Vatsal Parekh (Victory Watson)

Tragedy Crime Thriller

4  

Vatsal Parekh (Victory Watson)

Tragedy Crime Thriller

Letting Go (Chapter-16)

Letting Go (Chapter-16)

9 mins
323


Jilliana

When Agent Nancy Keene returned to their interrogation room, Jilliana knew something had changed. The agent looked the same, still pristinely dressed without a single hair out of place, but she seemed to be walking with more determination than before as the harsh sound of her heels reverberated off the walls. Jilliana didn’t necessarily like Keene - to be fair, she didn’t particularly like anyone involved with Serena’s case - but she was grateful to her for breaking the tension that filled the room when only the Moores were in it. Her father hadn’t looked at her since she’d sat down. Her mother, appalled by her appearance and foul language, was ignoring her completely. Even Serena, the only person who seemed genuinely happy that she had showed up, had scooted several inches away because of her stench. Jilliana had every intention of leaving, but knew that she wouldn’t hear the end of it from her parents if she did.

Everyone sat up a bit taller when Keene took her seat in front of them. Jilliana reached for Serena’s hand, held it tightly, and was surprised to feel her squeeze it back.

Agent Keene looked only at Serena when she spoke. “Our investigative team is now actively searching for the man you recognized,” she glanced to their parents, then turned back to Serena, “Our top priority here is that you feel safe during this process. Let me know how we can do that.”

Serena sat silently for a moment before responding, “Has the press been notified yet?”

“No, but they’ll be covering it within the next twenty-four hours.”

Jilliana leaned forward, “Is the press really necessary? I mean, can’t this secret person you’ve been interviewing give you an idea of where he is?”

Keene turned to Jilliana, acknowledging her for the first time since she’d returned to the room. “We have very little information regarding this man’s current whereabouts.”

Jilliana let out a small laugh, “Wait a minute. So this mysterious person who came forward knows who he is, but has no idea where he is?” She leaned back in her chair slightly, “I’m sorry, but that’s complete bullshit.”

Their mother leaned forward and eyed Jilliana disapprovingly. Agent Keene continued, “I assure you that we have some of our finest agents working on this case. Even if we had information regarding his whereabouts, the press would still need to cover it.”

Serena turned to Jilliana and gave her an uneasy, forced smiled. Jilliana squeezed her sister’s hand tighter.

“So,” Agent Keene continued to speak only to Serena, “you are welcome to stay here if you don’t feel safe at ho---”

“No,” Serena said firmly, “I mean, no thank you. I...I want to go home.”

“Serena,” their father turned his chair to face her, speaking in a strong, resolute tone, “you’re staying here, at the headquarters tonight. There’s no way I will allow you to be anywhere else while they’re searching for this monster.”

Serena looked over at her father, paused, then turned back to the agent.

“Fine. I’ll stay. Here, I mean.”

The agent nodded. “Alright,” she said, standing up, “We can keep you here for up to 24 hours in one of our break rooms. Mr. and Mrs. Moore, Jilliana, please follow me to the exit. Serena, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Jilliana turned to her sister and leaned in closely to her ear. “Do you want me to stay with you? I will, if you don’t want to be alone.”

Serena turned her head slightly and whispered back, “I’m okay Jills, really. Just promise me you’ll do one thing for me when you get back to our apartment.”

“Yes, of course. Anything.”

“Please,” Serena smiled, “please, for God’s sake, take a shower.”

The moment Jilliana got to her apartment she did just that. She stripped off her sweaty, alcohol stained clothes, and took a long, hot shower. She toweled off 20 minutes later and pulled on a comfortable pair of sweatpants and tshirt. As she entered the kitchen to make coffee, she glanced at the digital clock above the stove. It was only 3:30pm, which meant she’d spent a little over two hours at the agency - hours that went by so slowly it felt more like five. For a moment she wished that she hadn’t called in sick at the restaurant, just so that she’d have something to keep her busy for the remainder of the day.

Jilliana turned to start the coffee maker and found the coffee pot placed on the counter, completely burnt. “Damn it,” she said under her breath, filling the pot with water. She left it to soak in the sink and began searching the drawers for a cigarette. When no cigarettes could be found she opened the fridge, only to find it completely empty.

It was then, while sulking before the fridge, that Jilliana remembered the electricity had been shut off, and that Serena must have thrown away all the perishable food. She turned, saw the empty wine bottles on the living room floor, and recalled everything that had happened only days before - the unpaid bill, Roy, and the heated argument that followed. She thought of how quickly everything had changed - that within two days she had gone from nearly being kicked out of her apartment to holding Serena’s hand in the interrogation room. Jilliana couldn’t remember the last intimate moment she’d shared with her sister, and thought it ironic that what had brought them so close that afternoon was the same event that, so many years ago, had pulled them apart.

