Page 81 of Her Alien Neighbor

He narrows his gaze, and I feel like a girl in high school again, sitting in his office after the worst moment of my life, silently begging him to believe me. “I’m going to need you to come down to the station to answer a few questions.”

Then it’s as if the world spins around me, and my hearing goes out like it does for people near an explosion. There’s just a steady ringing in my ears as they lead me toward the police car and help me get in the back seat.

It’s only once I’m in the car that I notice I’m still wearing slippers, which are now ruined from walking through the snow. The drive to the station is quick, but it feels like it takes hours, and part of me wonders if this is it. If when I enter the police station, I won’t be coming back out.

I knowIdidn’t kill anyone, but Axil did, so technically, that means I’m aiding and abetting, right? Or is it an obstruction of justice? Maybe both. All I know is Icannotblow Axil’s cover.

Officer Burton leads me past his office, the same one he’s had for over twenty years, and into a room with a table, three chairs, and a large mirror. It’s exactly how I expected an interrogation room to look.

Thankfully, a second officer joins us at the table, so it’s not just me and Officer Burton. I’m not sure I could handle that again. Not after last time, and certainly not under these particular circumstances.

“So, Vanessa,” Officer Burton begins. “I had a chat with Beth today at the funeral.”

He pauses, and I wait for him to continue. When he doesn’t, my palms start to sweat. He’s toying with me, and he knows it.

“She said the two of you had quite the argument at the reunion,” he finally adds.

“Um, yeah,” I say, nodding.

“This took place around nine-eighteen, the night of Trevor’s death. Would you say that’s correct?”

I shrug. “I have no idea what time it was, but that sounds right.”

“Now,” he says with a sigh, “since Trevor’s time of death was approximately nine-fifteen, you’re currently not a person of interest in this case.”

I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. And I immediately regret looking relieved, hoping Officer Burton didn’t notice.

“But what can you tell us about this man?” he asks, dropping a picture of Axil on the table. It’s his license photo.

“He’s, uh, my neighbor,” I tell him, feeling the need to clarify further. “Or actually he was my aunt’s neighbor, but she died, and now he’s my neighbor.”

“Right,” Officer Burton says. “Is that all he is to you? Just your neighbor?”

Did Axil tell him we were together? Shit, I should’ve asked him so we could be on the same page. If he did tell them we’re together, and I say we’re just friends, that will look suspicious. But if I tell them we are together after Axil told them we’re just neighbors, that will also look odd. The important thing is to avoid making Axil seem like a liar because then they’d have a reason to question him again.

See, now I’m getting in my head.

“Well?” Officer Burton asks with an irritated furrow of his brow. “It’s a simple question.”

“Um,” I begin, feeling a drop of sweat run down my spine. I brush my bangs out of my eyes, nervously. “He’s a friend. A friend and a neighbor.”

“I see,” he replies, unconvinced. “And you were with him the night of Trevor’s death, were you not?”

“I mean, yes, but…” I stammer, my eyes darting back and forth between the two officers. What is he implying? That I helped Axil? “Why do you ask? I don’t see how that matters.”

“The reason I’m asking doesn’t matter. I just need you to answer.”

“Well, yes. He picked me up from the reunion and took me home.”

He scribbles something on the paper in front of him. I lean forward, trying to read it upside down. I can’t help myself. If whatever I’m saying is making Axil look guilty, then I need to give him a heads up. Officer Burton notices me peeking and snatches the paper away.

“Did he take you home? Or back to his house?” he asks.

“His house. I said that.” But wait, did I? I can’t remember. “He took me back to his house.”

“No, you said he took you home,” Officer Burton says, wagging his pen. “So which is it?”

My fists clench as I say “His house. I said we went back to his house” a bit louder than was probably necessary.

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