Blood Runs Thicker Than Water

            Blood Runs Thicker Than Water

By: Val Rivera

Losing something in a small space is never much cause for concern, wouldn’t you agree? Say you misplace something in your room, for example, and after maybe a minute of mild anxiety and a slightly increased heart rate, you decide to go on with your day, assuring yourself that although missing at that moment, there are only X number of places it could be hiding. There is no need to stress about losing something within a limited area, especially if that something that you lost is rather insignificant, right?

Charlotte Lee Young, age 29, was last seen at The Taphouse on December 3rd at 1:50 am in her usual state; drunk, promiscuous, and loud. At first, to the small town of Chaney, losing Charlie was no cause for concern. At first, losing Charlie was like losing a spare mailbox key in the clutter of a dinky, little junk drawer. At first, no one cared. At first, every one knew that in such a small town, there were only so many places the irresponsible, young woman could go to waste her time. At first, the Chaney community paid no mind to her sudden absence, enjoying the new peace and quiet instead.

You see, when Charlie wasn’t sitting on the register counter at the local gas station’s mini-mart, her legs crossed, a magazine in one hand and a cigarette resting between the fingertips of the other. She was sure to be found at The Taphouse, in the corner of the bar smacking her chewing gum in between shots of vodka. Charlie had made a home for herself in Chaney’s refuge for drunk men and burnouts. It was the cheapest, grimiest bar for miles. Bar fights, profanity, and thick must was it’s aesthetic. And at the heart of the bar, at the center of the drunken commotion, was Charlie. Always.

And in a town like Chaney, where word travels fast and eyes are everywhere, it wasn’t hard for Charlie to build up the reputation she did. She had picked up a couple of rather nasty habits, like picking fights with anyone she could, sleeping around with married men, and stumbling down main street towards her home late at night, waking the neighborhood with her slurred nonsense. Charlie was Chaney’s town drunk, unapologetically. So it was no surprise that for a few days, the loud clink of her bright red stiletto shoes on the sticky, Taproom floor, was not missed.

It took nearly an entire week for word of Charlie’s disappearance to reach Officer Matt Meyers. Kathleen Quick, Charlie’s employer, filed a missing persons report after Charlie had missed 5 of her register shifts, consecutively.

“I drove by her house, too,” Mrs. Quick explained to the officers at the station. “I’ll admit, I did let myself in. The door was unlocked and I just wanted to see if she was in there. Real crusty, dirty place. Fits her well, if I’m being honest. But unfortunately, that’s all I saw. A whole lotta mess, but no Charlie.” Officer Myers took a deep breath before standing up. “That girl is something,” Mrs. Quick added, scooting her chair away from the officer’s desk to stand, too. “She always either clocks in way too hungover to stand behind the damn register or too hammered from the night before. But she doesn’t have much. No family or nothing. She’s been working for me for far too long. I can’t just ignore this.”

Officer Myers shook Mrs. Quick’s hand once more before walking her out of the station, thanking her for coming forward with a report. He walked back to his desk again, trying to ignore the sour taste in his mouth and the uncomfortable lump that had formed in the back of his throat. He spent most of his afternoon staring at the damp, brown ring his coffee mug had stained on his notepad, tapping his pen impatiently on the edge of his desk.

“A missing person in Chaney?”

Matt looked up.  Officer Randall Schmidt stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.  “Now that’s something you don’t hear everyday.”

“My guess is she’s out in the city somewhere. Who knows where the drunks like to head off too. We’ll find her,” Matt said, standing up.

“You think she left town?” Officer Schmidt asked.

“Well where the hell is she going to hide here in Chaney?” Matt shot back, quickly. He had started to pace back and forth. “Under a rock? Behind a fire hydrant?” The room was silent for a moment. Officer Schmidt cleared his throat.

“Um, with the reputation she had, though...” he began. “You don’t think someone is responsible for this?”

Matt stopped pacing and stared at his partner.

Officer Schmidt continued. “She hung out with a lot of dirt bags. I mean, have you been to The Taproom? Not exactly Chaney’s pride and joy, huh? Not to mention the handful of wives she’s ticked off. What with her homewrecking hobby and all--”

“What are you suggesting then, Randy?” Matt interrupted, his eyes now fixed on the case file spread across his desk. “A list of suspects? Ms.Young drives the whole town crazy. We might as well question the entire freaking community for Christ’s sake.”

