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knew perhaps wasn’t the Ollie of the real world.  However much that
would hurt and however much that would serve to reaffirm my former belief that
I could trust no one.  I had to know.
    ********
    ‘You
got family back home?’ Detective Austin probes as we pull out of the hotel car
park and down the hill towards the town, in his pick-up.  He had explained
that Oliver had being transferred to Denver City for post mortem, which is
where we were heading.  Apprehension fills me at the contemplation of remaining
in such a confined space with him, for the two-hour journey.  My ability
to chat about something and nothing for an extended amount of time is
unprecedented.  But, when Detective Nathan Austin looks at me, I feel as
if I am transparent.
    ‘Some,’
I reply, from behind my sunglasses. 
    ‘Don’t
give much away, London,’ he responds, dryly.
    ‘There
isn’t much to give, Detective Austin,’ I shrug.
    ‘Nate,’
he growls, I ignore him.
    ‘You
lived in Krystal all your life?’ I use my hairdressing, casual chatter to
engage him in conversation that has zero to do with my sad life.
    ‘Born
in Krystal, don’t live here now,’ he expresses.
    ‘You
don’t live in Krystal?’ I turn to face him, ‘where do you live?’ I shock,
taking the time, while his attention is directed on the road ahead, to survey
his striking features. Without a doubt, his eyes are the clincher, and from
this angle, I can see the long dark lashes that surround them.  His jaw is
strong, his lips soft, inviting.
    ‘Denver
City,’ he confides, pulling me out of my appreciation.  ‘Here to help with
your brother’s homicide.’
    ‘Oh!’
This is news.  ‘Where are you staying then?’
    ‘Same
place as you,’ he mumbles.
    ‘You
staying at Marnie’s?’ I shock.
    ‘Marnie’s
my Ma,’ he turns to gaze at me, ‘I thought you knew that?’
    ‘Marnie’s
your Mum?’ I repeat.
    ‘Fuck,
if there isn’t an echo in here,’ he mutters, sardonically.
    ‘Sorry,
but no, I didn’t know.  But Marnie’s adorable,’ I admit.
    ‘Meaning,
I’m not?’ His lips tilt.  I imagine he gets a lot of women falling at his
feet on a regular basis.  My impassiveness must be a novelty for
him.  The sad thing is, without all the drama that is presently
surrounding me, I know I would be on the floor along with the best of them.
    ‘No,’
I shake my head, ‘I didn’t mean that.’
    ‘Meaning
you think I’m adorable, too?’ He teases.  I provide him a stern look, and
he chuckles, ‘told you London, that look wouldn’t scare a bee.’
    I
turn and glance out of the window at the quaint town passing by, sometimes
deciding it’s better to say less rather than more.
    ********
    I
feel Nate’s fingers lightly on my lower back as we leave the dreary grey
building that currently holds the pale, waxy, broken body of my brother. I am
emotionally intact, not a tear in sight, but when I say I am emotionally
intact, I mean I am numb.  I feel nothing.  I remember looking at the
sheet strategically placed around his head and knowing that its purpose was to
conceal the gaping hole where the bullet entered his skull.
    When
Nate had asked softly whether this was indeed Oliver Parker, I had simply
nodded my head to confirm.  No words were needed.  When Nate then
preceded to request whether I needed a moment alone, I had shaken my head and
pleaded with my eyes for him not to leave me alone with the body.  He had
understood, stepped closer and placed his hand supportively on my back without
another word.
    We
are now sitting in a diner, Nate sitting opposite me, his eyes trained on me as
if I am going to erupt at any moment.
    ‘I’m
fine,’ I inform him as I sip from the cup of tea before me.
    ‘You
need to eat something, London,’ he announces.
    The
smell, I can’t get rid of the aroma of the mortuary.  It didn’t smell of death,
as expected, but it smelt of bad air freshener, which they obviously use to
disguise any lingering death