Page 15 of Killing Me Softly

Bea

I’m in a tiny interrogation room at the police station, sitting behind a small desk with a laminated brown top that’s chipping at the edges and the black plastic chair is making my but and lower back ache. That’s the only reason I know I’ve been here for hours, because otherwise I feel like I’m inside a nightmare and it’s just one endless hour, which won’t end anytime soon.

I told my story as best I could to the uniformed officers who showed up first. Then to the two detectives who came not long after. Since then, I’ve had to repeat the story to another four detectives, twice now, to this petite blonde lady—Detective Robins—who is as wide awake and perky as I am drowsy, cold and tired.

They gave me a pink fluffy blanket to wrap around my shoulders when I complained about the cold. I’m still cold. I wish they’d turn off the air conditioner.

“So, you and your friend met at your apartment at nine and drank vodka until you left for the club at midnight?”

“Vodka and apple juice,” I correct her. “But otherwise, yes.”

“And what happened after you left the apartment?”

I want to snap at her that I already told them this story a million times tonight, but I stop myself just in time and swallow hard.

“We got a taxi to the club, then danced for a couple of hours,” I say. “Then Lily’s boyfriend and his friend joined us. And, well, I hit it off with the friend, so we left to go to my apartment. And that’s when I found the…what I found.”

“This man, Ashton Townsend, is he someone you’ve met before?” she asks. I detect some sort of judgy undertone in her voice, but I’m not sure why.

“Yes…and no,” I say. “We met earlier in the night…he’s the son of my mother’s neighbor and sort of lived next door on and off while I was growing up…but he’s older than me, so I didn’t really know him. We only just formally met earlier tonight.”

I almost tell her I had a huge crush on him when I was twelve and that I almost hit him with my car, but neither of those things are something she needs to know. I really wish I could get up and walk around. I can hardly feel my butt anymore, and now the backs of my thighs are going the same way. I wish even more that I could go home.

“Why are you holding me here?” I ask. “I already told you all this like fifty times.”

She nods slightly, the look in her light blue eyes sharp like steel as she judges me silently for a couple of seconds. Then she sighs and opens the black, faux leather folder on the desk in front of her.

She pulls out a photograph and turns it towards me. “Do you know this man?”

“Yes, it’s Aaron Klein,” I say. “I went on a date with him about two weeks ago. And we went to the same high school. Why?”

“He was found dead at the edge of the woods near your condo this morning,” she says in a monotone voice as though she’s describing how she likes her morning coffee. “He was stabbed at least twenty times. With a knife a lot like the one found in your bed.”

That sensation of being hit by a wrecking ball is back, only harder, more damaging than before. I’m breathing, but getting no air. I’m thinking, but the thoughts make no sense.

“I…I have a stalker,” I manage to choke out.

“So you claim,” she says. “Someone is leaving little toys and flowers for you and watching you. Yet you’ve never reported it. And they’ve never done anything to truly make themselves known, have they? Apart from making you feel like you’re being watched?”

I sort of shrug and nod at the same time. “I wanted to report it…I did…it’s just that everyone always told me I was just imagining things.”

“But you’re not?” she asks, pleasantly enough, but there’s sharpness in her eyes and in her voice.

“No, I’m not?”

“And did you kill this man so that you’d finally have proof?”

If I had difficulty getting air before, it’s impossible now.

“No!” that’s all I can get out. “No!”

“Did you get sick of everyone treating you like you’re crazy and did something to show them all how wrong they are?”

I shake my head violently from side to side.

“Or did you and your friends take matters into your own hands and killed the man you said was stalking you?”

“Aaron wasn’t stalking me,” I say. “He’s just a guy who liked me in high school and asked me out of a date now that I’m back in town. We didn’t hit it off, we both agreed to go our separate ways. He…I have no reason to hate him.”

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