“Then we better get on it, huh?”

******

Matt spent the rest of his time at the station compiling a list of names. At 5, he eagerly left the station to head home, his heart heavy. The air outside was cold and stale. The kind of winter air that stings to breathe in. The wind violently whipped across Matt’s face as he walked quickly up his driveway, focusing on not the cold, but his beautiful wife standing on the porch, waiting for him. She was wrapped in a thick blanket, sheltered from the brutal, winter air. He was happy to finally step foot in his warm house, tightly pressing the front door against the bitter chill. His wife wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him gently on his unshaven cheek. They made their way to the kitchen, hand in hand. He was thankful for his wife’s warmth. They began to set the table.

“So,” she said, after a short breath of hesitation. “Anything new going on at work?”

“Nope.” Matt said shortly, concentrating on the placemats before him.

“Nothing at all?” she insisted.

“No, Monica.” Matt looked up at his wife. She wasn’t buying it.

“The whole town knows. The whole town has known. But now people are saying that it’s more serious than we thought. That she’s really missing. That someone might’ve hurt her.”

“Jesus,” Matt said, letting out a heavy sigh. “All this town does is talk.”

“Is it true?” she asked, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. “Do you guys think that someone hurt Charlotte Young? A member of our community? A neighbor, for Christ’s sake!?”

“Monica, I don’t know! The case is a work in progress. I have a list of people we need to talk to. This could be blown way out of proportion. These rumors don’t make my job any easier, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t engage in the Chaney gossip,” Matt said sternly, taking a seat at the table. “Sit down. I’m starving.”

Monica didn’t take a seat. She stared directly into his eyes and asked, “Who’s on the list?”

Matt shook his head and began tossing the salad. Monica repeated her question, a little louder. Matt kept his head down.

She snatched the salad bowl away from him. “Tell me you’re going to talk to him. Please.”

“Talk to who?” Matt replied.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Monica said, carrying the salad bowl away. “You know exactly who.”

“Where are you going? What about dinner?”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” she called, as she disappeared into the kitchen.

******

            The next morning, Matt woke early, taking a shorter shower than usual, shaving quickly and sliding into freshly washed jeans and a flannel. He left both a sleepy Monica and his police badge at home. He drove across town, across the railroad track, and into the poor neighborhood he grew up in. He avoided this part of town, hoping to forget it even existed. The dim streetlights and unkept lawns of the neighborhood reminded him too much of his childhood, a part of his life he desperately tried to push away. As he turned on each street corner, he saw himself as a little boy, shuffling on the sidewalk, moving from one foster home to another. After his parents passed, Matt became property of the state. Every few months or so, he was ushered into a new home, living under new rules of a new relative or stranger. The cracked sidewalk made his skin crawl. He parked in front of a tiny, worn down duplex. Walking to the door, he inspected the peeling, chipped paint on the outside walls. The rain gutter had fallen out of place, dangling from the roof. He knocked once. Nothing. He knocked again.

“Andy! Open up! I know you’re in there!” he called through the door. After a few more bangs, Matt heard the locks and latch scrape from the other side of the door. It swung open revealing a dark entryway and a man standing on the carpet in nothing but a pair of South Park boxers. He was tall and hairy, with deep blue eyes, a scratchy, neglected beard, and a disheveled heap of thin, brown hair. His stomach rounded into a sorry, beer gut and he reeked of salami and Jack Daniels. Before Matt could process the image in front of him, the man threw his arms around Matt in an embrace.

“Baby brother! What are you doing here, man?” the naked man said, laughing. “Long time no talk. You don’t come around enough for someone who basically lives down the street!” He swung Matt’s head under his arm, playfully rustling his hair. Matt fought his way out of the head lock, unsure of what to say. “Well will you come in?” Andy asked with a wink. “I would love to stay out here and talk, but it’s cold as shit and I seem to have misplaced my damn coat, or something.”

            Matt took a step forward. The living room was a mess. Beer cans and pizza boxes scattered like confetti across the floor. The air was dry and stiff, smelling like a mix of dirty socks, cigarettes, and febreeze spray fragrance. Matt watched as Andy pulled a robe over himself and headed to the kitchen.