She craved a cigarette more than food, despite the ferocious growl her stomach gave as she closed the fridge. There was a drug store two blocks away from the apartment, and a chinese restaurant only one block further, so she put on her shoes, picked up her phone, wallet, and keys from the dining room table, and left.

Jilliana got to the drugstore quickly, and felt an instant ease from her lit cigarette, the weight of the Camel pack in her side pocket, and the bottle of wine she carried in her free hand. China Express was nearly empty, so she was home in 15 minutes, sitting on her couch with a fork in one hand and cigarette in the other. On the coffee table were two white boxes of teriyaki chicken and chow mein beside an unwrapped set of chopsticks and an opened wine bottle. She sat in silence, not wanting to turn on the television or acknowledge her phone, which had buzzed several times while she was out.

It was 4:45pm. Jilliana finished her cigarette, took several bites of chicken, and spread her body out along the couch. The sun glared through the window, but she couldn’t muster the energy to stand up and close the blinds. She glanced at the table, turned to reach for her phone, then quickly retreated her hand back. Her parents had surely been calling, and the thought of speaking with them made Jilliana feel even more exhausted than she already was. She rolled over onto her side, dove her face into the couch cushions, and closed her eyes.

Jilliana fell in and out of sleep, waking every few hours to take a bite of chow mein or smoke a cigarette. By 10:30pm the wine bottle lay empty beside the bottles covering the carpet from the weekend before, and she had finished what was left of her takeout. She smoked one more cigarette, pressed it into the ashtray, and entered a dreamless sleep.

At 9:30 the next morning, she was awoken by a strong pounding on the front door. It took her a moment to recall where she was before pushing herself up to a sitting position. She walked sluggishly across the living room as the pounding grew louder, and raised up to her toes to glance through the peephole when she arrived at the door. It was Patrick.

Despite the collared shirt and tie he was wearing for work, Patrick looked remarkably disheveled. His tie was slightly askew and he had a distressed look on his face that worried Jilliana the moment she saw him in the doorway. He closed the door quickly and pulled her into a hug.

“Why aren’t you at work?” Jilliana’s words were muffled from his embrace.

“How are you?” Patrick spoke with an apprehensiveness that made Jilliana step back.

“I’m...fine,” she said, turning to walk toward the living room.

Patrick grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward him. “Let’s skip the part where you pretend everything’s okay.”

Jilliana tried at first to free her hand from his grip, but the intent in his eyes made her pause. “Pat seriously. The meeting wasn’t that bad. I swear. I’m just wiped out from it, that’s all.”

Patrick let go of her hand. “The meeting,” he furrowed his brows, “I’m not...I’m not talking about the meeting.”

Jilliana tilted her head slightly, confused. They looked at each other for a moment in silence, then Patrick placed his left hand at her back and guided her to the living room. “I...I think you should sit down.”

“You’re scaring me, Pat.” She started to feel lightheaded as they neared the couch.

“Jills,” Patrick sat beside her and held her hands as he spoke, “something happened.”

Jilliana’s body went cold, almost instantly. She felt frozen, as though every muscle in her body was forcibly locked into place, though her hands started to shake involuntarily. She’d had this feeling before, when she was a child. Every time the phone rang, or when her parents turned on the television, Jilliana would fall into a similar petrified state, terrified that the worst had finally happened - that Serena was found, dead. Even after her sister had returned home, it took months for Jilliana to be unaffected by the sound of a ringing telephone.

Patrick held her hands tighter as they shook, but didn’t veer his eyes from hers. “Jilliana, do you know about Michelle? Michelle Wilkes?”

“Umm no,” Jilliana could feel her breathes ease slightly, “should I?”

Patrick nodded, looked down to the floor, then back up to her.

“Apparently, I mean on the news they’re saying that.. uh,” Patrick paused, “they’re saying that Michelle had some kind of connection to Serena’s abduction.”

Jilliana furrowed her eyebrows, “Okay, so she was an accomplice? Oh, wait-” she quickly recalled the meeting from the day before, “someone came forward with information about the abductor. Someone who knew him, I think. They told us yesterday at the meeting.”

Patrick’s eyes grew wider. He gripped Jilliana’s hands tighter, so tight that she felt inclined to pull them away.

“It’s okay, Pat. Now they know who that asshole is, and they can finally track him down after all of these years. And I’m sure that this woman Michelle, if she’s the one who came forward, will be able to help us find--”

“Jills,” Patrick turned sharply to face her, “Michelle Wilkes is dead.”



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