Chapitre 14: Ch 14: Player 2
Player 2: Select:
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Location: RCM Holding Cell, Central Canada.
'This is so fucked up.'
My father had been beaten to death, having died before even reaching the hospital. I witnessed it all, and now I was stuck in a room with Officer Fuller of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. "Is this going to take long?" I asked, chipping the neon pink polish off my fingernails.
The officer only smiled. He was a middle-aged man with a kind face and the most beautiful blue eyes. "What's your name kid?" He looked at the paperwork on his desk. "Tiana Running-Elk?" He nodded at the sight of my name.
"I go by Tia. And I ain't no a fucking kid!" First nation girls were notoriously short and I was no exception. I barely passed for a high school student.
To be fair I had only been in his office for five minutes. The previous two hours were spent giving my statement and getting my mug-shot. The rugged older man had been nothing but kind to me. And he was kinda hot. His face was not clean-shaven, but not with a beard or anything thing that looked intentional. No, he was a fucked-up junkie like me. Maybe I could make a friend.
I had a talent for making friends. I also had a record of misdemeanors, which apparently warranted me getting in-processed. According to the arresting on-scene cop, it would be up to Officer Fuller (the on-duty desk jockey with the highest seniority) to press charges or just let me go. like they usually do.
"So," Officer Fuller sighed as he placed my file upon his desk. "Where's your mother?"
"I don't know." I honestly didn't. "Somewhere in the city."
"Saskatoon?"
"Um, no," I said with a smirk. Saskatchewan's largest city was Saskatoon, a word I thought was absolutely hilarious.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing." I bit my lower lip to keep from giggling like a small child who just said her first swear word. "I apologize, Sir. My mom lives in Regina. I think."
"You think?" His smile was fading. If he thought I was a liar, I would be totally screwed.
"She did as of the last time we spoke." Which was nearly two years ago when she kicked me out. But the nice officer didn't need to know that. "You have a beautiful family," I said motioning to the photo on his desk.
"What does your wife do? Is she a cop like you? Or a stay-at-home mom?"
"Actually, my wife passed away." There was an awkward silence.
"Oh." Cancer? A car accident? I knew I had to say something. The words seemed so simple; 'I'm sorry for your loss.' It was not a difficult phrase. "When?"
His expression went from awestruck to shocked. It was like his brain could not decide on an appropriate punishment.
"A few hours ago."
How? Why was he at work? "I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine." He picked up my paperwork and glanced at it one last time. "You're free to go, someone from my command will contact you if we have any more questions regarding your witness statement."
"Ok thanks," I said, feeling like absolute crap.
"Do you have any questions?"
"Um, can you get me my smokes back? The arresting officer took them with the rest of my shit."
"Sure, I'll walk you to the front." He motioned for me to get up and true to his word he walked me to the lobby.
"Take a seat, watch some television, this might take a few minutes." He knocked on a window that did not seem to be manned at the moment.
On the television was a story about a plane crash; a massive fire that shut down a rather infamous area known as the Highway of Tears. 'How did that happen?' The television was mounted to the corner of the room, with the sound off but close-captioning left on. I wasn't stupid. After eighteen years of watching television, I knew the people in charge of typing at the speed of speech sometimes got it wrong. Still, what I was reading chilled me to my core.
According to investigators, several videos had been recovered from the scene. Cellphones, dashcams, they all showed a plane making an intentional nosedive. 'Why?'
"Tia," Officer Fuller called my name. He was holding an opaque neon orange bag with my name written in black sharpie ink. "One pack of cigarettes, one lighter, one wallet, one late-model smartphone, and one leather necklace with a flower pendant." He paused on the pendant. On the back were my father's initials. "I'm surprised you didn't ask about this."
"I figured I'd see it again someday." I made sure to take out the necklace and put it on. I wanted to tell him how much it meant to me, but I was terrified of coming off as fake.
The cop nodded. For a brief moment, his eyes caught sight of the tv. "I want you to take my card," he said. His voice quivering. The television had no remote, so changing the channel was not an option.
Instead, he wrote a phone number on the back of a business card. "This is my personal cell. Just call if you need anything."
"Thank you," I said in my most polite voice. He knew what I did for a living. Keeping the personal card of a cop would not be a good look for me. I would need to toss it asap. But I didn't want to.
For whatever reason, the feel of the embossed lettering made for a good fidget toy. I traced the letters of his name; Jayden Leon Fuller. What kind of hipster bullshit name was that?
Alone to my own devices, I left the station to smoke at my favorite spot under the nearby overpass. "Nearby," I chuckled to myself. My secret spot was a good forty-minute walk into the backwoods of Indian territory.
