Crooked

I parked closer to the front of the police station than usual and climbed immediately out of the car before practically running inside. In my haste, I nearly smashed right into Captain Burke.

“Watkins,” he spat, “slow down, kid.”

“Sorry, sir,” I replied. I attempted to mask my spastic nervousness with a cheesy smile.

“I want to talk to you in my office,” he grumbled, walking away. I followed him and looked over my shoulder to see Jane peering over a manila folder, watching me. I couldn’t tell if she looked curious or devious, if she was clueless or if she was onto me. Was the captain onto me? Had Wesley already begun his quest to destroy me by letting my secrets become common knowledge? I tore my gaze away from Jane, feeling my face burn red with something similar to embarrassment, though I had no idea why.

I sat across from the captain and waited quietly while he skimmed over whatever file was in his hands. My feet wanted to bounce and tap against the floor, but I held them still, and my hands were pinned to my sides to keep them from tangling together in my lap. I was determined to appear calm, collected, and, most importantly, innocent.

Captain Burke was a respectable man, though grumpy more often than not, who earned his position after losing half of his left hand in a shootout. His hair was white, but thick and shiny, and his face wasn’t overly wrinkled or weathered, which led me to believe he was a rather healthy man.

“Here,” Captain Burke finally spoke, pointing to something inside the file in front of him. “It seems your partner is a little bit confused about how you obtained some information regarding a case he’s been working on. I’m curious, Watkins, was it just a lucky guess?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” I lied. I knew perfectly well what he was talking about. My brain worked while he repeated himself, then turned the folder and laid it in front of me so I could see for myself.

“You do remember this, don’t you?” Burke asked.

“Oh yes,” I nodded, “right. I’m sorry, sir, I’m moving a bit more slowly than usual this morning. I do recall this, yes.”

“You sick or something?” He pretended to be concerned, because he thought it was his job. I couldn’t help but think that If I were a man, he would not have asked.

“A little. But what happened here,” I continued, “was just what you said, sir, a lucky guess. The girl was very obviously holding something back, so I just needed to ask the right questions. Each time she spoke, she gave me a little more that I could go off of, and eventually she spilled the truth.”

He hesitated a moment, looking down at the file again before closing the folder and sitting back in his chair.

“So you’re saying,” he smiled, “that you’re very good at your job. And your partner thinks that you have some sort of superpower, because he’s a lazy chump.”

I let out a small laugh, “yes, sir.”

“Alright, sorry to keep you. Now go finish up that paperwork, for Christ’s sake.” He winked at me.

“Yes, sir.”

Throughout the day, I tried to stay focused on the new stack of papers and folders on my desk. Jane continued to bring me coffee, like clockwork, as if she were watching, waiting for me to finish one so she could bring me another. Eventually, I started watching her, too. She didn’t do much, just answered the phone when it rang, delivered things to people around the office, sorted mail, tapped her fingers on the keyboard of a computer, and reapplied her lipstick. She made eye contact with me a few times, and then she emailed me.

The message read:

Why are you watching me?

I replied:

You were watching me first.

My eyes flicked up over the top of my computer screen and I watched her read my response. She smiled and made a gesture like tipping a hat. I laughed. She sent another message that read:

Touché. Come have that drink with me tonight.

I began to type a refusal, to make up an excuse, but then I changed my mind. Instead, I said:

Okay.

I felt a strange warmth in my chest as I watched a captivating smile sweep across Jane’s bright red lips. It was a lovely smile, and knowing that I’d caused it was a sensation I’d never truly felt before.

Adam didn’t arrive until after lunch, stumbling into the station in a wrinkled suit with no tie, and a pair of sunglasses sitting crookedly on his face. The moment I saw him, I knew he was drunk and that I needed to get him out of there before the captain or anyone else saw him.

“What in Hell are you thinking, Bliss?” I dragged him out of the station by the elbow. “Are you trying to lose your job?”

He slumped against the wall and tried lighting the broken cigarette that hung from his mouth. I took it and threw it on the ground.

“I was gonna smoke that,” he said.

“Did you drive here?” I asked. His car was parked sloppily in the lot. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

“Look at you, getting all worked up.”

“You could have killed someone. Or yourself. What could possibly cause you to be so careless?”

“My ex-wife,” he began, staring at the ground. All the amusement he’d shown at my worry for him disappeared, and he looked more vacant and dismal than ever. “She was pregnant, apparently, about six months ago. She didn’t know if it was mine.” He shook his head with a sad laugh and I saw tears begin to pool in his eyes. “She told me she got an abortion. You know, I don’t know if it was mine or not, but… it could have been. What if it was?”

I’d never been one to hope for children, of course I had known for almost my entire life that I wouldn’t be able to have them. But I never felt sad about that fact. I tried to imagine Adam as a father, wondering if he would drink less and smoke less and take better care of himself if he had another human being depending on him.

“I could’ve been a dad,” he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.” I inched toward him and wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders, and he hugged me back. He squeezed so tightly, I thought my ribs might break. Then, right there on the front steps of the police station, he cried on my shoulder. And I let him.

