Buried Truth, Page 4

  Chapter 4: Processing the Scene

  What is going on? None of this makes any sense. Why would someone kill my parents? And we don’t have any bloody secrets! Do we? The truth is beneath the guardian. What does that mean? I stand beside my bed, staring at the note transfixed and bewildered all at the same time. This note is nonsense. Why would he write this?

  I glance down at their bodies, but my head starts pounding. My stomach convulses forcing me to puke on the bed. With my body doubled over, I can’t tell where they are lying in position to where I found the note. My stomach is becoming more nauseous by the second, so I bend over looking at the base of the bed preparing to puke again. Under the bed, a pen catches my eye, but my head and stomach prevent me from grabbing it.

   I don’t know how much longer I can take this room. I have to get out of here. I dismiss my thoughts and attempt to set the note back on the bed where I found it, but for some reason I can’t let go. Without thinking almost as if I am being driven to act out of instinct or stupidity, I fold the note and place it in my wallet. I have to get out of here. I cannot take it anymore. I calmly walk out of the room, too nauseous from the sight of blood to move at any other pace; I leave the room without even the slightest glance back at my parents.

  I walk out into the hallway past the other rooms without even looking anywhere but straight ahead to the descending flight of stairs. Once I reach the stairwell, I remember the blood pool on the top step. A faint sense of mucus coating the back of my throat initiates my gag reflex. While looking down at the step trying not to vomit, a footprint in the blood sticks out from the rush of the moment. I instinctively check my shoe and find on the bottom of my right shoe there is a small amount of blood.

  I turn around and look down the hallway carpet. Little blood smudges leading to my room that appears to be from the heel of a shoe. I must have stepped in the blood on accident when I exited the flight of stairs earlier. I’ll tell the police what happened.

  As I get about halfway down the stairs, the sounds of sirens probably five blocks away penetrate the quiet house’s interior. I leave the stairs and head out through the kitchen, but what I find puzzles me even more. The food that had just been untouched in the center of the table was now half-eaten and scattered amongst four plates, while from the oven the smell of burnt desert permeates the downstairs part of the house.

  Having no clue what that could even mean I head right to the front door, not caring to look or think about anything else behind me. Right before I reach the door, a strange feeling causes me to look to my left. It’s the same feeling that makes you check the stop light even though traffic is moving forward. An instinctive reaction that is supposed to keep you safe and aware because even though you know what you should see without looking, the consequences of seeing red hanging above you are intuitively know even when the mind is absent.

  Nailed on the wall are a handful of our family pictures that we have taken over the years. My eyes lock on the most recent family picture we had taken, and I can almost hear my heart break with the world shattering truth. That is the last family picture we will have ever taken. I open the door and return outside into the beautiful day that had somehow turned into a far worse nightmare.

  I make my way out to the middle of the walkway that leads to the house. My legs quiver as I bend down towards the hard surface that I once rolled toy cars and trucks down. But now while emerging tears threaten to break through my eyes, the surface turns into the place where I must wait for the police.

  I sit—just sitting, not thinking, not worrying, but waiting as if I’m the only person in the world, listening and sobbing as the sirens grow in volume until the first of the many police cars arrive.

  The police officer approaches me with his head down. He asks, “Where are they, son?”

  I reply through my tears from the ground “Upstairs. The last room at the end of the hallway. They are… They are not breathing, officer.”

  The officer tells me, “Ok. Stay here. I’ll check it out. There will be another officer over to take your statement shortly.” With that, the officer heads to the house along with two paramedics that just arrived moments earlier.

  I watch the street with all the determination I can muster, and it does take every ounce of concentration that I have to peek back at the nightmare going on inside the house behind me. Two more police vehicles pull into the drive with sirens blazing. A middle-aged police officer exits one of the vehicles and walks straight toward me.

  I gather my strength and stand up to meet him. He walks up to me and pulls out a notebook. I notice a patch on his shirt that reads D. Walker. He clinches the notebook in one hand and looks at me with a gaze of sorrow as the other hand comes to a rest on my shoulder. “I’m truly sorry about this. I know you are exhausted and these circumstances are just awful, but I need your statement.”

