Authors: Suzette Vaughn
“So they guy,
asleep
over there, is Johnny? The kid is Tyler, and you are…?”
The milk went back to the fridge. “I assume the man asleep is Johnny. Johnny is my husband and Tyler called him Badda.
Bad Dad
. And I would like to know who I am as much as you would.”
“Mamma.”
“Yes sweetie, I’m mamma.”
“Does mamma have another name?” The officer asked.
The kid didn’t answer.
“He doesn’t respond well to men. I’m sorry.” She turned her body toward her son. “Answer him
,
Tyler.”
“No.”
“Are you being bad and telling me no or no mamma doesn’t have another name?”
“Mamma’s just Mamma.”
“What does, Badda call me?”
She waited. “Tyler?”
“It’s alright, miss.” The officer spoke, “He shrugged.”
“Probably thinking of the things that he’s not supposed to say.”
“There’s a purse in here.” Simpson said.
“You got gloves?” The
male
officer asked.
“Always.” Came the answer.
“Would you like a seat officer? Right now I’d like one.” She passed him to the living room and sat back in the middle of the coffee table.
The officer followed and started to sit in the chair behind her.
“I wouldn’t sit there.”
He stopped moving, the shadow on the floor gave him away. Stern cop voice again, “Why not?”
“Don’t ever sit on something soft in a drug addict’s house.” That didn’t sound right. “I’m not a…I was…”
The officer stood and moved over next to her.
“Cheyenne Walters.”
Simpson said holding her driver’s license.
“Only my mother calls me Cheyenne. Dad calls me Chy, but not for a long time.”
She saw her mother, “Help me with this dear.” A zipper turned towards her, black hair, almost blue and dark eyes. Then she was gone like everything else. Her father singing, salt and pepper hair and blue eyes behind glasses, “Higher, Chy.” Then he too was gone.
“Now that was a flashback. Not the—I’m screaming in the store kind.”
“Walters?” The deep voice startled her this time. “Cheyenne.”
Simpson was talking into her shoulder again.
“Yes.” She could feel him looking over her.
“I know who you are.”And he didn’t sound happy about that.
“Good you can call my parents and find out
more
.” She laughed at the absurdity.
“No we can’t. They died a while ago.”
“That’s not good.” Another flash went through of her screaming in a beautiful house. “How do you know that?”
“They were one of my favorite bands.”
“Music.” She nodded
, with
the singing coming in and out. Voices, instruments, and people.
Her parents had a band, The Walters Sound, a damn good one and then they died.
“Known alias, Rosie.” Said Officer Simpson.
Rosie
jumped up. “That’s me. I’m
Rosie
. Doyle?”
She pulled the edge of her pajamas down
just a little
, showing roses tattooed across her pelvis. The vine looped around her hips, going all the way to her toes on her right foot. Not that she was showing them anything more than the edge. Not a soul had seen that outside of a doctors’ office since before Tyler.
Doyle came to view, “You can’t run around telling everyone who you are. No one uses last and first names. Take me for example. I’m just Doyle.” His
finger
ran down the tattoo on her leg. “And you’re
Rosie
. Anyone who finds out who your parents were, are going to be different to you. Don’t tell anyone.”
More
memories of him
flashed before her, too fast to grab anything.
Losing herself to memories would make the situation worse. Especially memories of Doyle, he wasn’t here and couldn’t help. Hadn’t been here for almost as long as her parents.
She sat back down on the table, next to the large officer
concentrating on the present
.
31