            “So, little bro. What brings you across the tracks?”

            Matt followed him. “I just wanted to see how you were doing, Andrew,” he replied. “Just a little check in.”

            Andy poured himself a glass of coke and whiskey. “Ha, okay Matthew. I’m doing great, how about yourself?” He smiled at Matt for a second. “Shit! I am the worst! I didn’t even offer you a drink!” he said loudly, reaching for another glass from the cabinet. Matt looked at the clock on the microwave. 9:04. Andy slid the glass across the counter.

            “Now what’s actually going on, baby brother? Not a family reunion, I assume.”

            Matt forced a laugh, then put his lips to the glass and tilted his head back, but didn’t drink. He then set the glass on the counter in front of him.

            “Well, since you seem to suggest I have an ulterior motive for coming to visit, I will ask a question that’s been on my mind. If that’s okay.”

            Andy topped his drink off and nodded, still smiling.

            “Your bar friend, Charlie… Have you heard from her at all?”

            Andy laughed. “I don’t live under a rock, Matt. The whole town talks about it all the time now.” He moved towards the torn recliner in the living room. “ Funny though, because no one seemed to give a rat’s ass just a few days ago. And now everyone’s so concerned about her safety? Load of--”

            “Did you see her at all that night?” Matt interrupted. “At the Taphouse, maybe?”

            Andy stopped walking, then slowly turned around to face his brother. He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Well, sure. She was always there and I mean, so am I. But it was just a short exchange. You know? A quick how-do-you-do.”

            He found a seat in the recliner as Matt took a few steps into the living room. They looked at each other for a long moment, neither one breaking eye contact. Matt imagined Charlie, with her rough, long, auburn hair, her sharp cheekbones, freckly arms, and bright green eyes hidden behind course, fiery bangs. He imagined her small, fragile frame nestled up beside his brother at the bar or out in front of the mini-mart. He remembered them walking, hand in hand down main street, sharing a cigarette.

            “So you weren’t seeing her anymore?” Matt asked.

            “Charlie? No, brother. We are long over.” Andy took another drink. “Bitch is crazy. Hysterical, really. I don’t need that stress in my life.”

            “I thought you were always kind of on and off,” Matt said.

            “Nah, Matt. I’m telling you, bro.” He lifted his finger and moved it in a small circular motion by his head, grinning. 

            “You guys fought a lot. I remember. I know we had some of the guys down at the station respond to a noise complaint from one of your neighbors. A lot of yelling and stuff” Matt continued.

            “Like I said, Matt. Charlie was crazy,” he replied, lighting a cigarette. He took a drag. “Is crazy, i should say. She probably ran off somewhere, too drunk to find her way back.”

            Matt nodded. “Okay, then. I should probably get going.”

            “Yeah, come back anytime, bro.”

            Matt slowly walked towards the door, but before he reached for the knob, he turned around and said, “Andy, you should know that there’s a list of people to be questioned.” He watched his brother ash his cigarette in response, uninterested. “And you should know that you’re on it. So if you have any information… or anything you want to tell me at all… do it soon.”

            Andy stood from his recliner and narrowed his eyes at his brother. “I don’t like the sound of this conversation anymore, baby brother.” Andy took a step towards him. Matt stayed put. “It sounds to me like you’re accusing me of knowing more than I do. Pointing that high and mighty finger around, eh? And at your own blood? After everything we’ve been through? After all the protection I’ve provided over the years? What would Mom and Dad say if they knew, huh?”

            “I’m not accusing you of anything, Andy. Let’s not put up the defense.” Matt turned towards the door to open it.

            “Are you questioning me about Charlotte as a brother or a cop?” Andy pressed.

            “I was just giving you a heads up about the case and your involvement,” Matt said calmly. “I’ll always be your brother before I’m a cop,” he added as he took a step into the cold.

            “Yeah, you mean that?” Andy shouted after him.

            “Until the day we die,” Matt called back, shutting the door behind him.

