Page 15 of The Obsession

I tuned Davian out—I was in shock, after all, he couldn’t possibly blame me for being all quiet and glassy-eyed—and jump-started my mind. Sifted through the events of today with meticulous care. I had to rewrite my role from killer to unfortunate eyewitness. I had to add details—the most believable characters were given all sorts of minute detail with loving patience by their writers. All I had to do was be an unlucky teenager who stumbled upon a grisly accident that had absolutely nothing to do with her.

Right.

I was doing my chemistry homework upstairs in my room when I heard Brandon calling for me—

No. I had to change that part, because it would put me in the same room as Brandon when he died.

Okay, I was…

“I was doing my chemistry homework—something about stoichiometry—and I wanted a snack, and I thought I’d go to the store to grab some food. I went to the garage to see if Brandon wanted anything, and…” It took no effort at all for me to summon the tears. The shock of Brandon’s death saw to that. The tears came in a generous rush, warming my cheeks, trembling through my shoulders. The cop who was taking my statement—her name tag read Hoffman—made a sympathetic tsk-tsk sound and shook her head.

“Take as long as you need,” she said, giving me a you’re-so-brave smile.

I blew my nose and continued. “I opened the door and called out to him, but he didn’t answer. I thought maybe he couldn’t hear me cause of the music, so I walked in, and that was when I saw the blood.” The puddle of blood, growing, reaching out for my feet. I didn’t have to fake my shudder. Hoffman gave me an encouraging nod. It was now safe to segue back to the truth. I told her how I’d looked under the car and saw Brandon, who wasn’t moving, and I’d tried, really I did, to lever the car up with the jack, but I didn’t quite know how to work it—

“Oh, honey,” Hoffman said.

I sniffled; had to show some guilt at my utter failure to save the unsavable. But this was where everyday sexism came to my rescue. There were no traces of surprise on her face, because who’d expect some idiot teen girl to know how to work a car jack, right?

“—and I only ended up—I—the car—I ended up crushing him again.” The sobs were real. I honestly hadn’t meant to crush Brandon’s body a second time.

Hoffman’s mouth puckered. “And that was when you vomited?”

I nodded.

She scribbled more stuff down on her notepad and looked up. Belatedly, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps. I turned to see Detective Mendez, Brandon’s partner. Ex-partner. Brandon’s voice boomed through my head.The Mexican bitch who thinks she’s a real cop.A wave of revulsion toward Brandon and his endless racism and misogyny coursed through my veins. I’d done society a favor by killing him, really.

Mendez was shaking her head grimly. “Hey, Delilah. I’m so sorry. I got here as soon as I could.” She opened her arms, reaching toward me for a hug, and even though I didn’t want one, certainly not from a cop, I made myself get up and fall into her arms like a toddler who’d lost her favorite soft toy. Her hug was good, maternal. Maybe I needed a hug after all.

“You’ve been really brave, Delilah,” Mendez said. She gestured for me to sit back down. “How’re you holding up?”

“I don’t know. I’m as okay as I can be, given…you know,” I said. I didn’t even have to make my voice quaver.

Mendez nodded “Is your mom back yet?”

“She’s on her way,” Hoffman piped up.

“Okay. Are you done here?” Mendez said to her.

“Yep. Got her statement.” Hoffman stood up and snapped her notebook shut. “I’m real sorry you had to go through that, kid.”

I managed a small smile. “Thank you.” So brave.

Hoffman walked off, leaving me with Mendez. Mendez, who was watching me closely.

“What time did you find him again?” Mendez asked. Alarm bells inside me went off—shrill peals that made me want to run away.

“Um—” I thought hard. What time did I tell that other cop? Eleven? Eleven thirty? “Eleven thirty, I think. I didn’t really look at the clock.”

Mendez nodded again, and I realized everything about her was calculated. Even the mama-bear hug had been curated to be tight enough to put me at ease and make me think she was on my side. Mendez wasn’t like Davian or Hoffman, didn’t automatically dismiss me as a nonthreat.Do I not look pathetic enough to you?I wanted to scream.

“Did Brandon seem—I don’t know—has he been different lately?”

You mean like, did he lay his hands on me and Mom more often lately? Why, yes, Detective Mendez. Hey, did you know about that, btw? How often your late partner laid into us like we were pillows he had to beat into shape? You’re such a sharp one, so suspicious of everything. Were you ever suspicious of him? Did you care?

I had to steer myself away from my rage and riffle through my memories. The real ones, not the one I’d written out just moments ago. If my story had me being close enough to Brandon to go out of my way to see if he needed anything at the store, I had to have been close enough to notice if he was behaving differently lately.

“Um, he…”

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