Daydreamer Read online

  “Does your mother have a vehicle?”

  “Yes, it’s old and worn out though, we wouldn’t use it if we were in our right minds.”

  “Why not meet Katarina over coffee, why insist on getting her address right away?”

  “I have trust issues, due to all the people that have just dropped out of my life. I read an article that said someone’s place describes their personality. I just wanted to get to know her on that level, deeper than coffee. I just wanted a friend, maybe someone I could talk to about what I was going through. I didn’t feel comfortable confiding in my mother or sister.”

  He tried to talk to me, but every time he’d try, he was summoned away.

  “Did you send Katarina flowers when she was in the hospital yesterday, or the day before?”

  “I didn’t even know she was in the hospital.” Again, he looks at the mirror, his eyes searching for me.

  “She was in a fire with her friend; someone set that fire intentionally and physically assaulted them both. Where were you two nights ago, around five to eight o’clock?”

  “I was at work. I clocked in around four thirty and clocked out around twelve thirty that night. Call my boss.”

  David got paged, so he excused himself from the room. I walked out of the room I was in to see if it was anything important.

  “Katarina,” He said. My skin crawled. After all of this, I don’t think I want to hear anybody call me by my real name . . . not for a while.

  “Kate,” I corrected. He paused, looked at me and then continued.

  “We found a car matching your description, no plates though. It was parked down the street from Travis Brown’s house. I’m having a team try and dust it for fingerprints or anything that would tie Travis or anybody to the scene. Hang in tight.” He reassured me.

  I nodded and told him I’d better be headed home. I really didn’t want to hear another word Travis had to say. Unless there is solid evidence that he didn’t do it, I’m pinning his name to this case myself. All his sob stories about how much he and his family have been through? It makes me sick.

  Plus, I wanted to help Chelsea and Clef unpack what’s left of her things. She can sleep in my room; I barely sleep in my bed anymore. I’m always on the couch, staring out the window at this vengeful world, or I watch movies until I fall asleep.

  When I walked in, my living room was a mess. There were clothes everywhere and Chelsea was just lounging on the couch. Clef was staring out of the window; he probably saw me pull up. I cleared my throat to get Chelsea’s attention and sure enough, she jumped up and dusted herself off.

  “Hey, I had to take a break. It’s been a long day.” She sighed.

  “I didn’t even think so much of your stuff would have survived . . . how?” I asked, moving her sweatpants from off the couch onto the floor.

  “I didn’t have room for all of my things at home, so I had some at my dad’s house in my old room. Daddy was so glad to see that I was okay.” Chelsea rambled while she raided my refrigerator.

  I sat down on the couch and looked up at Clef, who acted as if he couldn’t hear a word she was saying. He just stood there, stuck in time. He’s doing the same thing I do to fall asleep at night. I don’t say anything to him; I just leave him lost in the realization.

  Chelsea stumbled over to me, hitting my end table and knocking a family picture on the ground. The glass shattered and she apologized, over and over I assume, but I wasn’t listening.

  I got down to the floor and crawled over to where my family lay. It’s a picture of me, Marie, our mom, Khalia, and our dad, Thomas. Our family roots went deep and in different directions, which was why I loved my family so much. My mom is Afro-Trinidadian and Native American. My dad is Caucasian.

  Her silky brown skin made me ache to see my mother again. She won’t forgive me for what I let happen to Marie, I don’t want to picture the disappointment on her face if I told her it was my fault. For my dad, he won’t talk to me, probably because he can’t face his addiction and truth in the music.

  I smiled and laughed even before I knew I was doing it. When I looked up, Chelsea and Clef just stared at me with skeptical faces.

  “Honey, I’m sorry.” She said. Chelsea knows how much my family means to me, but after Marie, everything just faded. Nothing mattered anymore. I grew bitter and cold because both my families basically cast me out. I deserved it; I deserve everything coming to me. It was Marie and I that tied my family together because we came from two places, but it’s just me now . . . and I don’t think that’s enough.