  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and take a breath, “That’s fine. I understand.”

  He grabs a pen out of his pocket and looks down at his notebook. “Just begin with your name, and then the events leading up to the discovery of your parents.” He glances up at me, “Take your time. It’s ok.”

  I pause to clear my throat, which is dry and irritating, before I begin my official statement. “My name is Ryan Johnson, and well, we… I mean my parents and I were supposed to have lunch today at 12:30. I just recently graduated college with my master’s degree, and they wanted to celebrate.” My voice trails off, but I gather my thoughts quickly.

  “It was such a beautiful day, so I decided to take a jog from my house over here. I left about 11:15 and only live just on the other side of town. I got about five blocks or so from the house and decided to call and let them know I was almost here. There was no answer, so I left a message. I also tried calling their cell phones but there was no answer. When I got to the house, I saw… I saw the door was ajar. I went in the house and first to the kitchen. Nobody was in there. I… I went upstairs next and saw a pool of blood on the last step. I ran onto the landing, and I stepped in the blood. I have some on my shoe still. Then I proceeded down the hallway. I noticed a towel with blood in the bathroom and blood on my door. I went in my room and saw both… both my parents lying on the floor with blood everywhere. I called 911 and… left the house.”

  Officer Walker stops writing and looks at me. “What about the scratches and wounds on your face?”

  Knowing I can’t reply with the truth of an I don’t know, I respond, “Oh, last night me and some friends had a few too many drinks. I am a bit clumsy when I drink.”

  He nods, “Unfortunately, I know your reputation Ryan. I would advise staying away from the alcohol while you deal with the trauma from today. Ok. So did anything strange happen in recent days to suggest something like this might happen?”

  No, but strange has been happening all day. “No, nothing out of the ordinary.”

  He jots something down in his notebook. When he’s finished writing, he asks, “Did you see anything unusual in the house, anything out of place, or missing?”

  Yeah, a person in my window and a note on my bed. The note. I hope he doesn’t search me. “No, I didn’t see anything missing, but I wasn’t really looking for anything but my parents.”

  He makes another note in his notebook. “One more question. Do you have any idea who could have done something like this? Do your parents have any enemies or anyone that would want to bring them harm?”

  I don’t know. I couldn’t possibly know. This is just horrendous. How could I know? “I don’t know officer. They are such loving, caring people. I just can’t see someone intentionally wanting to do them harm.”

  He nods his head and replies. “I knew your folks. They were good people. Your dad was good at his job, gave us a lot good fights, but he was an honorable guy through it all. All right, I’m going to need your shoes for evidence since there is blood on them, and your fingerprints since you were in the house. I can have one of my men drive you back over to your house on
ce you are finished. I’m deeply sorry Ryan. This is just awful.”

  I nod my head, keeping my eyes focused on the concrete walkway. Officer Walker walks back to his car and talks to another police officer who had been standing by the car talking on a phone through the car window. The two approach me while still talking between themselves. Officer Walker speaks to me first. He says, “This is Officer Boyd he will take your fingerprints, bag your shoes, and then give you a ride back to your house.”

  I nod and look towards Officer Boyd. He motions for me to follow him while saying, “Right this way.” I follow him towards the police cars as Officer Walker heads towards the house. “I’m going to need you to take off your shoes and place them in this bag.” I bend down to untie my shoes as he holds the bag. He closes the bag containing my shoes as one of the paramedics approaches down the gravel walkway towards us.

  The paramedic looks at me with sympathy in his eyes. “We are going to take your parents to the county hospital for an autopsy. We will get back in touch with you following the autopsy.” I nod, and the paramedic walks back toward the house where two carts are waiting on the porch with plastic covering them.

  I clench my jaw as I turn towards Officer Boyd. He takes out a portable screen from the car. “I need you to place and hold each finger on the screen until this red light turns green.” I place each individual finger on the screen as Officer Boyd and I stand in silence.