******

            Questioning at the station began that afternoon. Men and women came and went, but no one seemed to know much about where Charlie Young might have gone. For a town that jumped at the opportunity to criticize the woman so much, they sure didn’t seem to know enough about her. After he had had enough of the useless interrogations, Officer Myers round up his crew and drove across the train tracks, to the other side of town for the second time that day. Just two blocks from Andy’s was Ms. Charlotte Young’s home. It was a tiny, brown residence that resembled more of a shack than a house. A beat up, 1998 Chevy trailblazer with a duct taped window sat in the small front yard, parked on the grass in front of the porch, untouched for a week now. The police officers walked up the creaky porch steps, single file, skipping the step that was broken in the middle.

            Searching the house was difficult. Charlie was apparently quite the hoarder. Each officer kept on the lookout for any possible clue, but it was almost impossible in such a cluttered mess.

            “I’m going to check the bedroom,” Matt called, as he wandered down the dim, narrow hallway.

            “I’ll go with you,” Officer Schmidt insisted, following him to the room. They entered the bedroom and began searching the dressers.

            “Randy, go over to the closet and see what’s in there. Look for something that could indicate she was here recently,” Matt said.

            “What the hell is that supposed to look like?” he asked, impatiently.

            Matt ignored him and began to inspect the unmade bed. He knelt to his knees by the side of the frame, and with his flashlight in hand, lifted the hanging sheet to see what hid under the bed. And that’s when he saw it. On the floor, just on the other side.

            “There’s no way in hell--”

            “What? What happened?” Officer Schmidt asked, spinning away from the closet to look at Matt. And before he could stop himself, before he could think twice, Matt let the sheet drop to the floor and stood up as quickly as possible. And then, he lied. He lied straight to his partner’s face.

            “Oh, nothing,” he assured him, nervously. “Thought i saw a rat.”

            Officer Schmidt’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh, I thought you actually found something. Wouldn’t surprise me if this old place housed a few extra tenants ”

           Matt stood up. “There’s not shit here. Go downstairs and see if the boys have found anything yet. I'll catch up here in a sec.”

Matt watched as his partner left the bedroom. He listened for the fade of his footsteps down the hallway before rounding the bed frame to the other side. He picked up a dark, suede coat, reeking of stale cigarettes. Matt swallowed hard as he reached for the patch of fabric sewn into the inside of the coat. He smoothly traced the letters with his finger tips.

  Andrew J. Myers

   “What have I done?”

******

            Matt couldn’t sleep that night. Each time he dozed off, he was awaken a few minutes later, tossing and turning in his own guilt. He turned to his sleeping wife for comfort. He ran his fingers through Monica’s silk brown hair and watched her peacefully sleep. He loved her so much. She had saved him from the trouble’s of his childhood, helping him let go of the grim memories of the dirty homes and childhood neglect. She provided him with new, happy memories of love and warmth to take their place. He had decided long ago that she deserved the world in return.

            If he lost his job, how would she ever come to forgive him? How could he offer her the same kind of happiness she had always given him if he were to be caught. Tampering with evidence was a criminal offense, yet here he was, an enforcer of the law itself, exhibiting the worst of irony. He pulled the comforter over her bare shoulder and kissed her forehead before sitting up on the edge of their bed. He stared at their closet door, imagining Andy’s coat tucked tightly in the safe behind their shoe rack.

            He couldn’t take it back. No way. Soon, the boys would discover the coat for themselves and he would be history. His job, his reputation… his freedom. His brother. He thought about burying it. Maybe burning it. Being a cop himself, he was sure he could cover his mistake somehow. He could find a way. But the guilt, it was excruciatingly uncomfortable. How could he do this? How could he conceal such an important piece to the case? How could he alter the public’s perception of the truth, potentially delivering them a false explanation for her disappearance. How could he rob Charlie of her own justice? He had to come forward with the coat. How could he let his wife down? He owed her.

            “Stop it,” Matt said to himself, shutting his eyes tight and rubbing his temple aggressively. “Your brother is not responsible for Charlotte Young’s death.” He continued to repeat this 10 times in a hushed whisper, taking deep breaths in between. His brother was not capable of hurting another person. He knew this. It was his big brother. The one who had cared for him through their childhood. His only companion, best friend, and protector. It was them two against the world, facing each heedless new “home” together. It was Andy who cared for him. Who helped him with his homework, walked by his side after school, and stood up to the bullies that targeted his scrawny frame and timid nature. He owed Andy his loyalty.

