Jacinta Takes a Walk
Copyright© 2025 by BarBar
Chapter 21: Hang Tight
I sat in an interview room at the cop shop and looked around. The walls were plain and drab. The table in front of me was solid. It didn’t even move when I pushed it so it must have been attached to the floor. I was disappointed to see that there was no big two-way mirror on the wall like you see in cop shows on TV. There were cameras, however, two of them. They were each near the ceiling in the two corners of the room facing me. They stared at me with unblinking eyes. I decided to ignore them. There was a single, empty chair on the opposite side of the table from me. To my right was the only door to the room. It was closed.
My four companions were scattered around the room. Frodo stood beside me on my right. His alert eyes were looking everywhere, but mostly at that door. His alert ears pricked and forward, listening for any sound. Samwise prowled in circles on my left, sniffing at every spot, claws scratching at the linoleum on the floor. Merry and Pippin were under the table, I could feel them at my feet, lurking, hunting, their eyes fixed on the door, waiting to pounce.
I sat, slumped in the chair and picked at the frayed hem of my skirt, trying to look cool and calm. It was a performance for the cameras. I was nervous, worried, anxious about what was to happen next.
I figured we were probably waiting for Merv. Waiting for Merv to come and collect me and take me home to live with him in his tiny little flat. That was not going to be fun. It would be impossible to have any privacy at all. There was only the one bedroom. I could take Merv perving on me every so often, it was sometimes even entertaining. But to live with him full time? That was going to be different. That was going to be shit.
Maybe I should fully commit to my change in circumstance. I could dance naked in his living room every night so he could properly wank himself to sleep. I could become his permanent little sex moppet. In exchange, I could probably get him to supply me with enough booze to be permanently tipsy. Hopefully, I could be tipsy enough to dull the pain. Maybe that would take something stronger than beer.
I’d spent the last couple of years trying to straighten myself out, but that was down the toilet.
Well, shit.
Frodo came up to me and put his head in my lap, watching me with his big brown eyes. I reached down to play with his ears. “You’re so much better as a dog than all of those other things you’ve been,” I whispered.
“I’m here,” said Frodo. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
I sighed and looked around the room.
For the longest time, nothing happened.
There was a noise at the door. My dogs all alerted at once, facing the door, ready for action. I didn’t move. I didn’t turn to the door, but my hands stopped picking at my skirt.
The door opened and a cop walked in. I didn’t turn to look at him but I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I could see that he was older. He had different markings on the sleeve of his shirt. Don’t ask me what they meant. How would I know? He was carrying a notepad.
I ignored him. Or, at least, I pretended to ignore him. Frodo closed in to my right and stared at him. Samwise closed in on my left and leaned against my thigh. They were both acting protective, possessive, aggressive.
The Alsatian, I think that was Merry, bared his teeth and circled around, trying to get behind the cop, snarling in silent, impotent fury. The Chihuahua lunged forward with a snarl and latched onto the cuff of his trousers, tugging and worrying at it with absolutely no effect whatsoever.
“Stop that Pippin,” I muttered under my breath. “There’s no point.”
“I’m Pippin,” growled the Alsatian. “That’s Merry.”
“Oh,” I whispered. “Stop it, Merry.”
Merry ignored me and kept snarling through his clenched teeth as he tugged and worried at the cuff of the cops trousers.
The cop completely ignored Merry. He introduced himself but I missed the name because I was too busy worrying about the dogs. The cop walked calmly to the other side of the table and sat in the waiting chair.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “I have a couple of questions, then we can get you looked after.” His voice was deep and calm, his age gave a certain weight to his words.
He looked at me, expecting some sort of response, so I grunted.
He flipped open his pad and took a pen out of his breast pocket.
“So, are you Jacinta Mells, of 22 Alder Street?”
He looked at me and waited. I made him wait a moment longer, for no better reason than to see what he would do. He watched me, waiting quietly. Well, that’s no fun.
I let out a breath. “Yeah. That’s me.”
He glanced down at his notes. “You are sixteen?” He read out my date of birth, but made it a question.
I wondered how he knew that, but then I remembered all of that information, and more, was on my Learner’s Permit and of course he would have access to that. They’d used my Learner’s Permit photo for their alert.
I’d made him wait again while I was thinking.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I muttered.
He glanced down at his notes and made a notation.
“Am I under arrest?” I asked.
“No.” He looked at me. “No, you are not under arrest.”
Well, I guess that was something.