  My eyes grew glassy and for the first time since I’ve been home, I looked Chelsea in her blue eyes. We almost fell apart into each other, but Clef spoke, crushing the moment.

  “You need help cleaning that up?” He asked. I cleared my throat and gave a small smile.

  “No,” I refused, “It’s just a little glass, I, I got it.” With one hand, I started to pick up the pieces one by one and place them in my opposing hand. The motions of it all reminds me of my life. It was all put together once, and after one mistake, it shattered . . . and can never look the same again.

  Chapter 7

  Three years ago:

  I couldn’t believe what I was about to do. It was my dream and yet I’m hesitant to act on it. I started to label the boxes with a sharpie; one box for my clothes, another box for dishes, and another for shoes, etc. I didn’t have much to start with, but it was something. I had turned twenty-one a few months prior, and as soon as I did, I started saving to move out.

  Marie came into my room, pouting. Her hair was messy, all over her head, and she looked taller from when I had seen her last. When I looked down at that thirteen-year-old kid, it dawned on me just how much I would miss her. She looked up to me. I was her role model, I was her hero, and I was everything else to this girl. I almost fell apart right there, staring back into her big hazel eyes.

  “You’re not coming back . . . are you?” She asked, she seemed sad, but angry with me all at once. My eyes were trained on hers, but when she asked that question . . . I flinched a little.

  “No, Marie, you know that. But I’m going to visit, and you can come and visit me whenever you want.” I said, dragging my attention from her, and back to packing. I couldn’t even look her in the eyes anymore, it was too painful.

  When I was done with everything, I met Marie and my mom in the kitchen. My mom was fixing breakfast as I sat beside Marie at the table.

  “How you feel, betee?” Mama asked me. Marie was still getting used to our mom’s vocabulary and kept my old Hindu dictionary close. We’re real passionate about our roots around here. My grandpa was African-Trinidadian and my grandmother was Indian.

  “Okay, I guess. Can you just fix me some cereal; I really want to get on the road, mama.” I replied. She waved me off and shook her head.

  “Non-sense, we need a family picture first, Katarina. Don’t be foolish.” She said as she flipped a piece of French toast. I looked over at Marie. She was still nose deep in her dictionary, since I mastered the language and many others that relate to my culture, I felt it was right to pass it down. It was time for Marie to talk to mama in Hindi herself, or in any language that would make her proud. Marie didn’t need the dictionary to figure out what my mother was saying because she spoke English most of the time, but Marie wanted to be able to speak Hindi, and not have to guess.

  Mama set our plates in front of us and sat down beside me. She looked unsettled, peeping into the living room, probably to see where my dad was. He’s a drunk; all he does is sit in front of the television and drinks the day away. He worries her to death; he worries all of us.

  “Mama,” I whispered to her. I gave her a look that told her everything would be alright. She nodded at me and took my hand in hers.

  “Marie, aye . . . good?” She smiled, looking over to Marie stuffing her mouth with French toast. Marie nodded hungrily.

  After breakfast mama grabbed her camera and ushered Marie and I outside. She calle
d for my dad, who came out after a few minutes. We were all surprised to see him off the couch. Mama sat the camera on the tripod, set the timer for five seconds, and rejoined us until our souls were captured. After the flash went off, I went to grab the camera. I looked at the picture and showed everyone.

  “I’m printing this out and I’m framing it, aye Katarina, get a copy for your new home.” Great, now I had to wait on her to give me that before I could leave.

  After sounds of approval, mama ran into the house and our dad followed. Marie walked up beside me and hugged me around my waist with one arm, and I enclosed her in a full hug, squeezing her as if I didn’t want to let her go.

  Chapter 8

  Clef and David were summoned away by their job’s demands, but we’re still being looked after. I think the squad car outside rotates throughout the night, so I’m not too worried about security.

  I go into the bathroom and get ready for bed. When I pick up my brush, it’s filled with hair. Why the hell does Chelsea shed so much?

