Page 105 of Final Girls

What a hassle, her mother said on the drive there.Don’t they see how much of an inconvenience this is?

Her mother had been cleaning the upstairs bathroom when the call came, answering the phone with hands encased in flopping rubber gloves. Hassle or not, she nonetheless changed into a floral print dress before leaving for the station. Quincy remained in pajamas and a bathrobe, much to her mother’s abject horror.

“Is something wrong?” Quincy asked as she stared at the two detectives from her wheelchair, wondering why she had been summoned there.

“We just have a few more questions,” Cole said.

“I’ve already told you everything I know,” Quincy said.

Freemont gave a sorry shake of his head. “Which is a whole lot of nothing.”

“Listen, we don’t want you to think we’re harassing you,” Cole said. “We just need to make sure we know everything that happened out at that cabin. For the families. Surely you can understand that.”

Quincy didn’t want to think about all those grieving parents and siblings and friends. Janelle’s mother had visited her in the hospital. Red-eyed and trembling, she begged Quincy to tell her that Janelle hadn’t suffered, that her daughter had felt no pain when she died.She didn’t feel a thing, Quincy lied.I’m sure of it.

“I understand,” she told Cole. “I want to help. I really do.”

The detective reached into a briefcase at his feet and pulled out a file folder, which he placed on the table. Next came a metallic rectangle—a tape recorder, now set atop the folder.

“We’re going to ask you a few questions,” he said. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to record the conversation.”

Anxiety flickered through Quincy as she stared at the tape recorder. “Sure,” she said, the word emerging in an uneasy wobble.

Cole pressed the Record button before saying, “Now, tell us, Quincy, to the best of your ability, what you remember about that night.”

“The whole night? Or when Janelle started screaming? Because I don’t remember much after that.”

“The whole night.”

“Well—” Quincy paused, shifting slightly to peer out the window set into the upper half of the door. The door itself had been closed once her mother was asked to wait outside. The window’s square pane revealed only a bit of ivory-colored wall and the corner of a poster warning about the dangers of drunk driving. Quincy couldn’t see her mother. She couldn’t see anyone.

“We know there was drinking,” Freemont said. “And marijuana use.”

“There was,” Quincy admitted. “I didn’t do either.”

“A good girl, eh?” Freemont said.

“Yes.”

“But itwasa party,” Cole said.

“Yes.”

“And Joe Hannen was there?”

Quincy flinched at the sound of His name. Her three stab wounds, still stitched tight, began to throb.

“Yes.”

“Did something happen during the party?” Freemont asked. “Something that made him angry? Did anyone tease him? Abuse him? Maybe hurt him in a way that would make him want to lash out?”

“No,” Quincy said.

“Did anything happen that madeyouangry?”

“No,”Quincy said again, stressing the word, hoping it would make the lie somehow ring true.

“We looked at the results of your sexual-assault forensic exam,” Freemont said.

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