After a few minutes, I called Adam a cab and sent him home. There was no way he could function properly throughout the day.

When the day was done, I met Jane in almost the same place I’d left Adam earlier that day. She had her hair pulled up into a sloppy ponytail and a leather jacket replaced the blazer she wore to work.

“Where are we going?” I asked her.

“Wherever you want,” she replied. “You’re driving.”

#

The two of us sat across from each other at a small corner table of a bar called Greg’s that neither of us had ever been to. It wasn’t necessarily a dive, but it wasn’t high class by any means, either.

“Tell me about yourself,” Jane said before sipping her vodka-cranberry through the smallest straw I had ever seen.

“There isn’t much to know,” I shrugged. I tapped my fingers against the stem of my martini glass nervously. “I’m a police officer, I live alone, and I don’t have any pets. Nor do I have any exciting hobbies or interests.”

Jane laughed. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“How did you know that I don’t have pets?”

She shrugged. “You just don’t seem like the type.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know whether or not to be offended by that. If I looked like the type of person who wouldn’t own a pet, did I also look like the type of person who would commit a murder? Now I was just reaching.

“Here,” she said, leaning forward, “I’ll tell you some things about me first.”

“Perfect,” I replied. I had no idea what kind of information she was looking for from me, but I was willing to try, to give her something. My instincts kept pushing me to open up, which I’d sort of done against my will with Adam, and now I was anxious to let Jane in, too.

“So, I’m twenty-four,” she began, “I recently got my bachelor’s degree in psychology, I live alone in a really crummy neighborhood and I hate it, and I have a cat named Maury.”

“Psychology,” I said, “that’s interesting. Why are you working at the station?”

“Well, I want to be a detective someday,” she shrugged. “And this job was kind of my foot-in-the-door, you know? You probably don’t know this, because he doesn’t talk about it, but Captain Burke is my dad.”

I smiled. Of course I knew.

She nodded, "Your turn.”

“Let’s see,” I pondered. What could I possibly tell her that would seem normal and truthful and not at all terrifying? “I was adopted when I was six,” I said. It wasn’t a total lie. “I love living alone. And I don’t have any friends, except Deputy Bliss, and this annoying teenager who lives next door to me.”

“And me,” Jane replied. “I mean, I can be your friend, too. If you want me.”

“If I want you?” I laughed.

Her cheeks flushed red. “If you want me to be.”

“Sure.” We lifted our glasses, tapping them together lightly, and it happened again; My flashback to Michael Twins, to our conversation over tea, to our late night encounter that ended in his death, his blood on the walls, on my hands.

“Bliss says you’re psychic,” said Jane.

“Oh, does he?”

“Is it true?” She bit her bottom lip, leaning over the table between us, looking at me through heavy black lashes.

“No,” I smirked, “I’m not psychic. But I am very observant, and intelligent enough to understand things about a person, or a situation, without many facts. I simply rely on instinct and intuition.”

“What does your instinct and intuition tell you about me?” Jane challenged me. She leaned back in her seat, fingers still wrapped around the sweating, half-empty glass of sweet, syrupy liquor. I observed her fingernails, painted but chipping and bitten short with rough cuticles.

“I can tell that you’re a very high strung person,” I frowned. “You want to appear laid back and careless, but you work very hard, and you worry that it still won’t be enough.” She said nothing, so I continued. “Knowing what I know about you, I’d say that your father is likely pretty hard on you. He expects a lot from you, wants you to do well, and you see it as your responsibility to meet his expectations. But it’s not just him, is it? No, you want to show everyone that just because your father gave you your job, doesn’t mean you’re planning on riding his coattails throughout your entire career. You want to make something of yourself, for yourself, by yourself.”

Jane shook her head, mouth agape. After a moment, she finally spoke. “You’re insane,” she chuckled. “I like it.”

“It’s admirable, you know,” I replied.

“Insanity?”

“No, no. It’s important to understand the satisfaction of making your own way, of forging your own path no matter how hard it is.”

“I suppose it is,” she grinned, seeming genuinely pleased with herself.

“But you’re a psychology major, right? You could probably do exactly what I just did if you tried.”

“I’m not that good.”

“Try.” I finished my drink and signaled to the bartender for another round. I was in rare form now, feeling confident and positive and not at all anxious, enjoying talking with Jane, sipping on liquid courage from a dainty glass that made me feel strong and powerful.

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot,” she said. I sat there grinning as Jane’s eyes floated slowly over my face, then back and forth between my eyes and mouth. “I got it.”

“Let’s hear it,” I replied. A waitress dropped our drinks off at the table and I nodded a thank you as I handed her some cash. “The change is all yours,” I said.

“So you’re very reclusive,” Jane began, “I know that much. You said yourself you don’t have many friends. You said you were adopted, but you’ve never mentioned anything about your family specifically.” Her eyes were locked onto mine, no doubt waiting for me to flinch at something. “My guess is that you grew up with at least one abusive relative. Physical or mental, some sort of abuse, and you don’t trust people. Understandable, I mean, if you can’t trust your own family, who can you trust?”