I gestured around the room. “Then why am I here?”
“There was an alert issued for you,” he said. “We didn’t know where you were. Or where you’d been for the last three days. We were concerned about whether you were safe.”
“I’m here,” I said. I looked around the room. “What could possibly be more safe than being here?”
I was trying to be ironic. I don’t think he picked that up.
He looked at his notes. “The last time you were seen was on Thursday evening, at your house. Where have you been since then?”
“With my friends. I’ve been with Jenny Binter, and her brother and sister.”
“At the house where you were picked up?”
“Yeah.”
He consulted his notepad. Made a note.
“You live at 22 Alder St with Jacqueline Bylik, otherwise known as Jacqueline Mells?”
“Yeah. She’s my stepmother. There’s just the two of us who live there.”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” he said.
I stared at him.
“I’m afraid that Jacqueline Mells has died.” His voice was gentle.
I looked down at the table and let out a breath. I guess I hadn’t really believed it until that moment. It was weird to hear that it was true. Confirmed in that deep, calm, sad voice.
I looked back at him. “Yeah. I heard. I found out just before.”
I looked back at the top of the table. It was a very boring tabletop. There was silence for a moment.
“I am so very sorry for your loss.” I heard kindness in his voice. And sadness. It felt genuine.
I also heard in his voice the hundreds of times he’d had to say that in the past. Telling someone that an important person in their life had died must suck. I would hate having to do that. Not that I’d want to be a cop anyway, but I don’t think I could be a cop if it meant having to tell someone about a death, and then watching the grieve.
Was I grieving? I was sitting there and feeling hollowed out. Is that what grieving feels like?
There was another silence.
I didn’t look up. “How did she die?”
“There will be an autopsy. But the preliminary report suggests a drug overdose. She probably died between 36 and 48 hours ago.”
I did the maths in my head. It was now Saturday evening.
“So Thursday night. Or Friday morning.” I said.
He hesitated. “I gather there was a party?”
I waited for more, but then realised he’d asked a question.
“Um, yeah. On Thursday night. She was alive when I last saw her. I think she’d taken something, but I’m sure she was still breathing when I saw her.”
I heard some scribbling in his notepad.
“Can you tell me what time that was?”
“Um, it was late,” I said. “The party was mostly over. I don’t know the time. Sorry.”
“Did you see her take something?”
I shook my head.
“There’s been a bad batch of pills going around,” he said. “We’ve had four deaths because of them. Another dozen have ended up in hospital, two of those are on life support. The lucky ones say they experienced wild hallucinations for a while, but they seem to be recovering. The long term effects remain unclear. We won’t know until the autopsy, but your stepmother may have taken one or more pills from that batch.”
I let out a long breath. “Well, shit.” I muttered to myself.
Wild hallucinations? That sounded familiar. I guess that makes me one of the lucky ones. Not that I was feeling so very lucky at the time. Thankfully I’d stopped hallucinating more than a day ago. Long term effects? Well, shit.
He took out a card and pushed it across the table toward me.
“This is my card. Give me a call on Tuesday. I’ll be able to tell you about the autopsy by then. The case number is on the back.”
I left the card where it was. I wondered why I wasn’t crying. Any normal person would be crying. I just felt numb. There were scratch marks in the tabletop. My eyes traced the scratches. They curved and crossed each other and ended, then began again.
“We spoke to Jacqueline’s brother, Mervin Bylik. He said you don’t have any other family.”
“Her name is Jackie,” I snapped at him. “His name is Merv. Get it right.”
He paused. “Ah. Of course. My apologies.” He didn’t react at all to me lashing out like that. He was still calm and steady.
“We spoke to Merv,” he continued. “He said you don’t have any other family, apart from him. Your birth mother has been missing for a long time and your father is deceased?”
“Yeah, Dad died ages ago.” I told him the year that Dad had died.
A tear rolled down my cheek when I thought of Dad.
Frodo nudged me and I was able to settle.
I brushed the tear away with the back of my hand and continued.
“My mother disappeared when I was about two. Nobody knows where she is.”
“And you have no other relatives?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Does that mean I have to live with Merv now?”
He cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, Mervin Bylik has a record of um offences of an ... er sexual nature, in connection with ... underage girls.” He sounded so awkward saying that.
I snorted. “He’s on the sex offenders list?”
“He is,” his deep voice was firm, but gentle. “That means he won’t be approved as your guardian. They won’t let you live with him.”
