by Tamara White
A woman appears from the fog, and her amber eyes go wide when she sees me. “You have to get out of here, my darling. It’s not safe.”
Huh? Before I get a chance to respond, she raises her hands. White light comes blasting from them, throwing me backwards and into darkness.
“Valerie? Are you up there?!” My mother’s shrill voice travels up the stairs and I groan, before getting out of bed. What the fuck happened? The last thing I remember was having shots with Nat, Jess and Sally.
I try to remember, but no, it’s no use. I’m sure it’ll come back after the hangover fades away. though. So instead I call to my mom as I step over to my closet, grabbing fresh clothes for the day. “Yeah, Mom, I’m up here. I’ll be down in a sec. I’m just going to have a shower quickly.”
I don’t wait for a response before going into my adjoining bathroom, but I freeze when I see myself in the mirror. Holy fuck!
My dress from last night hangs off me in tatters and nearly every inch of me is covered in blood. I scream and begin rubbing at my arms to try and wipe the dried blood off.
The sound of pounding footsteps coming up the stairs can be heard even over my cries. I run out to my room, calling for help when my bedroom door slams open.
Two policemen burst in, guns raised and pointed at me. I scream as one of them rushes at me, dropping me to the ground and trying to pull my hands behind my back. I try to crawl out from under him, but his hold is iron tight. “If you don’t stop trying to escape, I will be forced to taser you.”
I nod in understanding and hold perfectly still as he yanks my hands behind me, putting handcuffs on me. They bite into my skin painfully. I turn my head in search of my mom, but I only see the other police officer. When he sees me looking at him, he turns his head away.
Tears stream down my face as I try to comprehend what’s happening to me. The police officer is speaking as he hauls me to my feet. My head is filled with a buzzing so I just nod, even though I’m not sure what is being said.
He leads me out of my room, keeping a firm grip on my shoulder. The other cop stays in front of us as we walk down the stairs and into the foyer.
My mother is waiting by the door, dressed in a nightgown. As we pass her, the officer leading me out the door pauses. “Thank you for calling in the tip, Mrs. Jones.”
I don’t hear my mother’s reply before I’m jostled into the back of a police cruiser, but my heart is racing.
“Please, can you tell me what’s going on?” I lean towards the glass partition, hoping for some kind of explanation as to why I’m handcuffed and in the back of a police car.
The officers exchange glances before starting the car. Then cop in the passenger seat gives me a disbelieving stare. “You’re under arrest for murder.”
I lean back into the seat, completely shocked. Murder? What the fuck?
On the short ride to the station, the officer reads me my Miranda Rights again because while I was being handcuffed I seemed to have blocked it out.
As the familiar surroundings go by, I try to remember the night before and what happened. I remember the nightmare and getting dressed. Then I could swear I was talking with my mother. Or maybe Nat was? The more I try to remember, the further the memory slips away.
I know we went for coffee with Sally and Jessica before we hit the club. We celebrated with drinks and my mom made a brief appearance before leaving. Dad didn’t show up, yet again. He has promised the last two years that he would, but things always seem to happen to prevent him from being able to leave his new home. You’d think he would come for my twenty-first, but I guess not. Why didn’t he at least call, though? Usually if he can’t make my birthday, he’ll at least make a point of calling me. But not this time. That much I remember.
As we pull into the station, my heart beats faster, knowing I screwed up. I don’t know what I did, but if they think I killed someone, it must be bad. Maybe I just drank too much and stumbled across a wounded animal or something. It wouldn’t be the first time I came home covered in blood from helping a dog that had been hit by a car.
Yes, the more I think about it, the more I realize they must have gotten this all wrong. I probably just stopped on my way home to help a wounded dog that was hit by a car, that’s all. I couldn’t have murdered someone.
The officers park behind the station, pull me out of the car and lead me into the building through the back door.
As we walk past other cops, my panic rises at the looks of judgement on their faces. The guy who handcuffed me leads me straight to a room and then pushes me inside. “Sit! I’ll grab a female to start your processing.”
I sit awkwardly in the only chair in the room, which is extremely hard to do with my hands still cuffed behind my back. It’s super uncomfortable and I look around me, wondering what exactly they need a female officer for.
After five minutes of sitting in this silent room staring at my feet, the door opens and a female officer walks in, carrying a bundle of items. The male officer who first led me in follows her and places even more items on the table before leaving the room.
“Ms. Jones, I’m going to need you to stay still while I take some samples. Then you will need to change and your clothes will be taken for evidence.”
“Okay,” I say, glancing at the mirror on the wall nervously. There is no way I’m getting changed when someone could be lurking on the other side of that window. Hopefully after though, they may let me clean up the blood from my skin.
“Now, I’m just going to take a few pictures for the records.” I nod and then she begins to take photos, zooming in on the worst areas of blood covering me. Then she moves behind me and begins taking pictures of my disheveled hair. Once she has all the photos she needs, she sets the camera down on the table. A moment later, another officer walks in to retrieve it, then leaves the room without a word.
