4338.213.1 | Gladys Cramer | Arrest
In the aftermath of tragedy, Gladys finds herself navigating a surreal nightmare as she is placed under arrest, leaving her to question who she can trust and what the future holds.
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Heavy eyelids fluttering open, my chest constricted, fighting the impenetrable darkness that surrounded me. I lay there for a moment, disoriented, the air heavy and stagnant. My breaths were shallow, each one a struggle as if the darkness itself was a tangible force pressing down on me. I could feel the cold, hard floor beneath me, its unyielding surface a stark contrast to the softness of my bed that seemed like a distant memory. My hands, trembling with a mixture of fear and cold, searched frantically for my phone. The urgency to find some source of light, any anchor in this abyss, was overwhelming.
Fingers finally finding the device no more than a foot in front of me, an immense wave of gratitude swept over me. The moment the screen lit up, emanating a soft glow, it was like a gentle reminder that I had survived another night. The light, feeble yet comforting, pierced the darkness, casting long, eerie shadows across the small space. Squinting in the dim light, I rubbed at the crusty sleep that had built up around my sore eyes, a gritty reminder of the tears shed and the hours spent in turmoil.
The welcome gratitude was short-lived. Shining the phone's light about the small space, my heart skipped a beat as it quickly fell upon Cody's dark and lifeless face. His features, once so full of life and warmth, now appeared cold and alien in the harsh light of my phone. The sight of his empty eyes, staring at me from an unnaturally twisted neck, sent a shiver down my spine. The memory of last night's torturous events returned swiftly to the forefront of my brain, like a dark wave crashing over me.
Shutting off the phone's light, I closed my eyes tightly, a desperate attempt to escape the reality that lay before me. I forced myself to imagine that the events of last night had turned out differently. It was just a dream... a nightmare, I repeated silently to myself, over and over again. The words were a mantra, a feeble shield against the crushing reality. I begged that when I opened my eyes again, I would find myself stretched out and sweaty in my own bed, merely the victim of an unexpected night terror.
"Even a night terror such as this would be better than reality," I told myself softly, my voice a hoarse whisper in the suffocating darkness. My hand found the empty wine glass that had accompanied me below the stairs. The glass, once a comforting companion, now felt cold and lifeless in my grasp. "It's real, isn't it?" I whispered to myself, pressing the empty glass against my lips. I begged the thick darkness to persuade me that it had all been a dream, that at any moment, I would wake in Cody's arms, safe and sound. But the silence that enveloped me was a stark, unyielding reminder of my solitude and the grim reality of my situation.
Unwilling to allow my eyes to see the grotesque reality that I so desperately wanted to forget, I moved in the darkness, my movements hesitant and unsteady. The air felt thick and heavy, clinging to my skin like a damp shroud. I fumbled my way toward my only escape, each step an uneasy dance between fear and necessity. Knowing that Cody was close, I did my best to avoid him, but contact, it seemed, was inevitable. My heart was somersaulting in my chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed in my ears, drowning out all other sounds.
Heart somersaulting and voice squealing, my hand brushed against a clammy face. The touch was jarring, sending a jolt of horror through me. I stumbled into the twisted corpse as I quickly found the cupboard door. My breath hitched in my throat, a strangled sound of fear and disgust. Slamming my body against the door, I fell clumsily through, followed closely by Cody's body which fell to the carpeted floor with a sickening thud. The sound was hollow, reverberating in the empty room, a grim reminder of the finality of death.
Eyes barely open and with almost no control over my actions, my sweaty hands grabbed hold of Cody's shoulders. I attempted to push him back into the concealed darkness, my movements clumsy and desperate. Struggling against Cody's uncooperative body, we made it as far as a partial sit-up before a loud belch escaped his lips, accompanied by a smell so grotesque that it assaulted my senses. The odour was overpowering, and if I had more than wine in my stomach, poor Cody would have worn its contents.
Abandoning my efforts, I lowered Cody to the ground more forcefully than I had hoped. "But what choice do I have?" I asked myself, my voice a mere whisper in the stillness. Hands pressed firmly against my mouth, I dragged myself to my feet, forcing myself to gaze upon the man whose untimely fate had finally caught up with him. My eyes, stinging with hot tears, took in the sight of him, lying there so still and lifeless. "You're too heavy," I told Cody, the words spilling from my lips in a mixture of frustration and sorrow. Kneeling beside him, I brushed the dark curls of his hair from his face, the gesture tender and heart-wrenching. The tears burned my cheeks, a silent testament to the turmoil that raged within me.
Suddenly, a chilling realisation struck me as my fingers smeared crimson streaks across his forehead. Recoiling in horror, I pulled myself back and stared at my blood-coated hands. The stark red against my skin screamed of a violent reality. Innocent blood. The thought hammered in my mind, echoing with a guilt I couldn't shake off. Feeling sick to my stomach, I stopped my hand mere moments before it reached to cover my mouth. A wave of nausea washed over me, and my stomach contorted in a painful twist. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I've touched my face before! The realisation dawned on me with a terrifying clarity, intensifying the sickening feeling.
