Not Broken: The Happily Ever After(47)

I stumbled back into the house to retrieve one of the Chardonnays I hadn’t grabbed. After opening it, I went back outside, and sat on the steps. My body swayed to the mesmerizing rhythmic motion of the flames. They danced, growing in their mission to consume everything. I took a long, slow drink of the wine. It tasted sweet. Clean. New. A smile stretched across my face before I stood and threw the nearly full bottle into the fire. I drew in an excited, sharp breath when the flames shot up in spectacular fashion. I danced around in circles, welcoming the heat from the flames. A warm embrace. Dizzy. I stopped. My gaze landed on the garage. In my haste, I’d left my bay door open. I staggered inside, hitting the button on the wall, I opened the other three doors. Light flooded the space. His cars.

“You can’t stay here!” I yelled at them. Letting out another scream, I ripped the covers off. I needed….I needed...the toolbox. I grabbed it off the shelf, and emptied the contents onto the floor in search of what I was after. The hammer.

“I’m not yours!” I swung at the window of the driver’s side door, and the glass on his Jag shattered in splendid fashion. “You did this to me!” I swung again, hitting the windshield.

I kept swinging. All the windows were shattered. The sideview mirrors—one was off, one barely held on. The hammer fell from my hands, clamoring loudly as it hit the concrete floor. My chest heaved. Glass crunched under my feet on my journey back into the house. I grabbed another bottle of wine, and headed back outside.

In the distance, I heard the sirens and I rocked to their odd rhythm. Flashing lights highlighted the darkness as the sirens got closer. Police and fire engines were at my gate.

“Ma’am, open the gate,” one called out to me.

I leaned back to watch the smoke rise before I pushed myself up from my seated position and walked into the house to hit the button.

“Good evening, fellas” I greeted cheerily as they worked to get their equipment set up to put out the fire. The firemen ignored me, but two officers approached me.

“Officers, would you care for a drink?” I asked, holding up the half-drained bottle, and then started giggling.

The firefighters made quick work of extinguishing the already dying flames.

“Ma’am, how much have you had to drink?” One of the officers inquired.

I cocked my head to the side. “Justa glass or two,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face before turning the bottle up to my lips.

“Ma’am, did you do this?” he asked, pointing to the now pile of wet, burned ash in my driveway.

“If I say yes, will you use the handcuffs? He never used cuffs…”

“Are you the homeowner?”

“He was an evil bastard, but that’s okay, I shot him. Shot him nine times. He was good and dead,” I said giggling again.

They drew their weapons. “Is there someone deceased inside?”

“No.”

“Who did you kill?”

“Geez, just my husband. Who’d ya think? My sister called me a black widow,” I said through more giggles.

“Do you have any weapons on your person?”

“Nope.”

“Where is your husband?”

“You’re kinda cute. Are you married?”

“Ma’am, where is your husband?”

“I just told ya he’s dead. Geez, don’t you guys listen?”

“I’m going to need you to get down on the ground.”

“Why?”

“Please get down on the ground.”

With a heavy sigh, I complied with his request. One kept his weapon pointed at me while the other eased behind me, putting me in handcuffs.

“Ow!” I said, looking back. “I bet you like the kinky stuff. He did. But not really. He just liked to hurt me. Hurt everybody. It’s what he was good at.”

The cops ignored my comment as they helped me to my feet. One put me in the back of the patrol car while the other headed into the house. I leaned my head against the window. “You don’t live here anymore,” I said sleepily before closing my eyes.





Chapter 26


Malcolm





I popped the cap on my beer just as my phone started to ring. I took a drink, as I stared at the unknown number displayed on the screen, deciding if I wanted to be bothered. For a moment, I thought about letting it go to voicemail, but answered anyway.

“Hello,”

“Malcolm Frankel?”

“Yes.”

“Sir, this is Officer Johnson with Atlanta PD, do you know a Calida Jokobi?”

My heart sank. Oh god had something happened to her? I shouldn’t have let her leave.

“Yes.”

He proceeded to tell me she was being detained at her house, fined for starting a fire, and he was instructed to take her in unless he could find someone to come babysit her for all intents and purposes. She’d given them my number. He hoped I could come, because he rather not do the paperwork if he had to take her in.

As I drove to her house, my thoughts ran wild. She’d started a fire. Did she burn down her house? No, if it was that serious, surely, she would have faced charges, but she was drunk and burned something.

Why did I push her? Fuck! When I pulled up, I saw the police cruiser sitting in the driveway. The two officers stood outside, leaning against it, joking. I didn’t see Ginger at first, but then I spotted her hair resting against the window.