Page 32 of Coram House

“What did you do next?” asks Parker. His expression is neutral. I can’t tell what he makes of all this.

“Nothing, at first,” I say. “Well, I checked my phone, but I didn’t have service. I couldn’t tell where it had come from, but it sounded like maybe down by the water?”

My voice rises at the end, as if I’m asking them.

“I was worried someone might be hurt. That they’d fallen and broken their leg or something. I didn’t imagine—I mean not then—that someone was dead.”

I think of the rock sitting beside the woman’s body. Covered in blood and chunks of something I don’t want to think about. I try to swallow but the tea sticks in my throat.

“There was someone else there,” I say, the words spilling out. “I heard this sound. After the scream, I yelled—to see if someone was there. And then there was this scraping noise. And these echoey thunks.”

Parker’s face stays neutral, but Officer Washington’s eyebrows shoot up. I’m doing a terrible job, I know. But I’ve never had to describe a sound before—I feel like I’m speaking the wrong language.

Parker’s voice is gentle. “Did you see anyone else?”

“No,” I say, “just the sounds.”

I know what he’s thinking. I just finished telling them about the footprints on the trail—the single set of footprints.

Officer Washington leans forward. “Listen, I get it. If you’re not used to being out in the woods, all sorts of sounds can—”

“Look, I don’t know how to explain it, but they weren’t like the other noises in the woods. They were human sounds. There was someone else out there. I think they heard me calling and were trying to get away.”

I know it’s true as soon as the words are out of my mouth. Someone heard me and was trying to get away. The silence stretches out, until finally Parker clears his throat. “These sounds,” he says, his voice even, careful, “could you tell where they were coming from?”

I rub my eyes. My head is pounding, right behind the sockets. I wonder if they’d bring me some ibuprofen. “From the direction of the water.”

Officer Washington has stopped taking notes. Now she’s squinting at me, as if trying to see something out of focus.

“So after you heard these sounds,” Parker says, “what happened next?”

“I followed the footprints down to the rocks. And when I didn’t see anyone, went down to the beach. And that’s where I found her.”

I tell them about the rest: going down the stairs to the beach, how I didn’t see anyone at first. And then that flash of bright purple, how she had been right behind me the whole time. I describe the feel of the slippery coat, how her skin had been warm, her glassy eyes staring at me. And the blood. Officer Washington is scribbling furiously now. I take us all the way up to when the medics arrived and then the police. I go to take a sip of tea but the mug is empty. I don’t remember finishing it. I shiver.

“We’re almost done,” Parker says. “Then we’ll get you home. Didyou see anything that suggested someone else had been down at the cove? Or with the woman before she fell?”

I close my eyes, remembering that feeling of being watched—like the trees had eyes. But had I seen footsteps, a scrap of cloth, anything tangible?

“No,” I admit.

He looks at me for one more second. The gold circles around his irises seem brighter in this dingy room. Then he shuts the folder.

“I think that’s all for today. Thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch if we have more questions. Officer Washington will give you a ride home.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay. Thanks.”

All I want to do is crawl into bed, but it feels too abrupt, like this can’t possibly be it.

The three of us step into the corridor. “This way,” Officer Washington says, just as the door we’re passing flies open.

A man careens into the hall, knocking the folder out of her hand in a shower of papers. He grabs me for balance, sending us both into the wall. My shoulder connects in a sharp burst of pain. Parker lunges forward, peeling the man off me by his collar. Without the heavy weight, it feels like I’m floating.

Parker grips the man by the shoulders now, but he’s not holding him back, I realize. He’s holding him up. The man is very, very drunk. The smell of it wafts off him, sharp and medicinal.

“Sor—” He burps. “Shorry about that.”

The man widens his eyes and over-enunciates in the deliberate way of someone so drunk they actually think they’re fooling you. “Seem to be I lost my balance.”

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