My stomach constricted tightly at the first dry heave. I swallowed the small amount of acidic bile that threatened to escape, the taste bitter and repulsive. With a heavy heart and regret filling every step, I left the poor man and raced up the stairs, each step pounding against the floor like a drumbeat of urgency.
Reaching the toilet, I threw the toilet lid open with a clatter and dropped to my knees painfully, just in time to deposit a mouthful of burning bile and red wine into the toilet bowl. The acrid smell filled the small space, overwhelming my senses. Several aching heaves later, I flushed away an extortionate amount of sick and blood-covered toilet paper. After closing the toilet lid with a soft click, I left the confined space and slowly walked down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Standing in front of the basin, I turned on the taps, letting warm water stream out. I refused to even glance at my red-stained hands, as if not seeing them could somehow absolve me of the reality. Instead, I stared at my ghost-pale face in the bathroom mirror. My reflection was a ghastly sight – pale, with eyes wide and haunted, a stark contrast to the vibrant person I used to be. The person in the mirror seemed like a stranger, someone who had seen and endured too much. The water ran in the background, a soothing sound, but I remained frozen, unable to move, caught in the grip of my own reflection and the horror of what had transpired.
In a dazed reflection, my hands found the sanctity of the warm water.
A loud knock at the front door snapped me out of my trance, breaking the eerie silence that had enveloped the house. I instantly shut the water off, my movements quick and automatic. Who the hell could that be? I wondered, a mix of confusion and apprehension swirling in my mind. Drying my hands, I numbly stepped into the hallway, my heart pounding in my chest.
Another sharp knock echoed through the house, followed by a familiar voice calling out, "Police! I'm responding to the report of a break-in." The voice, firm and authoritative, sent a shockwave through me. The blood that circulated in my body began to boil. She's got some nerve, I seethed internally. What the actual fuck is Sarah doing here!? Is she alone? My mind raced with questions and suspicions. Sarah's unexpected presence was like throwing gasoline on the smouldering embers of my anxiety.
For a brief moment, the thought of running flashed through my mind, but the reality of my situation crashed down on me - I had nowhere to run. My knees wobbled as I stood, a physical reminder of my vulnerability and exhaustion. After the events of last night and with very little sleep, I most certainly didn't have the energy to confront the detective. But Sarah was here last night, I reminded myself, my thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. Falling to the couch as my legs buckled, I felt a sense of defeat wash over me.
The side fence rattled, pulling me back to the present. "I'm entering the house," Sarah's voice carried through the broken window at the other end of the house. Her words, clear and decisive, seemed to pierce through the thick air.
Exhausted, a dark fog shrouded my numb mind. I remained sitting, unmoving on the couch. The world around me felt distant and surreal, as if I were observing everything from behind a thick pane of glass. As the blurred figure of Sarah approached from the hallway, reality and fear intermingled, rendering me paralysed in the face of the unfolding situation. The sound of her footsteps grew louder, each step a countdown to an inevitable confrontation that I felt wholly unprepared for.
"Shit!" exclaimed Sarah, bursting into the living room with her gun poised and ready for action. Her sudden appearance, weapon in hand, was like a jolt of electricity, startling me out of my dazed state. "What the fuck are you doing here, Gladys?" she demanded, her voice sharp and filled with a mix of surprise and suspicion.
She doesn't deserve a reply, Cody's deep, haunting voice whispered in my ear, as real to me in that moment as the woman standing before me. I continued to stare unfocused in front of me, my mind a whirlpool of confusion and disbelief. Cody's voice, although a figment of my imagination, felt like a tether to a reality I was desperately trying to cling to.
Slowly, Sarah took several steps closer, her movements cautious yet deliberate. "Stand with your back to me and place your hands on your head," she instructed, her voice steady and commanding. The gun, a stark and threatening presence, was aimed directly at my chest. Sarah's demands generated an initial surge of fear for my life, pulsing through my body like a bolt of lightning, electrifying every nerve.
But then, a growing anger inside me quickly dominated the fear. With eyes fixated on Sarah's, filled with a fiery intensity, I complied. Wishing my gaze could inflict the pain and confusion I felt, I moved slowly, deliberately.
"Gladys Cramer," said Sarah, her voice direct and authoritative as she firmly grabbed my left arm and yanked it down and behind my back. "I'm placing you under arrest for dangerous driving and resisting arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say may be used against you in a court of law." Her words were a formal recitation, yet they landed with a weight that made me wince, not just from the physical discomfort as my right hand was snapped into the cuffs, but from the confusion and surprise at her reasons for the arrest.
With no mention of Cody, a torrent of unanswerable questions flooded my brain. Why are you here, Sarah? Why am I really being arrested? The questions burned deeper into my consciousness, adding to the turmoil and disbelief swirling inside me. Each word she spoke felt like a piece of a puzzle that didn't fit, leaving me more bewildered and lost in the moment.
