"Please, exit the vehicle with your hands up."
"Ugh," Liza groaned, then opened the driver's side door as she stepped out of the vehicle. I got out, too, raising my hands once I had closed the door. "Officer," she said in an almost childlike voice, probably to garner more sympathy from the man in blue, "we came to report a death."
"Who's dead?"
"My dad," I said, annoyed that he had yet to instruct us to lower our hands. "He's had lung cancer for a while now, and he passed last night." I gulped, thinking about how he died after that dark energy left my body and entered his. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had hit the final nail in his coffin. "I don't live very close. It took a long time to walk here."
"Ah, well, I'm sorry for your loss." The officer raised an eyebrow at us. Then, with his thumbs tucked into his tool belt, he said, "Come in, then. You can lower your hands. Us cops have to be careful, you know? Gotta maintain public order."
Lowering her hands, Liza cocked her head at the man. "I get that, but I have to ask: Where's the public? It seems like society's collapsed in on itself, and this station isn't close enough to the community. It should be moved so people can reach you without a car."
The officer sighed as he led us in. Liza's question seemed to have gotten under his skin. With a bit of irritation in his tone, he replied, "I have to agree with you, Miss, but it takes a lot of money to transfer into an available building that probably isn't up-to-date with UV-electrical and plumbing."
I figured that was a fair argument, although I agreed with Liza one-hundred percent. It made no sense for the police station to take whatever limited public funds there were to sit out here in the middle of nowhere. At the least, they were wasting money through their inefficiency. At their worst, they were purposefully exploiting the locale by denying them arguably necessary services and maintaining this exploitation with the threat of firearms and legally "justified" arrests of those who refused to pay for their "services."
I was the last of us three to enter the well-lit station. When the door closed behind me, I looked forward and saw a well-swept hardwood floor and multiple open office doors. An older lady sat with her legs crossed behind a check-in desk to the left, leaning far back in a black swivel chair. Her brown eyes scanned the book in her hands. I couldn't see the cover, but I figured it was funny because she smiled to herself, completely ignoring us.
"We'll send the wagon to pick your dad up," the male officer said. He was, so far, the only one in the entrance room, and I had to wonder if the area was so clean and lemon-smelling because the police preferred to stay in their offices rather than socialize here where they could be seen by visitors and perhaps judged for their lack of work-related activities.
The officer took us down a short hallway and into, presumably, his office. Gesturing at a pair of seats against a bare wall, he said, "Feel free to get comfortable. You might be here for a while."
"A while?" Liza squinted at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "How long?"
"You see, there's paperwork you've gotta fill out as the son of the deceased." He reached into a file cabinet and pulled out some sheets, which he stuck to a clipboard. Handing it to me, the officer added with rude casualness, "We'll hook you up with Ross Funeral Home. They handle all the burials in our county these days. It'll cost you some out of pocket, but it isn't much. You'll be fine."
"What's the cheapest option?" I asked, nervous at the idea of paying for anything over twenty dollars. Sure, I had saved some money from work and wouldn't be destitute if I had to pay, let's say, one-hundred for an urn and fifty for the cremation, but if the costs were higher, I might be in trouble.
"Not sure. You'll find out soon. Anyway, you'll also need to see an attorney to make sure your father's will is adhered to. Did he have one?"
"I don't know."
"Don't worry about it yet, Mister. You'll be fine."
I didn't believe him.
Liza touched my shoulder, sending me a worried look.
The officer asked, "Want coffee? I can get you two a cup."
"Sure," Liza said. "Thanks."
"No, thank you," I answered with a shake of my head.
"Okay then, I'll be back shortly. Pen's on the desk." He pointed to a cup full of pens and pencils beside an otherwise empty desk. I stared at it longer than I probably should have, and he left the room.
"How are you feeling, Kev?"
Liza's voice comforted me, but I couldn't lie. "Pretty awful."
She pulled me against her and stroked my head on her shoulder. I didn't understand why she wanted to show me so much affection. I figured she felt terrible for me, but part of me wondered if there was something else to Liza's kindness. Maybe she understood how alone I felt, despite still having her family?
Maybe this was her way of telling me she wouldn't leave my side again?
And damn it, I really hoped she wouldn't.