  I can’t help but notice that Officer Boyd is a little shaky. He hasn’t actually looked me in the eye, while his hands tremble ever so slightly as he presses my fingers against the screen. He is young, probably around my age, clean-shaven, and his hair is neatly cut close to his scalp.

  I don’t think I have ever seen him before, but I sense something vaguely familiar, maybe he was in one of my classes or something during college. There is something in my thoughts that I can’t quite figure out, but of course, that is because I make a point of avoiding the cops. I’ve never had pleasant experiences when I encounter them.

  As he places my middle finger against the device, I ask, “Is this your first case… you know like this?”

  He looks at me with his eyes drawn close together, “It’s my first murder. I guess I’m just a little off. Not knowing what to expect. Why?”

  I nod in agreement, and then shrug my shoulders. I’m not sure exactly why I wanted to know if it was his first. “Do you know my parents?”

  “Yeah, your mom was actually the realtor that set me up with my house here in Everton. By all accounts, they were good people.”

  I nod as silence returns over us until the last finger is pressed, and the last green light flashes. Officer Boyd is first to pierce the silence. “Alright, that will do it. I’ll take you home now. Get in.” 

  Finally. Maybe I’ll wake up and all this will be a dream. I climb in the police car, which is facing the house. As I sit down, Officer Boyd puts the car in reverse while I stare out the window at the once beautiful house that now only brings a searing pain to my heart. Why did this happen? Why me? Once again, a voice from deep within echoes, you know.

  As we drive down the lonely street in silence, I begin thinking back over the past day. I feel awful. My hangover should be over by now. I still can’t remember last night. What is with all this craziness all of a sudden, and what is the supposed secret? It’s probably just my exhaustion from me running and… Don’t think about it. Not right now.

  As I fiddle with my phone, I remember the dean’s office had called while I was looking for my parents. I need to hear some good news even if it’s only to take me away from the deeper truth of the day and make me forget for a while.

  I call my voicemail. “You have one new voicemail, and one saved voicemail.” Huh, I don’t remember having a saved voicemail. I press one and the new message plays. “Message Received at 12:20: Hey Ryan this is Julie Peterson from the Dean’s office. I’m calling to inform you that the board voted this morning and unanimously approved you for the upcoming school year. Give me a call back next week, and I will give you more details.” Well that’s good. All my hard work paid off.

  “To listen to your saved voice message press one.” Let’s see what it could be. I press one, and the saved voice message begins to play. ‘Message received at 4:48 P.M.” “Hey, Ryan. We wanted to…” I hit the end and turn my phone off. Officer Boyd looks suspiciously over at me. “Are you ok?” He asks.

  I reply. “Oh, yeah. Just had a missed call.” The saved voicemail was from my dad last night. I just can’t listen to that right now. It’s too soon. It would be like talking to a ghost.

  The small metal box motoring down the highway traps me with nothing to do but replay my dad’s voice in my head. An unnerving coldness sweeps through me as I resist the temptation to punch the officer in the face for not doing his job. Someone should have been protecting my family. My mind is torn, and I can’t figure out if it’s just the horrible day so far or something else. My gut says it’s something else. But what?

  I focus my attention back to the road and see that we are on my block. Almost home! A slight sense of warm comfort begins to flow through me, covering the coldness, but then the warmth is gone like so much from today.

  Boyd says, “You might want to get in touch with any family members to let them know what has happened. I suspect the news will spread quickly throughout town. We can’t stop it once it gets out, but out of respect we will try and keep it under wraps for as long as possible.”

  I look him in the eye as we pull up to our house. “Thanks, I will. Thanks for the ride.” Before I open the door to exit, he replies, “No problem. Take it easy and get some rest. And its procedure to tell you not to leave town, so stick around and you should be fine. We will probably need to ask more questions, but that can wait till tomorrow.”

  I exit the car and head towards my sanctuary. There is something on the porch. What is that? Whatever was on the porch vanishes into thin air like a magician's illusion. Where did it go? It was just here. Maybe I do need some rest since I’m seeing things that aren’t there. My head can’t process all the madness around me.