Free 2 Brooklyn James by Brooklyn James Page A

hand sympathetically. “Detective?” he calls. Tony taps his foot as if to say, Spit it out! “At the room, in the hotel, the masquerade ball…were you drawn to her?” he questions his connection to Gina.
    “Like a moth to a flame.” Tony leaves ardently.
    “He’ll find her,” Dr. Godfrey consoles, helping Dr. Ryan to a seat on the couch, unable to hold back a wide grin, his mind spinning with the wonderment of what’s to come.

CHAPTER 6
    D etective Tony Gronkowski leaves his squad car parked at the end of the long, posh drive, setting out for the vast French colonial style home afoot. The moon hovers in the darkness, cascading its luminescence through imposing cedars, oaks and magnolias, the sparse light assisting his voyage. Distant peepers, as the locals call the indigenous miniature frogs, fill the calm Louisiana night with song. A screech owl sounds, claiming his territory, causing even the most audacious of detectives to scrunch up his shoulders, hastening his pace. Approaching the clearing, Tony’s confusion grows, his eyes assaulted with bright yellow in the form of CAUTION tape encircling the massive dwelling. His olfactory fills with the scent of smothered fire and smoke. As he closes in on the gutted, ramshackle structure he steps light and agile, alerted by the debris at his feet. He approaches an opening, what appears to have once been a window, peering inside. In the middle of the grand room, amongst the rubble and ash, stands Gina.
    Her eyes closed, she is lost in a moment. “Hey Sugar, ugar, ugar, ugar,” Lon’s sweet sentiment echoes through the empty, fallen house. She spins swiftly, facing what would have been the front door, as Braydon’s voice reverberates, begging her attention, “Mama, ama, ama, ama.” Bou Bou’s warm, playful barks resonate. Laughter—Lon’s, Braydon’s and hers—amplifies times ten, filling up the spaces of her memory. “Goodnight moon,” Braydon sings. The image of Lon donning muddy boots while dragging a humongous Blue Spruce Christmas tree onto her fastidiously tended, all-natural wood floor causes her to smile, although at the time it garnered him a tender reprimand. The lovely memory muted by the startling sound of a shotgun blast, followed by Bou Bou’s whimpers and Braydon’s cries. She cups her hands to her ears squeezing vehemently, as if attempting to physically crush the images, the sounds, from her brain.
    “DeLuca,” Tony begs her attention, calling her name for at least the tenth time.
    She pivots defensively at his closeness, her collarbones moving up and down at labored speed, facilitating her rapid respiration caused by the shifting of her memories from exquisitely pleasant to disturbingly foul. “You should be more careful about who you sneak up on,” she warns softly, retracting her assertive body language.
    He looks at her, his eyes overtly apologetic.
    She shakes her head, disturbed at the whole lot of them for telling Tony her truth. “Don’t look at me that way,” she orders.
    “What way?” he inquires, furrowing his eyebrows, acutely unaware of his tender expression.
    “Your pity is wasted on me, Gronkowski. Save it for someone who needs it.”
    “I’m sorry, Gina,” he expels, unable to stop himself.
    “Well, I’m not. And you shouldn’t be, either.” She busies herself, bending over searching through the scattered debris, slinging chunks of metal and ash.
    “If it’s any consolation, it makes me understand you…all of this…better.” He follows her lead, digging through the waste.
    She bolts upright. “Oh yes, it gives me great comfort that you can fully understand me now,” she barks, winging a chunk of charred wood. It crumbles with the force as it connects to the lone, tall stone pillar maintaining its integrity.
    “They had no other option but to tell me the truth,” Tony defends gently.
    “It wasn’t theirs to tell.” She picks up another chunk of carbonized timber brandishing it at him. “And if