The female officer sits before me and holds out a hand. “I’m going to undo your cuffs and attach one hand to the table while I do what I need to. Do you understand?”
I nod once more and she goes about cutting bits of blood-soaked hair from my head, scraping underneath my nails, and getting my fingerprints. When she is done, she knocks on the window twice. Then the cop from before comes back in, taking everything from the room.
“Okay, time to get changed.” She unlocks the cuff attached to the table and moves my hands in front of me, before re-cuffing me. Then she leads me out of the room and to the back of the station. She opens a door off to the right, which leads into a small bathroom area.
A shower sits in the corner of the room, equipped with a bench and a curtain that offers privacy. The female officer unlocks my cuffs and tucks them in her pocket. “You need to strip behind the curtain and hand me your clothes. Then you can shower the blood off and get changed. Before you get fully dressed, though, I have to see if you have any injuries. Do you understand?”
I nod and walk behind the curtain in a daze, then slowly peel off my clothes as I think about absurdity of me killing someone. There are places where the blood has dried to my skin, making me cringe in pain as I pull the clothes from my body. As far as I can tell, though, I don’t seem to have any injuries on me at all. How could I have supposedly murdered someone without getting hurt myself?
Once I’m completely naked, I drop to my knees and lift the shower curtain enough to push my clothes out to her. Then I turn the water on and step beneath the spray, watching the water run pink as the blood leaves my body. There’s a soap dispenser on the wall and I push it a few times, enough to get a good lather all over my body.
Five minutes later, the cop speaks up. “Right, time’s up,” she calls, and then the water automatically shuts off. I look down, glad to see I’m relatively clean. I didn’t even get to wash out my hair properly.
“Uh, is there a towel?” I ask through the shower curtain. A hand appears, holding out a plain white towel and I dry off as quickly as I can.
“And do you have underwear or a bra?” I don’t mind
going commando, but if they want to look at my body for injuries, then I want all the important parts covered.
A white sports bra type thing and plain white underwear are the next things passed through and I quickly pull them on. Then I open the shower curtain and step out, folding the towel and putting it on the end of the bench.
The officer gets to her feet, her eyes scrutinizing. “What injuries do you have?” she asks as she hands me the gray button-up shirt and pants, both of which are a little too big for my form.
“I, uh, don’t think I have any. At least not that I could see.”
The officer nods and steps behind me, I assume to assess me for injuries. She walks all the way around and when I see her face, her expression is one of confusion.
She doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to put my new clothes on before handcuffing me again. Then she leads me back down the hall. We stop just to the left of the room I was first in and she positions me against a wall depicting height measurements and another cop takes pictures of me holding a card with my name on it.
Once that’s done, I’m guided back into the room we started in. The difference is, there are now two more chairs set up, with a detective sitting in each of them. The female cop uncuffs me and has me sit down in the seat opposite the two detectives. Then she leaves the room without a word.
They both remain silent for a long moment and finally, I can’t take it any longer. “Can you please talk? Tell me what on earth is happening? And why do you think I murdered someone?”
The detective on the left leans forward and places his hands on the table, speaking in a smooth voice. “Ms. Jones, we know you killed her. What we don’t understand, though, is why.”
“Killed who?”
The second detective slams her hand against the metal table. “Don’t play games! We know you killed your friend! We just want to know what you did with the body.”
My friend? Oh god. The blood drains from my face and I begin to feel nauseous.
“Who?”
“Ms. Jones, this is getting old. Just tell us what you did with your friend’s body.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about! Please just tell me who it is!” I beg, tears welling in my eyes. Oh god, is it Sally? Or Jessica? Oh god, please don’t be Natalie.
Both detectives exchange a glance before getting to their feet. The female leans down over the table and looks at me coldly. “You can only play this game for so long, Valerie. Maybe a day in a cell will give you time to think about what will happen if you don’t cooperate with us.”
With that, the male detective handcuffs me again and pulls me to my feet. I stumble a little from the force of his hold and try to pull away from him.
“I want a lawyer!” I demand, my voice slightly shaky but firm. I know my rights. They should have offered me a lawyer before interviewing me if they truly thought I was guilty of murder.
The detective grabs my shoulder and directs me out the door, then hands me over to one of the cops who first brought me in. I have no idea where his quiet partner is, but this one seems to be the rougher of the two. I kinda wish it was the quiet one or even the female cop. This guy seems to have a problem with me, something he proves when he yanks me by the cuffs down a long hall, stopping at an old phone attached to a wall.
“You get one call to a lawyer, and if I were you, I’d make sure it’s a fucking good one,” he snaps.
I pick up the phone and call the one person who could help get me out of this. He knows the ins and outs of criminal law, and even though he didn’t show up for my birthday, I know he’ll help me.
Three rings later and his gravelly voice answers, obviously having been woken up from sleep.
“Dad, I’m in trouble. The police think I murdered someone. But I swear I didn’t.”
Shuffling occurs on the other end of the phone, and my dad mutters a curse. “Okay, I’m on my way now, baby girl, just don’t say a word until I get there.”
