Best Friends Forever

Chapter 8: Detective Brandsom

Her cheek was on fire, a sharp point of agony radiating outward in a blossom of heat. Emily's whole body twitched when something made contact, flesh slapping flesh. The shard of glass drove deeper still and she cried out, jerking away from the fresh pain.

Emily opened her eyes, blinking into the light and someone hovering over her. He looked familiar, but she wasn't quite there yet.

"Wake up, Miss Underman."

Who the hell called her Miss Underman? She shook free the last of her grog with the help of the pain and sat up, fingers going to her injury. Her cheek felt odd, dry and crusty, and when she pulled her hand back it was covered in crumbs of blood.

She looked up at him again, crouching next to her, his plain green tie hanging like an obscene tongue, the tip of it brushing her thigh. He looked unhappy.

"Detective Brandsom." She made the connection. "What happened?"

He grunted out a breath as he stood up, towering over her. Emily squinted against the bright sun over his shoulder.

"I was thinking that was my question."

The pain in her cheek faded to a low throb. She dropped her gaze to the ground

Screaming into the night with a bottle of vodka in her hand

She felt her stomach churn, pressed her hands to it, the lumps of her friend's memories still safely tied to her. Gravel dug into her jeans, the discomfort finally showing up. Emily looked up at the detective again.

He didn't offer to help.

She rolled on her hip. The churning in her stomach boiled over in an instant. Emily puked up the last of the vodka and stinking bile into the grass at the side of the bridge. When the heaving stopped, she gave herself a minute to breathe.

Standing on the rail, hearing the call of the gray, the siren song of the approaching train, ready to jump

She gagged one last time then fell still. The soft grass looked so inviting. How lovely to just lie down there again and sleep.

"You need to get up."

Was she that disgusting? The revulsion in his voice almost made her heave again.

"Why?" Why anything? She failed. At everything. She couldn't even kill herself properly.

Her name spoken in that voice she loved, turning to see them, her girls, waiting for her

Emily made it to her knees, holding herself up with shaking hands.

"Your parents are worried about you."

She laughed. It burned her raw throat, choked off her air, curled her forward over her knees.

When she got it together again, she said, "Sure they are." Like she didn't know how they felt. Her mother made it very clear, didn't she? Her favorite child was gone and it was Emily's fault, all her fault. She was better off dead.

He sighed. It bothered her. Who was he to push her, to judge her? He had no idea what her life was like.

He was beside her, his face in her space, nose almost brushing her damaged cheek, breath hot and stinking of old coffee.

"Listen to me, little girl." Her head whipped around, eyes meeting his. What she saw made her quiver. "You will get your damned ass off the ground and get in my car so I can get you home, understand? I've wasted enough of my f*****g time on you, princess." Brandsom pulled back and stood up again so quickly Emily felt dizzy from it. "Right now, I couldn't give a s**t about your dumb ass. But your parents are a wreck and I need their help. So get up."

He actually prodded her with his foot, scuffed black shoe meeting her leg. Emily flinched back.

"I said. Get. The. f**k. Up."

She tried. Got her feet under her. Pushed up. Felt her knees buckle while her thighs spasmed. Fell to her side. Panted for air. Forget her cheek or her unhappy gravel ass. Her whole body ached. Emily tried again. A miracle, her knees worked. Burning thighs held out. She couldn't pull herself up from a hunch, though. Her middle was a band of hurt she had to hug.

"Get in the car." Brandsom was already walking away. She staggered after him, one foot in front of the other, every step a jarring, Frankenstein motion. The black sedan was only ten feet from her, but it felt like she'd never get there. When she did, he waited with the door open. She glanced into his eyes once, then looked away.

Nothing good was reflected there, not for her. She wondered about his naked anger and why it was focused on her. She was hurting just as much as her parents, damn it. If not more. Where was his sympathy for her?

She collapsed into the front seat with the most gratitude she felt for anything in her life, ever. Air whooshed past her when he slammed the door. Emily let her eyes drift closed, her shoulders slumped, body completely limp. She didn't want to go home, really, but her bed would be a blessing.

She jumped a little when the driver's door opened. The car rocked. Door slammed. Key turned in the ignition.

"Seat belt."

It took her three tries to get it hooked without opening her eyes. The car was moving and so was she. Her stomach did one slow, steady roll over then fell still.

Not like there was much left in it to come out anyway.

Something clicked near her ear. "Dispatch, this is Brandsom. Have missing girl in custody."