            As they got older, the two had gone down very different paths. Matt matured well, slowly befriending the members of the community around him, taking a liking to Chaney and those that showed him kindness and encouragement. Andy took a liking to bottles of jack and the drag of a cigarette instead. When Matt decided to pursue a spot at the police academy, his elder brother was struggling to hold down a minimum wage job, always showing up drunk or hungover. He applied for many new occupations. Some nearby, some in the city. But none lasted more than a few weeks. Months at the most. When Matt met Monica, he fell in love. But Andy remained single, for the most part. Each girl that Matt met or heard of was a female version of him, unmotivated and wounded by whatever trauma they never learned to cope with. Charlie was the woman that stuck around the longest. Whatever Andy felt for her had to be close to love. He would never harm her. Andy was Matt’s brother. He wouldn’t harm anyone. Until dawn, Matt sat in his room, convincing himself that he knew who his brother was. He sat in his room, convincing himself that hiding the coat was the right thing to do. 

******

            The next day, Matt paid another visit to his brother. He didn’t knock, but pushed the door open forcefully, yelling Andy’s name into the dark duplex. He watched his brother come swiftly down the steps, wrinkles of worry upon his face.

            “We need to talk. Now,” Matt said..

            “Uh, I usually lock the door, but come in, I guess,” Andy said with a forced laugh. He slid into his recliner and gestured at the dusty couch across from him. “Take a seat. Let’s talk.”

            Matt stayed standing. “Why was your coat at her house, Andy?” Andy’s smile straightened and his bright eyes went cold.

            “What are you talking about?”

            “Your coat. I found it in her room. We have evidence that you were there.”

            “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            Matt rolled his eyes. “Oh, Andrew! Cut the bull shit. You have 30 seconds to tell me what you’re hiding, or I’ll have a warrant out for your arrest.”

            Andy frowned. He reached over the coffee table for a cigarette and lit it slowly. Then, he stood up, walking towards his brother. They stood there, in the dim light, their noses almost touching.

            “What did you say to me?”

            Matt didn’t blink. “There are eyewitness accounts of you leaving The Taproom that night. With her. With Charlie. What does that mean to you? How do you think that looks to us?”

            Andy stared at his younger brother for a while before turning around to walk away. He started up the steps.

            “Hey!” yelled Matt. “Where are you going? I’m not done talking to you.”

            Andy stopped in his tracks, and without turning around, said, “I don’t know why my belongings were there. Maybe I left it there after a drunken hook up. I was with her that night, but only for a short while. The crazy bitch was well past intoxicated. She picked a fight with me, saying she knew I cheated on her or some bullshit like that. I was too buzzed to put up with her screeches and slaps. I don’t tolerate that kind of abuse. So I left.  But I can assure you, brother, I don’t know what happened to her after that.”

            “Why should I believe you?” Matt asked, his voice shaking.

            “Because I’m your brother,” Andy said, turning to look down at Matt from the steps. “And I would never lie to you.” And with that, Andy turned again and proceeded to work his way up the flight, leaving Matt alone in the dark room.

******

            Three days had passed. Each day at the station came and went, leaving all officers, including Matt, clueless and empty handed. The case was making no progress and the town began to forget about Ms.Charlotte Young.

            But that changed on a Sunday night. It was the coldest night of the year so far and Matt was spending it in his law enforcement vehicle, parked outside Chaney’s baptist church, lazily completing paperwork. He was exhausted. Since Charlie’s case had begun, Matt had aged 10 years. In such a short time, bags had formed, sagging below his tired, vacant eyes. His hair had thinned and his skin was pale. That morning, Monica had asked him if he was feeling ill. He looked up from his papers and checked the time. 9:43. The night was silent and it’s darkness was heavy and thick.        

            Officer Schmidt sat next to Matt, completing his own work as well. They worked in silence. Matt could feel his eyes getting heavy. He closed his eyes and imagined tall, red stilettos and a pale face, hidden under a mop of long, auburn strands of hair. He pictured Charlie in her mess of a room, asleep, tucked safely under a bulk of warm blankets.

            Matt was suddenly woken by the sharp crack of the radio. He sat up in his seat briskly, turning to Officer Schmidt.