  “Chelsea,” I reach out. “Next time, clean my brush out.” I said. I haven’t had these problems since Marie. She was always stealing my makeup and my shoes.

  “I didn’t do it.” She said, walking towards the bathroom.

  “Chelsea, I’m not blonde. You’re the only blonde one here. There’s no need to lie, just do me that small favor next time, okay?” This living arrangement was going to be harder than I thought.

  When she finally reaches the door, we death stare each other. “Kate, I mean it. I didn’t do that. I have my own brush.” She said, and then walked away. I look down at the brush, turning it over and upside down. I threw it out of panic and disgust. If Chelsea’s hair wasn’t in the brush, then whose is?

  I decided to call Clef; it might be evidence or something that could help us along, because so far, we’re just reaching for the stars.

  “Clef, hey um, someone might have broken in my apartment and . . . I don’t know, this sounds weird but, they brushed their hair with my brush?” There was a long pause on the phone before he said something. He must have been busy and here I am calling him about a hairbrush.

  “Don’t touch the brush, it could be evidence.” He yawns. “I uh, I’ll be there in a minute, no, just give me ten minutes maybe, okay?” He said. I understood he was tired. I regretted ever calling.

  I hang up the phone and put the brush down on the kitchen counter. Chelsea and I sit down, staring at the television. I, for one, didn’t know what was on, but Chelsea seemed to be really into it.

  An hour later, Clef knocks on the door, and Chelsea opens it before she goes to my room for bed.

  Clef sighs and looks at the hairbrush on the counter. I watch him stare at it, and for a while I thought he’d fallen asleep right there, until he sat the brush back down and joined me on the couch. I didn’t say a word; he looked like he could pass out. He was tired and so was I.

  I got up and walked to the closet to grab two pillows and two blankets. I laid out one blanket, and then I threw the two pillows on it and used the final blanket as a cover. I gestured for Clef to lie down and go to sleep, and he didn’t think twice before curling up on the floor. I turn the television off, and get on the couch, starting my nightly routine of staring out of the window. It’s like ever since this stuff started, I can’t sleep. I spend my afternoons in a fighting daze and at night, I lie awake thinking about what to fight about tomorrow. It’s like I’m daydreaming.

  Clef shook me awake and I get up damp. I’d been sweating overnight, and I’m not even hot. I take a deep breath, wipe my forehead and clear my eyes before I look at Clef.

  “We let him go.” He said. I almost fell apart, but I hug myself as if I’m the only thing holding my body together.

  “You what? Why?” I asked.

  “We didn’t have any evidence to hold him any longer, Katarina. Whoever drove that car wore gloves and covered their tracks. The only thing he left behind was a black glove, and the other seems to be missing.” He said, sitting beside me.

  “It’s Kate,” I erupt. He nods, knowing that I was upset, hell yeah, I’m upset. “The glove! After my last group session, I found a black glove in my car on the seat. That was the day the letters started. What . . . what do I do now?” I asked.

  “You go to work. Maybe we looked for fingerprints in the wrong car.” He said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me up from the couch. “Don’t let what’s happening turn you into someone that is scared of the world.” He said, gesturing at my sweaty body, and the fact that I’m paranoid about everything, including that silly brush.

  I nod slowly, receiving his point. I go to my room without another word, looking to wake Chelsea up, but she was gone. I guess she went to work already. If they’re checking my car today, how will I get to work? I might temper with evidence if I drive it, right?

  I get in the shower, put on some clothes and head out of the door. I walked right past Clef who was getting ready to leave himself, but then I stopped at the obvious realization, “How do I get to work if you need my car untouched? Chelsea is already gone.” I said.

  “Take the bus.” He said before leaving. He could have easily given me a ride. Not only am I uncomfortable with leaving my house, but he’s going to make me get on a bus packed with strangers.

  I waited at the bus stop for about thirty minutes before my bus came. With my first step onto the bus, I immediately felt all eyes were on me.