"Roger that." A woman's voice, tiny over the radio. It made Emily smirk. Typical. Wasn't it always a woman on the other end in the movies?

"What are you grinning about?" He sounded really angry. Enough that she opened her eyes. The detective's jaw was locked on 'furious', like it would impress her. Sam taught her not to be afraid of cops. Sam wasn't afraid of anything.

Sam reached for her, arms outstretched

Emily flinched away from the vision just as Brandsom snarled at her again.

"You think this is some kind of funny, princess?"

"No." She didn't. He didn't believe her.

"You're just damned lucky I found you and not some lunatic. Jesus, girl, you could have been run over or worse. Is that it? Huh? Little brother's getting all the attention and you want some of the action for yourself?"

Cole. Emily's head snapped forward, face swiveled toward him. "Did you find him?" The only possible happy ending to her sad little story.

She should have known better than to let hope anywhere near her damaged heart.

"No. And no thanks to you. I should be working on his case. Instead, I'm out here looking for a spoiled, selfish little b***h who doesn't give a s**t about her family."

That wasn't fair. Or was it? She didn't have the energy to respond.

"And don't think I don't know about your friends. You seem to leave a trail of hurt in your wake, princess."

No argument there. It seemed to piss him off more.

"You've been drinking." No questions anymore. He knew her that well, did he?

"Why exactly do you give a s**t?" She had a therapist. He was a d**k. So was Brandsom.

"If you can for one minute think about your parents," he said, hands so tight on the wheel she thought it would come apart. "They need you there for them."

And who was there for her? No one. Not one f*****g person gave a crap. So why should she? Emily hugged herself and refused to go there. Glanced out the window, hunting for a distraction. Got more than she bargained for.

She realized where they were. Her whole body clenched as the sight of the flashing warning sign punched her in the chest.

The sedan pulled to a jerking stop as the rail fell. Emily fought her panic, the desperation rising in her. Her parents knew not to take her this way. Not to expose her to the very place which started her spiral to the darkness. Her eyes went immediately to the gouged pavement the town had yet to fix, the deep scrapes leading to it, left behind by the wreck, glaring claw marks, accusing her of everything. She heard the clanging of the bell only vaguely.

She wasn't there anymore.

***

She was going so fast in the dark, trying so hard through the burning haze of the whiskey, she almost missed it. A hand, pale as the moonlight, just visible past the shadow of the wrecked train. She fell to her knees, cried out as her injury finally made itself known, but clutched at the hand, pulled it toward the light. The rest of the arm emerged, chest, beloved face.

Sam looked up at her. But Sam was already gone.

***

The train roared by, flickering in time with her vision. The whistle drove needles of agony into her brain. She stared and stared, unable to look away, searching for them despite knowing they were gone. Long gone.

Emily choked on a sob and wrenched her eyes from the train. She leaned sideways, uninjured cheek pressed to the cold window glass. It felt amazing. She listened to Brandsom cursing softly and saw him checking his watch out of the corner of her eye. She closed them again, the panic easing.

And then, the feeling. Someone was watching her. She opened her eyes as something dark flashed next to her on the other side of the glass. Emily turned her head.

Sam's face was pressed to the outside of the window.

Emily screamed, her entire being poured into the sound. The white face of her friend looked empty, dead, flat. Her black eyes were pools of nothing sucking at Emily's soul.

Somehow she was sideways with her seatbelt still on, her feet pressed against the door, her back invading the detective's lap. He was yelling at her, but she couldn't stop couldn't stop couldn't stop until he spun her around and his hand connected with her face.

The bloom of agony in her cheek was familiar. The pain jerked her free of the terror. She turned back, pointing with a shaking hand at the window as the last of the train cars sped by, the whistle fading away in the distance.

The window was empty. Sam was gone.

Emily burst into tears as Brandsom physically moved her back into her seat.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She couldn't meet his eyes. Didn't care what he thought.

"I saw." She choked. Couldn't say it.

"What?" He was looking. At least he was looking. "What did you see?"

He would never believe her. No one would.

"Nothing." A whisper she could manage.

Both of his hands slammed down on the steering wheel.

"God damn it! Are you on drugs, too?" The clanging ended abruptly as the red flashing lights went dark. "You need help, girl. Serious help." He shook his head, heaving a great breath. "Jesus."

The engine hummed, pushed them forward over the tracks under the ponderous ascent of the gate. For a moment, as the tires da-dummed over the rails, Emily felt Sam with her again.

He was right. This was her real punishment. Not death. Madness.

Fair enough.

***