I lit up as I walked, my cancer stick, the only light in the moonless night. In the distance, I saw a figure; a tall woman with shoulder-length red hair. I walked slower, hoping to not engage her. I knew enough about crazy homeless white girls; she was either drunk or high on meth. Considering the time of night I'd place my bet on the latter.
I paused in my steps, ducking behind the shadow of a large tree. I pulled out my cellphone. I knew I needed to check in with my pimp. Cathy was an old Indian who once worked the streets alongside my mother. She was pretty understanding since I'd spent the better part of the night at a police station but I had to pull in some money or I'd forfeit my room at her long-term motel.
She was listed in my contact under, 'Walmart' since she was trashy, unironically cool, and always easy to locate. I had her listing open and was about to hit the call button when I felt a gust of wind. 'Whatever, this is Canada.'
And then I felt a blast of heat. I dropped my phone, certain that I had just taken a flamethrower to the face. Or maybe acid? People get attacked with acid all the time. I touched my cheek. My face felt normal but all around me, I felt an uncomfortable heat. I closed my eyes, hoping to blink it away. 'This is all a dream; a sleep-deprived hallucination.' Yeah, that makes total sense. I put my cigarette to my lips, taking a long drag. 'You're going to open your eyes and keep walking until you make it back to the motel.'
I forced myself to stand, leaning on the tree for balance. I felt a touch of course. And then I opened my eyes. The white redhead was standing right in front of me. Her eyes were wide open because her eyelids had been burned off. She wore the uniform of a flight attendant.
I was frozen in fear, unable to move. In truth, I could feel my body. If I wanted to, I could make a run for it, but something told me that would not end well. "What do you want?"
She titled her head to the side like a typical horror movie ghost. "You've lived in Hell all your life, this shouldn't be too difficult." She smiled a big, friendly, customer service smile.
"Sure thing," I muttered, unsure of what the fuck she was talking about.
She laughed as she floated backward, fading into the darkness. "By the way, I'm Charlotte. But you can call me Charli."
"Um, ok." My hands were shaking so badly I dropped my cigarette, the light instantly vanishing from view. I decided to go for my phone instead. With its bright colored case, it was somewhat easy to locate in the freshly fallen snow.
That was when the heat hit me again. The ghost passed through me. Or what she inside me? I was bombarded with memories that were not my own; she brought down the plane, this woman had assaulted the captain and forced the controls. Why? She had a reason. 'Why did I know that?' For a brief moment, I no longer felt fear; I felt empowered. I blinked my eyes until my head felt normal again. Something was telling me that I had to keep moving.
I walked along the lower path, allowing the trees to shelter me from the cold. Was it strange that I missed the fires of Hell? That actually sounded kind of nice. I was about to light a cigarette when I saw what looked like a man was standing on the ledge of an overpass. "What the?
As I came closer, I swore I could see a gun in his hand. 'Oh, crap.' I ducked into the shadows, contemplating my next move. Should I call the police? Would they even get here on time? Then I remembered the card.
I picked up my phone and dialed the number; Officer Jayden's personal cell. In the dead silence of the night, I heard what sounded like a ringtone coming from the ledge. 'No way.' Was Officer Fuller up there? Or just his phone? Maybe he'd been robbed or maybe he was already dead. Why did I care? "Pick up, come on, please."
After a few rings, I heard the sound of someone picking up. "Hello?" The voice was male, but it sounded like the caller was holding the phone a good distance away from his mouth.
"Officer Fuller?" I asked in my most innocent little girl voice. Whoever it was, I needed them to know I wasn't a threat.
"Yes?" his voice got louder as if he was moving the phone closer to his head.
"Hi, Officer Fuller? It's me, Tiana Running-Elk. You gave me your card earlier." I knew I had to get up there, but I had no idea how I could make it in time.
"Oh hello, Tia," he paused his voice breaking with emotion." It's nice to hear from you. What can I help you with?"
Looking around I could see a tree, with a long, bent branch that could act as a bridge straight to the man's location. I just needed to keep him on the line. "I'm kind of in a bad place. I really just needed someone to talk to." I started to climb the tree, which was easier said than done while holding my phone.
"Um, sure. What do you want to talk about? Are you having thoughts of hurting yourself or others?"
I knew he was required by law to ask that question. "No, I don't think so. I'm mean I'm not sure." When I was high enough to see his location, I was thankful he had already put down the gun, and taken a step backward, away from the ledge.
"Well, what's on your mind?" he asked. I could tell by his breathing, the man was making an attempt to regain his composure.
"Do you think I'll need to testify against the men who killed my dad? I kind of want to." Soon I was at a place where I could see him leaning against his car.
"If that's what you want, I promise I'll do everything in my power to make it happen."
