By the time the ambulance arrived, John Alcott Sr. was already dead. He had closed his eyes and breathed one final, raspy breath a few seconds after Jack left the room, and my mother was left sobbing over his body while I stood at the end of the room, still holding the book I was going to use to defend myself against him.
I looked at the title.
Crime and Punishment, by Tolstoy. How fitting.
I went over to my mother and took her into my arms. She was sobbing, she was a complete mess. Her face was bloodied, I saw bruising on her arms, and in that moment my heart melted for her. She was still grieving, still distressed about the man’s death, even after he had done that to her. How she must have loved him!
The ambulance showed up five minutes later. Jack led them into the room, where the body was waiting. They quickly realized there was nothing left to do, and left. As they were leaving the police arrived.
“No one told us there was a body, we have to call the coroner.”
“There was no body when I called,” Jack explained. “He was alive then.”
The next few hours passed by in a blur. The police separated all of us, questioned us about what happened. I knew I could have asked for a lawyer, but I wanted to tell the truth. They needed to know that this wasn’t Jack’s fault.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we were all taken back to the main foyer of the house.
“I don’t see a reason as to why Mr. Alcott Jr here should be taken into custody. There is enough corroboration that he was defending the ladies from an attacker, and that he suffered a heart attack. Mrs. Reeves is quite adamant that Mr. Alcott Jr. should be arrested, but quite frankly, we don’t see it that way. While Mr. Alcott did cause his father’s death, it was obviously in the defense of a third party. I will ask that you stay in the county, however, until the investigation is closed.”
“Thank you, detective inspector,” I told the man, having been corrected when I first called him “detective”.
When everyone finally left, the body had been taken away, and only the three of us were left in the house, it felt eerily silent. A man had died in this house today. I had seen his body.
It felt strange. I knew I didn’t want to sleep alone tonight. I also didn’t want my mother alone in the house. I wondered if Jack would be willing to sleep here again, now that his father was gone.
“I’m going to go make some calls. People have to be notified,” my mom said, almost like a zombie.
Jack and I went up to my room. I began sobbing. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t even know why. But once I started, the tears wouldn’t stop.
“Shh, it’s over. It’s over,” Jack whispered, holding my head to his chest. I sobbed into his shirt, soaking the cotton.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“I was on the phone. I decided to return the call I’d missed before going home, and I didn’t want to drive while on the phone. You left the front door open, and when I heard the cries, I came running.”
“You always have perfect timing when it comes to saving me.”
“It’s a superpower I hope I never lose.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. The man was a monster. I’m glad he’s gone.”
I hugged Jack tighter.
“Can you sleep here with me tonight?”
“Of course. I’d like that.”
I went and spent some time with my mom, who was still distraught beyond words. I asked her if she wanted to go to the hospital, but she said no. She took a sleeping pill, and went to bed. In the morning I would find her still there, her pillow completely soaked with her tears.
Jack and I did the same a minute later, falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. Who would have known that one day could have been so amazing, and the next so awful?