“Ok, Dad. Please hurry,” I murmur before hanging up the phone.
As soon as I’m done, the cop grabs me and moves me down a corridor, through another door and into a room filled with small six-by-eight cells. Each cell contains a bed, a toilet and a small sink, all completely open to the rest of the room. At least the shower curtain offered some privacy.
The cop shoves me in an empty cell roughly and slams the door shut in my face. He gestures to my hands and I hold them out for him. After he frees me from the cuffs, I move over to the small bed and sit down, my shoulders slumping in defeat.
The reality of the situation finally sinks in. I’ve been arrested for murder, and apparently it's one of my friends I killed. The only friends I have are Jessica, Sally and Natalie. The thought of any of them being hurt makes the tears begin to fall freely. What happened and why? Did I black out and hurt my friend?
I really hope Dad gets here soon. I need to know exactly what happened.
Four
The distinct sound of keys jangling startles me from my sobbing. I look up as the cell door opens and my father walks in, his brown hair mussed from sleep and his green eyes showing his concern.
The moment the door shuts, I get to my feet and he comes over to hug me. I remain stiff in his arms. While I’m relieved he’s here and can help explain what’s going on, I’m still disappointed he didn’t show up for my birthday.
“Baby girl, you okay?” he asks, looking down at me in confusion.
“Yeah, fine. Just a little upset you didn’t call or come to my party. You promised, but I guess there is more important stuff for you to deal with right now.”
I don’t mean to sound like a petulant child, but I can’t help but feel hurt by his absence.
His eyebrows arch in shock. “Valerie, I did call you, and I was at your party. Did you have another blackout?”
“What? No, I don’t think so. I remember bits and pieces, but not all of it.”
He sits down on the bed beside me. “I need you to tell me everything you remember,” he says, a touch of urgency in his voice.
So I recount everything I can think of, even including the bits that are more fuzzy. He listens attentively and when I’m finished, his face is filled with anger.
“How often have you been having blackouts since I left? I thought you told me they stopped.”
“Yeah, Dad. They stopped when you left, but started up again two years later. The first one after you left was when we had the car accident. Since then, they have become frequent again. Sometimes I’d wake up covered in blood and self-inflicted wounds. But I just doctored myself and went on with my life,” I explain as he purses his lips in disapproval.
“Why on earth didn’t you call and tell me? Jesus, Valerie, I could have helped!”
“How? You left to go live in that community with your new family without a care for what happened to me. It wasn’t until the accident that you seemed to even remember I existed. Besides, Mom needed me, and I knew if you found out the blackouts were back and worse than ever that you’d try to make me move.”
He gets to his feet and starts pacing, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Then he turns to face me, a blank mask falling into place. “Look, we really need to talk, but right now we have bigger problems. The media has gotten wind of the story and I’ve had to call in a lot of favors to move up your arraignment.”
I nod, conceding. “You’re right, I’m sorry. This is just all so confusing. Do you know who it is they think I’ve murdered?”
My father’s mask breaks and I can see the sorrow in his eyes as he bends down in front of me. “Valerie, I am so sorry. The person who they think was murdered... the blood they found at the scene, it was Natalie’s.”
My heart stops and all sound in the world ceases as his words register. ‘It was Natalie’ plays on repeat in my mind as tears fall silently down my face.
“Are you sure?” I finally ask, my voice sounding detached and emotionless.
He pulls
me into his arms, offering his comfort. “Yes, baby, I’m sure. The DNA matched.”
I just stand there, stiff in his arms, but something deep inside responds to the pain and shock I’m feeling. It builds inside me to the point where my skin feels itchy and starts to burn.
My dad leans away and clicks his fingers in my face. “Valerie! Don’t you dare lose it now. We still have more to get through today.”
I sniffle and wipe some of the tears from my face, forcing my body to relax. “Okay, I’m okay now. What do we do? I know I didn’t kill Natalie, so how to do we convince people of that?”
Dad sighs and runs a hand through his hair in agitation. “Things are going to be hard because the media already knows about the story, but we’ll do the best we can. Now, I have to go and prep the legal team, but you have some visitors who should be here any minute. Don’t say a word to any of the detectives unless I’m present. Okay?”
I nod slowly and a second later, an officer comes in, as if he was just biding his time. He opens the cell for my father and I watch as he steps out and it’s locked again behind him. “Everything will be okay, Valerie. Just stay strong.”
Then my dad leaves with the officer and I just sit here, my heart filled with pain. Natalie, my best friend, is gone. How is that possible?
Why can’t I remember what happened last night?
After a few minutes, I get up and pace my cell, feeling claustrophobic. The thought of never getting out of here and finding out what really happened to Natalie terrifies me.
A few moments later, the door at the end of the hall opens, the creaky hinges starting to sound familiar to my ears. The female cop walks straight to my cell, then waits at the door. “You have some visitors. I need to handcuff you until we reach the room.”
Dutifully, I hold my hands out in front of me. She handcuffs me, then leads me back down the hall and out into the station area. I can barely focus on what’s going on, my mind whirring through different scenarios about what could have happened last night.
