Fragmented Dreams

Chapter 36: The Missing Mr. Burke

It felt as though my world was falling apart once again. The image of Grandpa being handcuffed and placed into a patrol car replayed in my head over and over until I was almost near tears. I clutched my hands together, willing myself not to cry when Casimir slid into the car, joining me in the backseat with a determined look on his face. The cops began to argue with him but eventually relented when the detectives told them it was okay.

Casimir held my hand all through the drive-up mountains and into the city. For most of the ride, I sat in shock, hardly able to comprehend what was happening. I desperately wanted to talk to Casimir to get on the same page, but I noticed the officer in the front seat watching us. He was probably making sure we didn't talk about the case. I felt puzzled as I wasn't sure how a pair of boots could tie my grandfather to a murder that he didn't even commit.

We pulled up to the police station, parking at the side entrance. They made us wait while they marched my grandfather inside, I presumed, to book him for murder. We were led into the station which was a hive of activity. All I could hear was the ringing of phones mixed with the shuffling of papers and the sounds of people talking in hushed voices. I noticed that more than a few of the officers we passed chose to stop their work to stare at us. Their pity began to overwhelm me.

Casimir and I were quickly separated, ushered into separate rooms right next to each other. This space was nothing like the interrogation rooms I had seen on television, just a sad dingy-looking office with only the most basic of necessities, mainly a table and a collection of chairs. There were no windows and the only light came from the flickering fluorescents set into the ceiling. The patrol officers sat me down and offered me a drink, which I refused, choosing instead to cross my arms and sink into my seat. I was left alone with my thoughts until the detectives entered, a pile of folders and a tablet in their arms. They closed the door behind them, sitting in the set of chairs opposite me.

"Did someone offer you something to drink?" Detective Thompson asked. He placed a tape recorder in the middle of the table, clicking it on as he spoke.

"I'm fine, please, just tell me what is going on," I demanded, wanting to get straight to the point. "Why have you arrested my grandpa?"

"Ms. Massey, we know most of what happened that night at the open house," Thompson grumbled, spreading the files across the table. The expression on his face was tense as he continued. "We just need you to fill in a few gaps, tell us your side of the story."

"I know my grandfather didn't murder Mr. Burke," I shot back, my temper flaring.

Detective Johnson stared at me flatly, opening up a file to pull out some photos. As he laid them before me on the table I felt my stomach lurch. It was Mr. Burke, sprawled out on the ground of some sort of warehouse and he was very much dead. His features were bloated and almost unrecognizable to me, but it was no longer the monstrous face I had seen in my nightmares. I reached out hesitantly to pull a photo closer but couldn't bring myself to examine the pictures any further. I shut my eyes tightly, pushing them away from me. I didn't trust myself to speak so I placed a hand over my mouth, moaning slightly.

"I'm sorry we have to show you something like this," Thompson began, staring intently at me. I could tell he was being truthful, he felt pity for me. "Diana, can you tell me what Mr. Burke did to you on the night of the open house?"

I just shook my head in response.

"We know he attacked you."

My head shot up to stare at them both, wondering how they could have possibly known any of that. I was also curious how the dead body of Mr. Burke showed up almost one week later when I had seen him burn to cinders in my homeroom.