“They? Who is they?” I wanted to know who was making these decisions about my life.
“We,” he corrected himself. “We won’t let you live with him. We, meaning the police, the DCP, the courts, and the government, all acting on behalf of the whole community. He is not a suitable guardian for a sixteen year old girl.”
“Well, yeah. I knew he wasn’t suitable,” I said. “But I figured I’d have to live with him anyway.”
“No. You won’t. He won’t be approved as a guardian for you.”
“Oh!” I didn’t know how to react to that.
I looked around the room. Not much had changed. My companions were still on alert but they didn’t look so threatening now. They were alert, but calm. Frodo was sitting next to me with his weight leaning against my leg.
I looked at the cop. His hair, cut short in that official sort of haircut, was speckled with grey.
“You should grow a moustache,” I said, desperate to change the subject. “A mo would look good on you.”
He blinked and then gave me a half-smile. “I grow one every November. For Movember. It’s a fund raiser for charity.”
I rolled my eyes. “Everyone knows what Movember is. It’s about men’s health. Cancer of the balls, and stuff like that.”
He nodded and gave me a little smile. “As you say, stuff like that. But then at the end of November, I always shave it off.”
He shrugged. “My wife isn’t fond of facial hair.”
I nodded. “Fair enough. I don’t mind seeing men with beards or moes or whatever, but not everyone agrees. Apart from that, is she nice?”
“My wife? Yes, she is. We’re very happy together.”
“Oh,” I said. “On TV, cops are always divorced. Or they’re always fighting with their wives.”
He nodded. “The job can be very hard on relationships. I’ve been fortunate.”
“Do you have kids?” I asked.
“Yes, two.”
I thought about that for a moment. “Are they my age? You know, teenagers?”
“No, they’re older. My son is married and has two little ones of his own.”
“So you’re a grandpa?”
“Yes I am.”
“That must be nice.”
“It is.” His eyes sparkled, and I saw the beginning of a smile.
“What about your other one. You talked about a son, so is the other a daughter? Is she not married? Is she a lesbian? Is her name Bria?”
He gave me a strange look, probably since that last question had seemed to come out of nowhere, and then shook his head.
“No, her name is not Bria. She’s not married. She’s had boyfriends and girlfriends, so I don’t think she’s a lesbian. It’s not something we’ve spent a lot of time discussing.”
“So, she’s bisexual? Does that embarrass you? Having a bi daughter? Does it make you angry?”
“No.” He gave me a gentle smile, as if to tell me he knew what I was doing.
“I love my daughter,” he said, calmly. “I want her to be happy. I want her to be with someone who makes her happy. I don’t mind who that someone is.”
“As long as it’s not someone like Merv,” I said.
He looked at me and didn’t respond. Then he looked down at his notebook.
“I guess we’re finished here, then. Do you have any questions?”
I glanced around the room. I sighed. I knew I had to ask the question, but I wasn’t sure that I wanted to hear the answer.
“What happens now?” I asked.
He leaned back a little. “Are you hungry? We could find you some food. Do you need some water? Are you warm enough? I could get you a blanket.”
“No. I mean, what happens to me now?” I asked.
“Oh, my apologies. I misunderstood.” He tucked his pen back in his pocket and closed his notebook. “We’ve contacted DCP. They’re sending someone here to take over your case.”
“What is DCP?” I asked.
“Department for Child Protection. When the DCP officer gets here, they will talk to you about what happens from here.”
“The government? So I’m to go into the foster system then? Like, become a ward of the state or whatever they call it?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, but that is probably what happens now. Since you have not suitable family who can look after you, you will almost certainly go into care with the DCP. The DCP officer will look after you, find you a place to stay. They will answer all your other questions, if they can. They will resolve what happens to you in the immediate future.”
He stood up.
“Will you be okay in here until the DCP gets here? They shouldn’t be much longer. I can have someone come and sit with you.”
“No, that’s okay,” I said. “I have Frodo.”
“Do you want some water? Something to eat? Do you need the bathroom? Or a blanket?”
“Some water would be nice.”
“I’ll get it for you now.” He hesitated. “Hang tight. Things might be bumpy for a while, but you’ll be okay.”
He turned and strode out of the room. I looked down at the hem of my skirt and fiddled where the hem was frayed.
“Hang tight, he says,” I muttered to myself.
A moment later, the door opened and the cop stepped back in and put a small bottle of water on the table in front of me.
“Thanks,” I grunted.
“You’re welcome.”
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