The Yellow Hibiscus Chapter 4

Are you sure you don't want me to call someone?" he persisted, sighing at my statement.

He was leading me down the path of temptation. For a moment, I felt as if I was in a shrink's office, and Ari was on a chain being dangled before my eyes, luring me to call him. Right now, he was the forbidden fruit, and Eve wasn't here. I quickly averted the thought, hoping to dispel his memories to the deep recesses of my mind.

"No," I maintained in earnest.

"Okay, tell me about your parents."

I sighed, wiped my eyes and nose with a tissue, then gasped, saying, just a decibel above a whisper, "Not much to tell, "I said, dabbing at my tears. "They were unconditionally devoted to each other and were very happy together,"

"Any relatives?" he urged, still scrolling on his phone/notebook in true Lt. Colombo/Peter Falk style.

I nodded. "My mom was an only child. Dad was an orphan. They both came to America from Germany when they were young."

"Can you remember anyone wanting to hurt you or your parents? Anyone they argued with yesterday? Last year? Anyone, anywhere?

He wouldn't let go of that question.

I just glared at him in dismay.

"It's normal procedure to ask such questions," he continued.

"I am at war with no one. I am not completely at peace with everyone, but I am at war with no one, and neither were my parents."

"Forgive me if I appear heartless, but the information I have doesn't add up. Are you sure you don't want me to call someone?" he persists.

I nodded as an image of Ari flashed before my eyes again. Calling him, he would think I was ready. I need all the support I can get, but I would rather call Joni. I know she would board the first flight out of Paris. Working in Paris had been her dream, and I wasn't about to spoil it.

"What is this, an interrogation?" The pain of my parent's death was shutting my body down. I didn't want to answer questions. I wanted to scream and give back to the world some of the pain it has given me right now.

"No," he said, softening his tone." I just have to ask difficult questions at the wrong time. I understand your pain, but to solve this puzzle, many questions need to be answered, and you have some answers that can help put the pieces together. The first forty-eight hours of any case are the most critical, and this," he said, holding up his smartphone/notebook. "Is how I communicate with everyone at the precinct."

I nodded in understanding, asking, "Could it be an accident?"

"Maybe, but we have to wait until the Fire Department finishes their investigation."

"Oh, God!" I groaned. "They can't be dead! They just can't be!" Trembling as the tears flowed.

One hour later, we were on our way to 5001 Morris Park Avenue, my parents' home.

We alighted from Willoby's vehicle and headed toward the charred remains of what was left. Pungent charcoal smells filled our nostrils, and we began coughing from the residual fumes of the fire debris. The tidy narrow walkway leading to the entrance doorsteps was now strewn with ashy gravelly soot and many boot-prints — the results of firefighters trekking through the charred debris.

Neighbors lined the sidewalk in disbelief, and those who recognized me nodded their heads in recognition as I passed with genuine sadness. They offered heartfelt condolences — their soft words floating above the plume of dark air.

Misty-eyed and with sniffling nosed, I acknowledged their nods with heartfelt gratitude. Passers-by milled around, absorbing the deadly scene. Whispers and speculations about what could have caused the devastating fire touched my ears. Thanking God, and to my delight, all of the homes in the neighborhood were unaffected, though separated only by shrubbery of low perennials.

I waded through water-soaked charcoal, wood, and rubble. Shattered glass heaped around the house's periphery, of what had once represented the pride of a family's dream — now left images of haunting ruin, black sooty columns, and fallen beams. Partially vertical walls bore the indelible scars of one of nature's most feared and angry vices… fire.

Miraculously, in the face of the roaring blaze that took my parent's life, there was only minor damage to the houses on both sides.

Because the firefighters deliberately hose down both houses to prevent the fire from spreading.

Though the fire had been extinguished, the Police and the Fire Department teams were still there, ferreting for evidence. Riveted to the spot, lost are the future dreams of my parents. I barely heard when Sargent Willoby suggested that I need to go to the morgue.

Thank you for reading this piece. I hope you enjoyed it.