Chapter 9
Brad stepped out of the car and shut the door behind him, he looked up at his house and took a deep breath; the air seemed stale in comparison to those he had been breathing for the past weeks. Anna’s home seemed to have been constantly perfumed by the flowers that lined every corner of their yard, and he knew that it would be a long time before he could grow accustomed to the smell of home again.
Derek came around the car and stood beside him, “this is it bro”, he said.
They were both staring at the house as young ghost busters preparing to clean up a thousand year old haunted house. It wasn’t as fancy as many would’ve imagined his home to be, in fact it was quite simple for a family home in the suburbs and exquisite enough for a business tycoon with a demanding, materialistic wife. It was a white, two story house, with a double garage and basement, placed on the slope of the land so that it appeared to tower over those who stood in the street. White fencing, shrubs and trees made up the rest of its external décor, along with the vivid dancing flowers lining the paved driveway; of course they were nothing like those that Anna grew, not in number, neither in beauty. Brad had imagined that not long after he’d bought it, it would be home to at least two new additions to their family, but that was nowhere in Mara’s plan, or at least that’s what her actions implied.
There was a man leaning on a vehicle across the road, he wore dark sun glasses and a grim Clint Eastwood expression, the kind the young trigger-happy recruit wore when he’s sent on a case that he considers to be too petty for his abilities yet a chance for him to prove his natural abilities with those he considered less than himself; the complainants.
He made his way toward them, slowly and authoritatively, but to Brad and Derek he appeared to be nothing more than a young boy fresh out of the police academy trying to prove a point and fooling his own self in the process. They couldn’t help but feel that they were not being taken as seriously as they would’ve wanted.
“Good evening,” he greeted, sliding his toothpick to the corner of his mouth.
“Hello” Brad greeted and Derek nodded.
They both remained leaned up against the car, Brad’s hands shoved deep in his pockets and Derek with his arms folded across his chest, so that his biceps strained against the fabric of his shirt sleeves.
“You Mr. Mason?” he had a thick New York accent.
“Yeah that’s me.”
He took of his glasses – a perfect imitation of CIS’ Horatio Kane – and placed it in his uniform pocket, his feet planted slightly apart.
Brad shook his head and stood up straight, somewhat amused by how this scene seemed to have him thinking of so many fantastical television shows.
“I’m Officer Chavez, you ready?”
Brad smiled slightly, “sure.”
The house appeared empty; it was so quiet they could hear the sound of their shoes sinking into the plush carpet as they entered the living area. Officer Chavez trailed beside them, his head lifted slightly as he surveyed each room they entered and his hand resting on the gun holster strapped to his waist.
Once they were certain downstairs was clear they proceeded to climb the mahogany railed staircase. As they were halfway up; Chavez leading with his gun now drawn and held low in front of him, Mara came sailing down to meet them, a surprised look on her perfectly made face.
“Darling, you’re home!” she exclaimed, after a moment of hesitation.
At the sight of her, rage surged through Brad, he would’ve never imagined that would be his first response the moment he saw her again. But looking up at her smiling down at them innocently, that endearment like venom on her red stained lips, those blue pools of deception bearing down on him daringly, became like the dripping poison on the tips of an arrow that was shot right through him, and she, stood smiling, brandishing the bow.
Brad glared, unable to speak.
“Identify yourself!” Chavez demanded, his gun held at arm’s length toward Mara.
She seemed to have noticed him for the first time and her rehearsed look of welcome faded from her face, replaced with terror.
“What is this?” she asked, her eyes wide, already growing bright with tears.
“Identify yourself?” Chavez repeated.
Brad personally thought Chavez’s approach was a little over the top, but he relished the fear and horror it had evoked in his wife.
“I…” she looked at Brad quizzically, somewhat surprised at his silence, “Brad, tell him,” she cried, her voice hoarse and broken.
Brad stared up at her, his eyes cold. They were all still lined on the stairs, Chavez at the forefront wielding his weapon with a stone cold expression. Brad stood with one foot on the step above the other, his hands gripping the railing tightly with suppressed emotion and Derek stood quietly at the bottom, looking up with a protective stance.
“Answer the question woman,” Brad demanded with as much harshness as the cop.
Mara drew in a shaky breath, “I…my name is Mara…Mason. I’m his wife.”
Chavez’s eyes narrowed and his gun lowered slightly, but he did not take his eyes off her, “is this true Mr. Mason?”
It stung Brad to admit it, “yes.”
Chavez dropped his gun and turned to face Brad, his nostrils flaring, “what is this? I am not attached to the domestic issues branch and never will. So next time you’ve got wife issues take it up with a lawyer or something.”
He holstered his gun and stomped down the stairs, yanking his hat off his head with a huff.
“Wait!” Brad called.
Despite himself Chavez stopped, wedged between personal sentiments and public duty.
“Either you give me your gun or you finish this search.”
Chavez hesitated; then marched back up the stairs.
This time Brad led the way, moving with passion; all caution aside. Chavez walked nonchalantly after him, along with Mara who was running to keep up in her heels and mini skirt.
“Brad what are you doing?” she grabbed his arm.
He shook her off angrily and charged into their bedroom, “Where is he?”
He searched in a rage, tossing things aside, slamming doors, throwing down boxes and over turning mattresses; he even stripped the curtain in the shower in his haste. Before long he’d been halfway through the rooms on that floor, leaving a trail of clothes and articles strewn behind him.
Mara tagged along, still pleading at his side, tears streaming down her cheeks, her makeup running, making her face a mess.
Chavez quietly followed, his gun back in its holster, his hand not even dangling near it as he’d done before, his face flushed with anger.
Finally they came to Brad’s office, everyone seemed to be at the edge of exasperation and Brad searched more out of desperation than anything. When it was clear that there was no one in there, he swiped his arms along the desk top toppling everything to the floor with a loud crash.
“Brad…” came Derek’s warning voice, he was standing at the door with a pained expression on his face.
But Brad continued to rage. He turned toward Mara now and grabbed her by the shoulders,
“Where are you hiding him?”
“I don’t know… what you’re talking about?” she sobbed.
He shook her angrily, “liar!”
Chavez intervened, finally he had an opportunity to do his job, “that’s enough!” he commanded in that authoritative voice he must’ve have swiped off a television character.
Brad snarled at him, shaking off his retaining hand. Chavez reacted quickly. He drew his arm backward, taking his entire right side with him as he did and then charged forward hard and fast, his entire body moving with his fist.
Brad hissed as Chavez’s fist made contact with his jaw, and he toppled backward, knocking his back hard against the desk.
Derek rushed forward to keep Chavez from striking again as he was clearly gearing up to do, but he just as easily switched
his focus from Brad to Derek, launching one of his body punches underneath Derek’s chin, so that his head snapped back with a crack. Derek went reeling to the ground and laid supine, his mouth slightly opened.
“Stop it!” Mara screamed.
They all froze, staring at Derek’s limp body on the ground. Chavez’s look of triumph soon faded into terror, the entire room grew quiet, all they could hear was the sound of Mara’s shaky sobs, and Brad’s pained breathing.
“Call 911!” Brad wheezed, still leaning against the desk, his face pale.