Page 132 of Sinister Legacy
They do this on purpose.
I know because I watch crime documentaries.
They leave you alone to let the anxiety build. First, they’ll pretend to care. To want to listen. Then, they’ll start putting pressure on you. Famous phrases such asyour story don’t add up,andit’s time to do the right thing and tell the truth.
I’m in for a hellish night of grueling questions.
The room is small. One metal table, two chairs, and cream walls. The gray, ticking clock. A camera up in the corner.
I want Mom to come, but I know she won’t.
No one will.
Because I have no one.
I’m alone.
Endlessly alone.
I’m sitting with my feet on the chair and my chin propped on my knees. My shackled wrists are tucked close to my body. I’m staring at nothing. I have been for hours. I know they’re watching me. Waiting for me to do something.
I try to think of my dad, knowing he’s been in this situation, too. He could sympathize with the state of mind I’m in.
I’m not scared or upset. I’m just numb. It’s like I don’t even exist. The clock keeps ticking, but time stands still. Maybe it’s a good thing to be locked up before I can do even more damage.
The angel on my shoulder wants me to confess.
The devil cuts her neck.
We won’t breathe a word,he whispers to me, slithering through my veins.They deserved it.
I listen. I let it soothe me.
They touched you. Used you. Defiled you.
My eyes sting from staring at one spot for too long, my limbs ache, and my heart slows.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The door opens, and Officer Wells steps inside. Riveiro is notably absent, and I wonder if she will play the bad cop later.
This is the friendly phase. Officer Wells will set out to make me trust him. He’ll have to try for a long time. Trust doesn’t come easily to me.
He drops a folder on the desk and puts a plastic cup of water in front of me. “You must be thirsty?”
“I’m not.” I am, but I won’t accept anything from him.
Officer Wells sits down, dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved, maroon shirt. He wears a black tie with a pattern that I can’t make out from here, and his beard is in that stage between stubble and too long.
“Do you know why you’re here, Keira?”
“Murder charges.”
He watches me, then sits forward, hunched with his elbows on his knees and his eyes on me. “They’re serious charges.”
I say nothing, and he stares at me some more. The clock keeps ticking. Officer Wells smells of coffee, cheap aftershave, and a hint of sweat. It’s not unpleasant.
“Can you tell me a little bit about your relationship with your stepdad? What was it like? Were you close?”