  After, I put my money in, I find my seat without making eye contact with anyone.

  I stare out of the window while the bus bumps and throws passengers forward. This was the most uncomfortable ride I’ve ever been on in my life.

  Someone comes walking to the back of the bus, while the bus is moving, and plops down next to me. She looks me in my eyes, and I look at her and smile. She was old, couldn’t be a threat. She was on this bus for the same reason I was, to get from one place to another, without a scratch. Now that I look around the bus, everyone looked like they wanted nothing to do with one another. They were minding their own business.

  When it was time for me to get off, I had to walk three blocks to the restaurant. I’m not doing this on the way home. When I walk in, Chelsea bumps into me, almost spilling someone’s water.

  “Glad you could make it,” She smiled, and kept going.

  “No thanks to you,” I mumbled, walking in my own direction. I go to the back to talk to Mr. Mason. He directed me to an apron, gave me a notebook and drove me out into the crowd. I didn’t know what to do, but that was Mr. Mason’s way of “teaching” us.

  We have sections assigned to us. A couple was seated in my section before I even got here, but they waved for me to come over. I usher over to their table and it was just a man, and Travis’s mom. I didn’t recognize the guy, but I immediately noticed her. That made this situation even more awkward, considering they just released her son from custody. She shoots me a fake grin, and they give me their orders. When I go back into the back room, I panic. I knew this wasn’t a good idea. I pull a random girl aside and tell her that she needs to give my table their food.

  I step outside for a breather and for the second time, someone is watching the restaurant from their car. It’s a different car than before. I couldn’t see their face, but I could see they were wearing an over-sized hood.

  I walked away from the restaurant, trying to see if he would follow. The car was also different, making this a longshot, but I walked away despite my better judgement. Sure enough, he did. The car started up and began to drive slowly. I pick up my pace. He stops the car, gets out, and starts chasing after me on foot. After sprinting for a while, I decided to stop running. I was tired of running.

  At that moment, I didn’t know who or what I was running from. My past? My sister’s murderer? My murderer? I find it funny that as soon as Travis gets let out of custody, I’m being followed and chased.

  He struck me from behind, knocking the both of us down. He turns me over, and punches me in the face, h
ard. I had to blink away the tears that were forming.

  It got harder to understand the blurred lines between fear, pain, and anger. He continues his brutal attack and squeezes my neck so tight, the tears I hid before were now running down my cheeks. I try my best to swat at him through blurred vision. The goal was to knock him over, but I couldn’t breathe. The face I looked up at was all too familiar. Yes, my vision was dissipating, but I finally know who my attacker was.

  Suddenly, Mr. Mason comes throwing him off me. I catch my breath loudly, groping at my neck making sure it was still there. As Mr. Mason hauls him off, I try and chase after them.

  “Wait,” I croak. “Wait,” I wanted to confront him. I wanted an explanation. Mr. Mason stopped, searching to make sure Chelsea was on the phone with the police. Mr. Mason snatches him away from me, as if I were the attacker.

  Who I saw under that hood wasn’t my friend, but he was Marie’s. I’ve never really considered him since she died.

  “Brent?” I choked.

  Chapter 9

  Two Years Ago:

  “Kate, you here?” Marie yelled up the stairs.

  “Yeah,” I responded. She came running up the stairs, and into my room. I came home to get a few things for my apartment, I didn’t plan on staying long. “Since when is my name Kate?” I asked her.

  “Since I renamed you,” she smiled, sitting on my bed.

  “Wouldn’t the short way to say Katarina be Kat?” I point out.

  “Yes, but that’s so . . . expected. But I came up here because I think this boy in my study group likes me. He always tries to scoot next to me and is constantly finding some way to touch me. I think I like him back, but not as much as I think he likes me.” She explains.

  “What is his name and what are you going to do?” I asked.

  “His name is Brent. I’m kind of hesitant to act on it because he’s a sophomore. I’m just a puny freshman. He seems so . . . mature.” She said.