Mirror, Mirror part1

She came shambling into the Sheriff’s office lobby wearing a pink, shabby, and dirty sweat suit. She was thin an gaunt and her eyes were surrounded by deep dark circles that gave the upper half of her face the appearance of always being in the shadows. She was a woman of 45 years of age, but the weathered lines on her face and hands grown rigid due to years of hard labor gave her the appearance of someone at least fifteen years older.

She paused at the empty booth protected by surrounding walls of bulletproof glass.

“Frank!” She called out sounding like a wounded reptile.

No one answered. The sleepy Sheriff’s office was as deserted and quiet as the Minerals museum out on Woodchuck Road.

“Frank!” she called out again, her cry sounding more desperate and pleading.

A harsh voice cut through the silence and echoed off the porcelain-tiled walls. It came from the intercom box just inside the booth.

“ ‘S that you Loretta?”

“You damn well know it is Tom!”

“You know I can’t talk to you right now. Not without a lawyer present”

“To hell with that, Tom! Your Goddamn goons is all over my house!”

“Not without a lawyer.”

“Damn it, Tom!”

“Lorretta.”

“You sons of bitches took my boy! You certainly to holy fuck will talk to me!”

Loretta balled up her bony hands into weathered, husks of fists and banged them against the bullet proof plexiglass. She screamed and shook with a dark rage. She screamed out all kinds of profanity, but they swirled together to form a symphony of deep, primal hurt. She lept away from the booth and made her way to the thick metal door that separated her from her quarry. That kept her from Sheriff Tom Morgan.

A loud, oppressive buzz broke the evil spell cast over the frail woman and, her hands still on the door, she could feel the lock give way. She gently and hesitantly pressed the door open and slowly padded over the threshold.

She turned to watch the door close behind her and, once it did, she turned back to see Sheriff Morgan standing in the hall, a silhouette against the streaming afternoon sunlight.

“Well, come on in.”

Loretta padded down the hallway and stood cautiously in the Sheriff’s office doorway. She pulled out a Benson and Hedges 100 and screwed it into her lips.

“Mind if I smoke?” she asked as she lit the cigarette.

The Sheriff only chuckled.“Well, I suspect not,” he said

She only grunted in reply.

“I do apologize for the ruckus we are causing you right now, ‘Retta.”

The Sheriff leaned back in his chair and broke into a small, genial smile.

“Yeah. I bet you are”

“Well, I certainly am. Whether you believe it or not, I don’t much enjoy this part of the job.”

“Right. This kind of shit is what makes your type’s dick hard.”

Lorretta continued smoking her cigarette, glaring at Sheriff Morgan as she did. All of the pain and anger she carried inside her resided in that stare and gave weight to it.

Sheriff Morgan took it in. He took it in and stared back with a benevolent, placid look that he hoped would calm her, if only a little. Tom Morgan had been at this type of work for over twenty years. He, too, was 45 years of age and had spent over half his life as a Coconut Grove police officer. For the most part, it wasn’t too demanding. It was a relatively small community in Northern part of Florida, actually over one hundred miles from the nearest beach. The one thing he learned, however, is the usually the best weapon needed to diffuse a tense situation was human kindness.

“What can I help you with, ‘Retta?”

“Don’t give me that cute shit. You know God damn well what you can help me with. You can call of your dogs, for starters!”

“Well, I can’t do that and you know it. As much as it pains me to have to do this, it simply must be done. There just ain’t no other way.”

“It’s my home!” She cried, “I..It’s our home,” she finished, softly.

“Loretta, as much as I would like to just skip going through your personal property, I just can’t. Your Henry…”

“No!”

“Your Henry..”

“Damn it!”

“Loretta your son is the prime suspect in the first murder case Coconut Grove has had in damn near 15 years!”

There was a shock of cold silence in the room. Loretta collapsed onto the floor and her half finished cigarette rolled under the Sheriff desk.

Sheriff Tom Morgan jumped from his seat and rushed to the woman’s side. He bent over as her body heaved with anguished sobs. He leaned over and under the desk and picked up the cigarette. He brought the cigarette up and held it up to view against the daylight. The burning ember of the tip of the cigarette did not look so harsh in the light of the day. He brought it to his lips and pulled in a deep drag.

Beneath him the broken woman trembled. He gathered her up into his arms. Down the hall he could hear loud, careless footsteps pounding on the cold linoleum floors. The footsteps grew ever louder until they found themselves stopped in the Tom Morgan’s door way.

A young, shocked face surveyed the scene trying to process the moment.

“Um, Sheriff, uh, we uh…”

The sheriff cradled the wounded mother in his arms. In her grief the young deputy’s presence went unnoticed.

“Not now, Phil”

“Well,”

“Phil,”
“When, uh, your finished. We found something.”

“Something?”

“We think you might want to take a look,”

Tom Morgan thought this over.

“All right. ‘Retta? I have business to attend to. Deputy Coins will take care of you, should you need anything, okay?”

She nodded in acquiescence.

“So, you heading to the house?”

“Your damn right. You take care of Ms. Wood, over there. I got work to do.”

Sheriff Tom Morgan then pulled on his beige Sheriff's cowboy hat. He turned on his heels and walk down the hall, disappearing behind the large metal door.