious. We talked about Beth"s bad taste, but you"re just like her.”

Kam instantly regrets the statement. I can see the unspoken apology in her eyes.

“Anyway,” she hesitates, and brushes off the guilt before continuing. “You better hurry and get up. If Detective Sharpe sees you like this, he"s going to run for the hills.” She teases. “And I"m not even with Brock, remember? I broke up with him a long time ago, were just friends and he"ll be here in a couple hours.” She rushes through the sentence as quickly as possible. The subject is changed before I have a chance to interject. “Hey, speaking of losers, how did things go with that weirdo last night?”

With all the commotion I"d completely forgotten about Vincent. I think about her question while we wiggle and twist at the fold up bed, trying to wrestle it back into its rightful place. Every time I move I can feel the stickiness of my lingering night sweat. We tuck the mattress quickly and neatly into the couch, then I answer.

“I"m not sure.” With an awkward struggle I pull my messy hair into a band on the crown of my head and continue. “It was okay, I guess. He was really nice, but I don"t know. After you called he acted kind of weird.”

“Weird? What do you mean by weird?”

Kam shakes her head in disapproval and throws the cushions back on the couch.

As if on cue, my mother bursts through the door. I"m in no mood to talk about my date, and in even less of a mood for what"s to come with our mom. Here we go. Kam is clearly as annoyed as myself. She rolls her eyes and lets her head fall backwards, hanging loosely at the shoulders. Her lips expand forward as she pushes a lungful of dramatic breath from them. "Fuuuuuuck!" She mouths to me as she lifts her head back up.

Here we go"Fuuuuuuck!"The door slams against the wall, my mom nearly swings it off the hinges. Unsurprisingly, she has on the most ridiculous outfit I"ve ever seen. She wears some gaudy s**t sometimes, but this ensemble most definitely takes the cake. A black velvet grieving dress hangs loosely on her body. The shoulders are thickly padded, and the bottom is pleated, stopping just past the knees. Her heels are matching velvet, and her hat seems to take up half the room. A thin lace black veil hangs from the front of the hat, shadowing her face.

I"m almost sure I"ve seen the exact look in a fifties movie, on a rich, grieving widow at her husband"s funeral. Why would anyone in their right mind own such a hat? Her hair is curled in stiff, over-sprayed locks around her chin. Even the makeup on her lightly canopied face is thick and flawless. Apparently, the woman had spent a good deal of time preparing herself for the role she"s about to play.

“Oh my goodness!” She yells, flailing her arms about. “You"re here and safe. My babies are safe. I have been calling you both all morning!”

The steps she"s taking into the room are intentionally slow, allowing her to finish her small speech while walking in. She doesn"t miss a beat. Nice entrance, Mother, how very soap opera of you. I"m certain that either Kam, nor I, have missed any phone calls.

Nice entrance, Mother, how very soap opera of you.“I saw what happened on the 6:00 news this morning. I can"t believe you two never called me. Why am I not important enough for you to involve me in this? You know how much I loved that girl!”

“You"ve never even talked to her, Mom.” Kam responds.

I"m far too disgusted to give her even a slight reaction. Our mother lowers herself into the loveseat, letting out a long sigh. Her arms dangle, fingertips nearly touching the floor.

“Ohhh, the Lord knows what a sweet, sweet soul she was.”

Of course, she didn"t hear what Kam said. She has no desire to actually talk to either of us, as usual. She merely wants herself to be seen and heard. We could call her every name in the book, staring right into her face, and she wouldn"t even notice. She tunes both of us out as if our voices are an octave above her hearing level. To our mother, we"re nothing more than a dog whistle or a tool to be used at her own social convenience. We both stand still and stare at her, a bit dumbfounded, and wholly irritated.

“Wow,” I finally break the silence. “I have to go get dressed. Mom take off that stupid hat.”

Kam jumps in instantly.

“Yeah, Mom, please. Before anyone sees you in it. It"s insulting to the people who actually knew and cared about Breanna.”

I slip down the hall to escape the dramatics. I drag myself into the bathroom. What a sight! I swear I"ll never take allergy medication again. What was I thinking anyway? It"s going to take me hours to get the distressed look from my tense face.

The outside corners of my eyes tilt down, and my tear ducts are swollen and red. Even my lips seem tight, dry, and a shade lighter than usual. Bending over the sink, I splash some cold water on my face. I opt to skip makeup after I decide my look is unfixable. I slap on a lightly tinted moisturizer; that ought to do it.

As I finish scrubbing my teeth, I glance around the mirrors edging. A large silver frame with an antique finish protects the glass. The corner that held Beth"s locket just the morning before is now bare. The room feels empty – I feel empty. Without realizing it, I"ve been spacing off again. I briefly wonder how long I had been blankly gawking. The remaining toothpaste in my mouth swishes between my teeth. I relish the clean feeling for just a moment longer, then spit and leave the room. I should be in more of a hurry, but I just can"t seem to function properly.

Hesitation grabs hold of me as I reach for my bedroom door. A flash of my dream leaves the shadow of a man imprinted on the back of my eyelids.

“Pull yourself together, Markie.”

Talking to myself isn"t completely out of the ordinary. It has become a very frequent occurrence since Beth died. I push the door open and stare out the window, my feet stay planted in the doorway. All that"s visible is the trunk of an overgrown palm tree which sits entirely too close to my house.

As I glance around my room, anxiously wondering if anything else has gone missing, the sound of our doorbell rings through the house. It"s too loud. It bounces noisily off the walls and ceiling and leaves a deafening ring in my ears.

“Shit.”

I quickly step into my room, and slam the door behind me. I don"t want to be anywhere close when my mother makes herself known, again, to the detective.

I change out of my yellow sleepwear shorts slowly, letting my sister deal with our guests. It"s mean, I know, but what the hell? I"m sure if the situation were to repeat itself, she would do the same to me in a heartbeat. While deciding on an old pair of sturdy jeans and a loose white tee, I prepare myself for the day. A plain outfit, to match my bare face. What better way to tell Phillip Sharpe that I"m definitely not interested?

After several minutes of time killing and mental pep talks in my room, I twist the door"s handle and step out to face reality. I"m pleased to see my mother has taken off the hat. I greet the detective with a professional handshake and a faux friendly smile.

“Markie, good morning.” He chirps, in a particularly strange and chipper tone. “I"m glad to see your mother could make it over so early. Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?”

Weird. He"s far too happy for the experience he had last night. Breanna"s blood and body flashes in mind, I shudder. Fingers fiddle at his sides, and wide is his grin. He seems eager and excited. I can understand one"s love for their job, but this is not the type of job that should fit that kind of description – for anyone, ever. I am baffled. It appears Detective Sharpe released the guarded, grieving reaction last night. Now he is chomping at the bit for a detective"s knack and perspective. He is indisputably a strange man.

Weird.“There is nothing you can"t say in front of me, sir.” My mom loudly interrupts our unfitting moment.

Detective Sharpe"s face drops to the floor. With a quick recovery, he flashes me a small gentle smile before turning back to her.