"Thanks," I said as I climbed along the bridge-shaped branch, coming into view of the crying policeman. "That means a lot."
When his gaze met mine there was a moment of silence. Jayden stared at me in shock. For a moment I doubted my decision. Was he going to arrest me? Yell at me? Tell me to mind my own business and go home?
His lips cracked a smile. Soon he was doubled over in laughter. "Are you some kind of supernatural bird creature?"
"Maybe." I certainly felt like one.
He reached out his hand, getting me safely onto the ledge. "Well, that's what I get for going into Indian territory." He was subtly blinking tears from his eyes. Either he didn't think I could see the moonlit sparkles streaming down his cheeks, or he just didn't care.
"Yeah, you get to meet all kinds of characters," I said, leaning against his car. Looking up at the now star-filled sky, I lit up a much-deserved cigarette.
"Just so you know I wasn't planning on jumping." Officer Fuller crossed his arms. He leaned back, reclining across the hood of his car, looking up at the sky. "I can't even fire a fucking gun."
I hadn't noticed earlier, but his hands trembled. I'd seen the by-product of gang torture; fingers were broken with a hammer (or the butt of a gun, or whatever the attacker could find.) This usually resulted in significant nerve damage. "Who did that to you?"
Jay pursed his lips and shook his head. "I'm not comfortable talking about it."
"Oh, ok," I said with a nervous shrug. "Sorry."
"Don't be. It's just another memory."
I felt around in my pocket for the card. Twisting it between two fingers, I watched the shiny letters shimmer in the light. "Officer Jayden Fuller. Can I call you Jayden?"
"I prefer Jay."
"Me too. Jayden sounds like a little kid's name."
"I always wanted to change it, but I was named after my grandfather."
"Seriously?"
"It has some deeper meaning; God has heard."
"Heard what? The latest boyband? Or were you destined to be a new age philosopher on Twitter?"
That got a smile.
I wanted to ask why he was at this particular spot, if not to kill himself, but that felt like an even worse topic of conversation. "Okay, Jay, how about we go someplace a little less Canadian."
"Less Canadian?" Jay seemed confused. "Are you talking about the snow? You know It snows in places other than Canada, right?"
"Not like Canadian snow. Our snow is like a sentient alien fungus, it just stays here and grows. My dad used to tell me that Canadian snowflakes were little cities, working their way north to meet up with the mother ship up in the arctic." That was a story I believed for most of my childhood.
"Your dad sounds like a pretty amazing guy."
"He was, for a junkie." Suddenly a thought occurred to me. "You're off duty, right? I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble."
"Yeah, I'm off duty." He looked off into the distance. "Can I take you somewhere, like an all-night diner or something?"
"Sure, I'd like that."
"Do you know a place? this is actually my first time in this neck of the woods."
That answered my previous question. He'd come here to die. As a white police officer, he wanted to end his life in a place where no one would try to look for him. (Or perhaps the local wildlife would have gotten rid of his body, returning him to nature before anyone had a chance to file a missing person report.) "There's a decent all-night diner a few miles up. It's pretty popular with ice road truckers." I reached for his hand, stroking my gloved fingers over his bare knuckles.
Jay turned and nodded. "I think that sounds just perfect."
"You think?" I asked with a sarcastic smirk.
"Funny."
I got into his car without hesitation. It was a small, late-model truck, the kind popular for driving to and from work. In the darkness I couldn't make out a brand; Nissan maybe Ford. My daddy knew about cars, he was a mechanic (at least that was the job he paid taxes on.) So I knew just enough to be able to be helpful. "Nice car."
"Thanks, it was my father's."
"You can't afford a new car on RCMP salary?"
"What?"
"Nothing." I looked out the window, gazing upon the Canadian wilderness. "It's just off the next exit, the place with the weird flower logo." I didn't know the name of the diner, only that it had a Hawaiian-tropical motif, with decor from the seventies or eighties. There was a massive parking lot, to accommodate long-haul truckers, (and the diner shared its truck stop location with a gas station, bringing even more business.)
Jay easily found a space. Given the late hour, we went inside and got a table by the window to enjoy the view of the desolate icy wonderland we called home.
The waitress, a native woman who was a friend of Cathy's recognized me and I can only assume she thought Jay was a customer I'd picked up on the highway. "Do you need a menu, Tia? Or just the usual?"
I laughed awkwardly.
"The usual?" Jay asked.
"Whenever I bring guys here," or just come in after my legitimate non-drug-related work shift, "I always get coffee and apple pie."
"The usual it is then." Jay reached for his pocket, taking out a pack of cheap cigarettes. "Is it alright to smoke in here?"
"Oh yeah, of course." I lit up a cigarette of my own, taking a long drag.