“Pretty good,” I said. I took a long sip from my fresh drink, and decided to open the door a little wider. Maybe it was my mild intoxication that erased all of my inhibitions, or maybe it was the excitement of being out with Jane, experiencing a real life interaction and forming an actual relationship with someone. “My biological parents did not love me,” I said. “They were afraid of me or something, I don’t know. They practically sold me when I was six years old, and I was taken in by a strange family. They, too, had more hatred than love in their hearts, so affection isn’t something I’m accustomed to.”

“Wow,” Jane said quietly. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe you just told me all of that.”

“I can’t believe it, either,” I chuckled. “But don’t be sorry, I have come to terms with my shitty upbringing, pardon my language.”

Jane laughed.

We stayed for a few hours, talked some more about her relationship with her father, and I avoided any further conversation about my family. After the second martini, I switched to water, remembering the lecture I gave Adam that afternoon about drinking and driving. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d laughed as much as I did that night with Jane. She was more intelligent than she’d seemed before, she was funny, and she didn’t pry at me when I didn’t want to answer a certain question or discuss a certain topic.

As I drove us back to the station, Jane tried using the radio in my car, and was petrified to find that it didn’t have a single preset station.

“Don’t you listen to music?” she gasped comically.

“Not really,” I shrugged.

“You are so strange.” She turned the dials until she heard a song that was apparently her song, and turned it up. A young woman’s smoky voice crooned along with an upbeat, electronic rhythm that was more pleasant than I ever could have imagined. I decided I liked it, and couldn’t help smiling as I watched Jane sing along and dance in the seat next to me. She saw me peering at her from the corner of my eye and turned the music down a little.

“You hate it,” she assumed.

“No,” I protested earnestly, “actually, I don’t hate it at all. I might even say I like it, if you can believe that.”

She chuckled and I felt it in my bones. For some reason, I felt a bit better about myself whenever she laughed at something I said. I pulled into the parking lot of the police station and immediately noticed the broken street lamp conveniently located above Jane’s parked car. It could have been a coincidence, I suppose, but I wasn’t willing to take any chances.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I said, “if you’d like.”

She smiled at me. “Okay.”

I followed directly behind her as we made our way to the dark corner of the parking lot, where she dug her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door. Before climbing into the car, she turned toward me and said, “I had a good time.”

“As did I,” I replied.

“Thank you.” When I frowned, confused, she said, “For walking me to my car. And for going out with me in the first place and being… normal. For telling me things about yourself, and listening to me when I spoke, and being all-around more amazing than I thought you were going to be.”

“My bar was set incredibly low,” I chuckled, “I didn’t have to do much to surpass it, I’m afraid.”

“I mean it,” Jane said, “This will go down in history as one of the most bizarrely incredible nights of my life.”

I smiled. “I’m happy to be part of the memory. I truly never imagined that I would enjoy your company as much as I have tonight.”

She responded by placing her left hand on my waist, pulling my body toward hers, and kissing me. Instinctively, I kissed her back, my other hand sliding around the back of her neck. When we parted, Jane let out a sort of relieved sigh, and I could practically hear her heart pounding. The veins in the side of her throat throbbed rapidly beneath my fingers.

“Okay,” she breathed, somewhat uncomfortably, “I guess I should go.”

“Are you sure you should drive?” I asked her. “Maybe I should take you home.” My hands remained on her waist, her neck, and hers stayed resting lazily on my hips. “After all, you’ve been drinking.”

“You don’t have to go out of your way, I’ll be fine.” Her eyelids drooped with a sleepy smile and I felt hot all over. The thought of letting go of her made me panic, and I could not bring myself to step away from the warmth of our closeness.

“Miss Burke, I’m an officer of the law,” I said, attempting sarcasm. “If you get behind the wheel of this car, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you.”

She pretended to gasp. “What ever shall I do?” Her face twisted up in a mockery of fear and I felt a grin spread across my own face.

“Get back into my car,” I said. “I’ll turn on all the lights and sirens.”

“Where will you take me, Miss Watkins?”

I smiled. “You can call me Lenore.”

“Okay, Lenore,” Jane replied. “Just answer one question for me, first.”

I disconnected myself from her and stepped back, frowning. Part of me wanted to turn and run, and another part of me wanted to stand there forever, stopping time with nothing but my own stillness.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Why did you throw away the flowers I sent you?”

My stomach dropped as if I’d swallowed concrete. I thought of the roses on my desk, the accompanying card that I hadn’t bothered to open. I’d trashed them, assuming they were from Wesley, but now I felt awful. I’d been blinded by my paranoia, and fear had nearly gotten the best of me.

“I didn’t know they were from you,” I said. The sound of my own voice was foreign and unrecognizable to my ears. “I am so sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay.” Then, she brushed past me and started back across the parking lot, toward my car, and stood before the passenger side door. “Come on,” she said. “Don’t keep a girl waiting, let’s start up those lights and sirens!”