Chevelle's leg was bouncing up and down as she looked around the police station. Her tan skin was pale closer in color to her mother's milky tone, her eyes were red and puffy. She pulled the large hoodie she had borrowed from DeMarcus over her hands and whipped her runny nose. Her hands fell back into her lap, rubbing against one another, almost like she would if she were washing her hands under water. She could hear every little sound around her: computer keyboards, heavy breathing, the coffee machine, even someone on the other side of the room whispering into the phone. Her large doe eyes darted around the room, never staying on one object or person for very long. Chevelle's chest began to constrict and she gasped, feeling as though she could hear her lungs expanding with every rattling breath.
"Chevelle," DeMarcus squatted in front of her, his eyes full of worry. "Chevelle, hey look at me." He watched her head turn back and forth as if she was trying to focus on him. "Hey look at me—eyes on me. Give me five things you can see Mama, come on."
Chevelle looked around unsurely, blinked, then blinked again and opened her mouth. "Desk...coffee...pens...detectives...you."
"That's good," DeMarcus rested his hand on her cheek and stroked it. "Three things you can hear?"
"Keys...people talking...your breathing."
"One thing you can smell?"
Chevelle turned to him, her senses full registering what was going on around her. "Vetiver." She blinked slowly and rested a cold hand against her forehead to push her hair back. "What happened to me?"
DeMarcus sighed and placed the hot chocolate in her hands. "You had a panic attack." Taking a seat beside Chevelle, DeMarcus slid an arm over her shoulders and pulled her in. "You're alright Mama, we'll be out of here soon."
"Chevelle Brown?"
DeMarcus stood up first and set his hand out for Chevelle to grab. "Detective Lancaster, I'm DeMarcus Van de Berg—we spoke on the phone."
The older gentleman nodded, and pushed his thick framed glasses on top of his balding head. "You reported someone breaking into your house last night, right?"
DeMarcus looked over at Chevelle watching her eyes dart around the place. "Yes," he cleared his throat, speaking for the both of them. "It was late, we had just gotten back from a gala."
"And where were you at the time?"
"We were both asleep, when I heard one of the windows break. I went downstairs to check on Chevelle—she's my first priority."
"She's your first priority and yet you don't sleep in the same room?"
"Are you the lead Detective here?" DeMarcus watched Lancaster nod. "Is there somewhere we can talk in private?" They stepped into a separate room and shut the door. "Chevelle is President elect Adio Brown's daughter, I'm her protective detail."
Lancaster's green eyes bugged out of his head and he stroked his jaw. "If this is a political matter, it's beyond my jurisdiction. I can post a detail in an unmarked car outside your house until we catch this guy."
"There's one another thing," DeMarcus shifted from side to side. "Whoever made their way into our home, if they're dumb enough to go to the hospital, then you're looking for someone who definitely got shot in the shoulder and maybe in the torso."
Chevelle looked up from the floor for the first time since entering the small room. "You shot him?"
"We'll talk about this later," DeMarcus rubbed her bicep. "For now, I think an unmarked is perfect. I'll talk to my superiors in DC and see if or what they can do."
Chevelle watched as DeMarcus sent a curt nod to the detective before guiding them out of the police station. "When were you going to tell me you shot him." It was a murmur that left her lips, so low she knew DeMarcus barely heard her.
"I assumed you heard," he sighed, opening her car door. "There was no silencer."
Chevelle fiddled with her fingers. "I think I just want to forget." She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest.
"Get some rest," DeMarcus patted her knee twice. "I'll wake you when we get home."
&
In her dream someone was standing over her bed. Their slimy fingers forming a trail down her face and neck before stopping at the top of her sleeping shirt. She flinched and rolled her head to the side. "No," she mumbled, trying to bat the hand away. "No, no no!' She cried louder and thrashed around. "Get off, get off, get off!"
"Hey Mama wake up," DeMarcus murmured soothingly into her ear. "Wake up Mama, it's me. You're safe, I promise you're safe."
Chevelle opened her eyes wide with fear, but so was she—she was shaking. "Marcus?" She sat up in the bed, her legs straight out in front of her.
"I'm here Mama," he tilted her chin so her brown eyes could focus on him. "Tell me what happened."
Chevelle frowned. "I don't know. The dream I had felt so real. Someone was standing over my bed, t-touching my face and—and their hands…" Chevelle stopped and looked away. "When you found me in the closet, I couldn't focus on you."
DeMarcus nodded, "I know, I remember—where are you going with this?"
"There's a blank spot between when I said goodnight to you and when you found me in the closet."
DeMarcus let out a wavering breath, he knew where was going with this and he was terrified.
Chevelle fisted the thin white blanket, her eyes brimming with tears as she waited for the results. They had left for the hospital almost immediately after Chevelle told DeMarcus about her dream. Beside her bed, DeMarcus sat with his mouth shut and his arms crossed, and Chevelle wished he would say something.
"Ms. Brown?" The doctor called out from the doorway, his eyes full of sorrow. "I'm sorry to say this, but your rape kit came back positive."
A sob left her lips as she pulled her knees against her chest. Tears streamed down her face as she rocked back and forth. Strong arms wrapped her in an embrace and she cried even harder into DeMarcus's chest.
"I'm so sorry Mama," he whispered into her ear. "I failed you, I'm so sorry." He clutched her tighter and climbed into bed beside her. "I got you," he murmured. "I got you."
Chevelle stood in front of her bedroom door, her face void of any emotion.
But DeMarcus knew why she had stopped. "Do you want to sleep in a different room?"
Chevelle shook her head and licked her chapped lips. "Is it," she cleared her throat. "Is it inappropriate of me to ask you to stay in my room with me?"
DeMarcus smiled sadly and pushed some hair behind her ear. "Given the circumstances; no." Falling onto his side beside her, DeMarcus watched her eyes closed within seconds of hitting the pillow. "I'll be right here when you wake up," he whispered. Even in her sleep, Chevelle shifted closer to him, her warm breath fanning the crook of his neck and DeMarcus held her tightly—he never wanted to let go. He waited an hour before closing his eyes and allowing himself to be lulled to sleep by her vanilla scent.