He held his unlit cigarette in his hand, fidgeting with it.
Over several cups of watered-down coffee and two slices of nearly expired grocery store-brand pie, we talked about the past. Jay grew up in Vancouver, the son of an American father and a Canadian mother. They moved to the north when he was a child, for the peace and quiet of the countryside.
"Peace and quiet?" I asked. "More like boredom."
He nodded. "I kind of got stuck here after high school. I always wanted to move back to the big city or even the states, but life just got in the way."
"Do you have dual citizenship?"
"One of the few blessings I was able to hang on to." He put out his cigarette on a teacup, before taking a sip of coffee. "A real blessing for my kids. They always dreamed big, too big for Northern Canada."
"And your wife?"
Jay's hands trembled so badly he had to put down the coffee cup. He picked up the cigarette he had been playing with earlier. It was clear he really needed the cancer stick to calm his nerves. He tried to work his lighter but was shaking too badly to get a flame.
"Here, let me." Without much effort, I gently stroked the button, inciting a light.
Jay nodded thanks as he leaned in close. He took a few drags to calm himself before continuing.
"I tried to be strong for my girls. Eve and Lucy. But they needed their mother, so eventually, I just had to let them move on."
"Move on? Where are they now?"
"Moving on with their lives, that's what I mean. Eve is fourteen, just started high school in New York."
"Wow, New York?"
"She got into some kind of art school, on a partial scholarship." He chuckled, likely due to the look of shock on my face. "She's happy, so I try to leave her be."
"That's cool at least she knows you love her. And your other daughter?"
Jay's smile crumbled. "My oldest, Lucy went to college in California. I haven't spoken to her in years."
"Why?" What could he have possibly done?
"It's a long story."
"I've got nothing but time." I bit my lip, quickly realizing how badly I overstepped. We were not close enough friends.
Jay squinted his eyes, he seemed annoyed, offended. "I should probably just drive you home." Before I could apologize he got up, tracked down the waitress, and paid our tab.
"Jay, wait," I said in a voice that was somewhat sarcastic. There was no one in the diner other than staff, but still, I felt embarrassed.
Jay sat in the car, lighting up a new cigarette all on his own. He didn't need me, not as a friend. And that made me more than a little pissed off.
'Stupid white-ass motherfucker, pulling your dumb-ass powerplay on the little native girl.' I knew I had to go with him, otherwise, I had an hour's walk, in the freezing cold of the night. But I wanted to make him wait, staring him down through the window. I was not about to let this cop disrespect me. After just a few seconds he started to honk.
The waitress, the one who knew the kind of girl I was, probably assumed I was trying to back out of a job, told me to get out or she was calling Cathy.
"Are you serious?"
She nodded, pointing to the door.
"Fine, I'm going." I walked out into the cold and proceeded to sit on the hood of Jay's truck like a park bench.
He continued laying on the horn. "Get inside before you freeze to death."
"Blow job is twenty!" I shouted over the annoying honking. "If you want to go back to my motel room it's a hundred, but I'll throw in the blow job for free."
"Get in the damn car," he said, in a softer, calmer tone. It was clear he was not trying to make a scene and get recognized as a cop soliciting a prostitute.
"Show me the money," I replied in my babydoll voice.
The waitress came out along with one of the cooks. "The dude has money. Do your job and get home to your mother!"
"Fuck off!" Did she really think Cathy was my mother? "I'm going!" I got in the passenger side, immediately leaning my head onto Jay's lap.
"What are you doing?"
"The only thing First Nation girls are good for." Even from the angle, I was at I could see a few truckers were watching from their cabs. "You can drive away if you want."
"How am I supposed to drive?" Jay muttered, his eyes staring forward. "I don't know the way to your fucking hotel."
The fact that he called it a 'fucking hotel' when my home was literally a hotel for sex workers, caused me to laugh. "Have you ever seen the movie Ratatouille?"
"Yes," he said with a groan.
"The one about the rat who controls the guy by pulling his hair." I re-positioned myself to sit on Jay's lap, running my fingers through his hair. I ended with a light tug of his blond locks, that evolved into a scalp massage, as I kissed his lips.
Jay gripped the back of my neck, the frustration clear in his face. "Tell me the name of your hotel and I will tell you the story of how my wife died."
I pressed my lips to his ear, "You first, Officer."
Jay nodded and pursed his lips. I could feel his body tense, as he mentally prepared to reveal his darkest truth.
"Field of Roses motel," I said softly, as I wiped tears from his eyes. "Do you know where it is?"
"Yeah, I do." Jay motioned for me to sit back in the passenger seat. "Put your head down."
I did as he asked, placing my head on his lap as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove away.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
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