            “Disturbance at 1308 Maine,” Matt’s partner said, clearing his lap from the paperwork he had spread out.

            Matt blinked. “What?”

            Officer Schmidt buckled his seatbelt. “Young’s house. There’s someone there. Breaking and entering. A neighbor called, they said the intruder was armed.

            “So this means this person could be--”

            “Breaking into her house to cover something up?” Officer Schmidt confirmed. “I guess we’ll found out. We might close this case tonight.”

            Matt threw the car into drive as the siren began to wail, it’s sound slicing through the silence of the dark street ahead of them. They arrived at the house shortly after, pulling up close to the curb. Matt pulled out his gun, holding it tightly in front of him as the three of them swung the door open and entered Charlotte Young’s home.

            Matt nodded his head towards the different areas of the house, signaling a search to his partner. Each split in different direction. To Matt, the loud, squeaky grown that the old, wooden floor let out under his every step was muffled by the thunderous sound of his own heart beating in his chest. They searched through the house. Matt was torn between wanting to find the intruder and hoping it was just a false report. Just then, Matt and his partner heard the crash of the screen door shutting. Matt motioned for him to follow the intruder out the back door, and he would meet them in the back, exiting through the front. They dispersed as Matt ran through the front door and around the side of the house, gun still in hand. As he turned the corner, he saw a tall man in a dark hoodie standing in the dead grass, facing away from him and towards Officer Schmidt and the back of the house. Officer Schmidt stood by the back door, his gun pointed straight at the hooded intruder.

            “Freeze!” Officer Schmidt yelled. “Put your hands where I can see them. Now!”

            Snowflakes fell to the cold, hard ground. Matt was breathing heavily, his heart racing. He watched a few specs of snow land on the black coating of his gun in front of him, sparkling for just a second before melting away. He took a deep breath and tightened his grip. From where he was standing, the intruder could not see him. It was silent for a moment.

            “Now,” yelled Officer Schmidt from across the yard. “I need you, keeping your hands where I can see them, to set your weapon on the ground. Do you understand?”

            The intruder didn’t move. Time passed so slow.

            “Now!” repeated Officer Schmidt.

            Matt watched as the hooded man slowly began to lower his hand, reaching for the back pocket.

            “Hey! You better keep them where I can see them! Turn around!” he yelled, concern cracking through his voice.

            But the intruder did not. Instead, he continued to reach. Matt’s eyes widened as he watched the intruder pull a gun out from his pocket, pulling it through the cold air in front of him, pointing it at Officer Schmidt.

            “Hey!”

            The piercing sound of a shot being fired rang through the yard, followed by a thud of dead weight falling to the floor. Matt blinked hard at the image in front of him. The air was still. All he could hear was his heart pumping. The air was thick, he couldn’t breathe.

 He then lowered his gun, his finger still on the trigger he had just pulled.

            “It’s okay! I’m okay! We’re okay!” called Officer Schmidt in Matt’s direction. “Matt had my back. We’re okay.”  Matt dropped his gun to the ground as the sound of an ambulance howled from a distance.

            ******

            Dressed in black, Matt stood over a deep, dark cavity in the earth’s ground, staring blankly at a polished, wooden casket. His ears and fingers were numb from the cold and his thin socks were wet from the melting snow that had seeped through his cheap, dress shoes. He was alone now, but not many had come to pay their respects in the first place. His vision began to blur, now clouded by tears that lately, seemed to never stop forcing their way into the corners of his eyes. Before he knew it, Matt was sobbing. He didn’t have the strength to move his limbs or walk away, his heart heavy in his chest, keeping him grounded next to the casket like an anchor.

            “Why did you lie?! Did you lie to me?!” screamed Matt into the open grave. “If you did hurt her…” he started, in between gasps. “I would have never forgiven you!” The wind whistled and the tree branches shivered above him. He slowed his breathing, wiping his cold tears away. He knelt by his briefcase and pulled out Andy’s black coat. He unfolded it, pinning his police badge to the front pocket. Then, he held it over the casket, dangling it for just a moment before letting it fall down the crevice of the earth. It landed on the wood with a hollow thud.

            “But now, how could I ever forgive myself?” Matt turned and began walking to his little home town, headed to The Taproom for a drink.