"I've arranged to have your window replaced," Sarah informed me, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. I saw her eyes flicker towards me in the rearview mirror of the police car. There I sat in the back seat, an uncomfortable observer in my own surreal predicament.
Certain that my body had not shown any outward reaction, I remained silently lost in my own distressing thoughts. The words seemed to float around me, disconnected from the chaos that was unfolding inside. My mind was a tempest of emotions, swirling with confusion, fear, and a deep sense of loss that felt like an anchor dragging me down.
"It was you, wasn't it?" I finally asked after several minutes of heavy silence. The words spilled out, half-accusation, half-inquiry. I knew that Sarah hadn't actually done the deed, but I wondered how far I could make her confess. There was a desperate need in me to understand, to piece together the fragments of the truth that seemed to elude my grasp.
"No," said Sarah bluntly, her voice sharp and final. She gave no indication that she intended to reveal any further details, her face a mask of professional detachment in the mirror.
I let several more silent minutes pass, watching Sarah's nerves grow as her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter with every passing minute. The tension in the car was palpable, a silent battle of wills playing out in the confined space.
"But you were there," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. As I spoke, I bit my lower lip, feeling it quiver uncontrollably. I quickly looked away, casting my gaze out the side window as my eyes began to sting once again from the pain of my loss. The landscape outside blurred, a smeared canvas of colours that mirrored the turmoil inside me.
"Why haven't you reported it?" Sarah asked, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. Her question was direct, probing into a wound that was still raw and bleeding.
"It's complicated," I replied, my voice a mix of resignation and bitterness.
"No shit," Sarah blurted out. Her words, though crude, resonated with the absurdity of the situation. In that moment, despite our vastly different circumstances, there was a fleeting sense of mutual understanding, a shared recognition of the convoluted mess that lay before us.
Several more heavy, silent minutes passed, the tension in the car like a thick fog. I found myself gripping the side of the door tightly as the car suddenly swerved sharply left, pulling to a stop on the side of the road. My heart raced, a mix of fear and anticipation swirling within me as I braced myself for what was coming next.
Sarah turned in her seat to face me, her expression stern and unyielding. "Here's the thing," she began, her beady eyes searching for and locking onto mine with the precision of a homing missile. Her gaze was intense, almost piercing, as if she were trying to delve into the depths of my soul. "I have to take you in for questioning, but if you answer a few of my questions now, I'll make sure that the interview is easygoing and you'll get released immediately." Her words, a blend of threat and promise, hung in the air, a lifeline dangled in front of me.
Battling with my aching head, I struggled to understand exactly what Sarah meant. Can I really trust her? The question echoed in my mind. She did have alcohol on duty, I reminded myself, the scale tipping slightly in the detective's favour. The possibility of trust, however tenuous, was like a small light in the overwhelming darkness of my situation.
"Fine," Sarah huffed, a trace of impatience in her voice. "I was there. But I didn't kill him. He was already dead when I found him." Her confession, blunt and to the point, cut through the air.
I thought a confession would make me feel better. "And what were you doing there?" I snapped. The words came out harsher than I intended, but the pain that seared through my chest was sharper than any blade could inflict. My emotions were a tangled knot, each thread a mixture of grief, betrayal, and confusion.
Sarah's face reddened with fiery anger, a visible sign of her frustration and perhaps guilt. Turning back to the front, she pulled the car back onto the road. We continued in silence, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional passing car. The weight of her confession and the unanswered questions hung between us, an invisible barrier that seemed to grow with every mile. My mind was a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions, each one colliding with the next, leaving me feeling exhausted and more lost than ever.
"His name was Cody Jennings," I said, my voice soft and barely audible, as if speaking his name louder would make the loss more real. My eyes welled up with fresh tears, each one a testament to the torrent of emotions that Cody's name evoked in me. The weight of grief, confusion, and an aching sense of loss filled my chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Thank you, Gladys," came Sarah's gentle reply. Her tone, unexpectedly kind, was a small comfort in the midst of the turmoil that engulfed me. It felt like a brief moment of connection in an otherwise isolating ordeal.
Wiping the tear that rolled down my cheek with the back of my hand, I sank into a dreary slump. The physical act of wiping away my tears felt symbolic, as if I were trying to brush away the pain and reality of my situation. But the sorrow remained, heavy and unyielding.
The bump of the car as it rolled into the station's carpark snapped me from my woeful hypnotic trance. The sudden jolt brought me back to the present, to the reality of what was happening. "Another thing," I blurted out before I could stop the words from leaving my lips. The urgency of the situation, the need to speak, overrode my hesitation. I really hope that I have Sarah onside.
"What?" asked Sarah, her voice indicating a readiness to listen.
"Luke doesn't know," I managed to say, my voice stronger this time.
"Know what?"
Cody is dead and Jamie is lost to Clivilius. The thoughts swirled in my head, a chaotic storm. Perhaps I can still help to protect Luke. The idea of being able to do something, anything, to shield someone else from this nightmare gave me a small sense of purpose. "Any of it," I finished simply.
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