❝ it's a cruel and random world, but the chaos is all so beautiful. ❞
hiromu arakawa
I stared at the unfinished letter, reading it over and over again. Judging by the inquisitive look on the detectives' faces, they were waiting for a response.
"You can't possibly believe this. She must have written it after our quarrel at school. She was blinded by rage and wanted to get revenge on Damian and me. If she really believed I killed Monica, she would've come to you and tell you about it, not write a letter and then forget about it." I defended myself, adopting Damian's calm and composed timbre.
"Are you referring to the quarrel about the Elite Group?" Nichole asked, glancing at her notebook. "Damian wanted to join, but she was against it?"
I nodded. Detective Elliot furrowed his brows and declared with a stentorian voice:
"Let me tell you the way I see it, miss Ingold. Avery was becoming a liability to you and Damian. She disliked him and thought he murdered her friend, and then you came into the picture, and she saw you as his accomplice. She began to accuse you both of Monica's death and found proof of it and that's when you knew you had to get rid of her. So you slipped the drug into her drink, or perhaps Damian did, and you left the party earlier, because it would have been extremely suspicious if you had left right after her and she turned out dead the next day. Avery was feeling drowsy and she went home, you followed her and..."
"That's enough!" I exclaimed, anger immersing every cell of my body. I leapt to my feet, feeling the blood boil in my veins. "I'm not listening to this nonsense. You have absolutely no right to accuse us. The real killer is out there, while you're here, wasting time on stupid fictional theories based on an unfinished letter." Indignation enhanced the lump in my throat and my eyes welled up with tears of frustration and loss and fury.
"An unfinished letter that claims you two are the killers of Monica Anderson. Avery had proof of it..." detective Carter countered defensively, but once again, I didn't let him finish.
"What proof?!" I shouted, making Nichole jump slightly. I was out of line, but I didn't care. I was engulfed by utter wrath, that he could come up with such allegations and make me feel guilty for something I didn't commit. All the emotions that I held back hit me like a tidal wave, coming to the surface violently.
"Lower your voice, miss Ingold." detective Robbins warned me, offering me an understanding but stern look.
"Search for evidence all you want, but there isn't any. Because we didn't kill Monica. We didn't kill Avery. Why is everyone pining the murders on us?" I asked them, but as I expected, I didn't receive any answer. My vision blurred because of tears, and they began to roll one by one on my cheeks. I couldn't stop them anymore. "Why?" I repeated, increasing my tone with an octave. "She was my friend, for God's Sake. No matter what, she was still my friend. I just found out that my friend is...dead..." my voice cracked because of emotion, and I let out a sob of despair, beginning to tremble slightly. "..that my friend is dead today. And you're..." I trailed off because of my wobbly voice. I took a deep breath, wiping the tears from my face. "...accusing me of her murder. What kind of...detective are you if you can't see that we're innocent?"
Nichole's blue eyes filled with compassion. Carter watched me with a surprised expression, taken aback by my sudden outburst. I always had a rule: never cry in public. But I was bawling my eyes in front of them now and I couldn't care less. That was how I felt. Tears didn't make you weak; emotions didn't make you weak. They made you human.
The detectives shared a tacit look. They got up simultaneously.
"It's better we took a break." Nichole said. "We understand how hard this is for you, but we're just trying to discover the truth. We didn't mean to hurt you, Rosabel. Do you want some water?" she asked politely.
I knew that she was trying to compensate for her partner's condescending attitude, but nothing could make me feel better now. I was this close to breaking down. I shook my head, avoiding their eyes, and sat back down on the chair. I tried to choke back the tears but I couldn't; they were pouring in an endless torrent of woe, emptiness and resentment.
"Perhaps tea?" she suggested.
"I don't want your bloody tea." I snapped, glowering at her. "I want you to stop treating me as if I'm a killer. I want to go home." I sniffed, taking the napkin that she handed to me. "Thank you."
"We'll see what we can do about that." detective Robbins uttered, but the look she attracted upon her from Carter was anything but approving.
As soon as they left, I began to sob unceasingly. All of my walls collapsed one by one until I was stripped to the bone by raw emotions. Teardrops landed on the table with an opaque sound. I wished this day could end. I wished Damian were here. I wished none of this had happened.
***
Damian's POV
History had the tendency of repeating itself. And there I was, four months later, in the same police station, interrogated by the same detectives. Accused, once again, of homicide. But I was used to people expecting the worst from me. I was used to people calling me a killer. It didn't bother me anymore. When your own father suspected you of murder, you got some sort of immunity to it.
What do you feel about Avery Halloway's death? Resignation, I had answered. Condolences to her family. Are you glad that she's dead? No, of course not. But I'm not too repentant either.
Perhaps I shouldn't have said that out loud.
My father, as usual, was very disappointed in me. I could sense his rebuking, piercing eyes on me every step that I took, but I ignored him. He was striving to bite back his critical remarks because of the presence of Rosabel's parents. They, on the other hand, were holding each other in a soft embrace, Mrs Ingold looking extremely troubled and doleful. Ms Ingold was deep in thought and had a plaintive expression. I felt a tinge of melancholy and jealousy at the sight of them. The good kind of jealousy, of course.
I wished my mother were here, by my dad's side, by my side. He had changed greatly ever since she left. But so did I.
I looked at the time. It was almost twelve AM, and Rosabel had been in the interrogation for more than thirty minutes. I needed to see her. The way she clung to me back in her house kept rewinding in my head; it wasn't Avery's death that broke me, it was the look on Rosabel's face when she had heard about it.
I didn't say anything to my dad and took off, strolling to the interrogation room. There were a lot of turns in the police station, but I had a good sense of spatial orientation, so I was sure I was heading the right way. Unfortunately, one of the inspectors noticed me and came up to me, blocking my path.
"Can I help you?" he asked me pontifically.
"No." I replied, walking past him. I caught his nonplussed frown, but he didn't follow or attempt to stop me. Even if he did, he wouldn't have succeeded.
"You can't go in there, young man!" he exclaimed, drawing ten other curious looks on me.
But I didn't stop.
I reached the location of the interrogation room, but I swerved abruptly and hid behind the corner, for the door had just opened. Detective Nichole and Carter came out, both looking stressed. I craned my neck and observed them furtively: they strode to the third policeman, that was watching a petite figure through the one-way mirror.
Rosabel.
My heart lurched at the sight of her. She looked so small in comparison with the large room, so vulnerable and fragile that it took me a great amount of composure not to barge in and take her into my arms. Her hands were tightly intertwined on the table and she kept her head down, her long wavy hair concealing her face. From the way her shoulders shook every once in a while, I knew that she was crying.
"What do you think, Henry?"
Nicole's question to the third policeman made me pay attention to their discussion. As much as I wanted to run to Rosabel and ease her suffering, I had to find out what were their thoughts on the case. To be prepared for the worst.
"She seems genuine. Definitely doesn't have the mind nor the personality of a killer." the man remarked. I couldn't see his face, only his broad shoulders and back. Based on his voice, he seemed to be in his thirties.
"Or she's just a really good actress. Psychopaths usually are." Carter hypothesized.
"She doesn't strike me as the psychopathic type at all. Anyway, before making any more allegations, we should check the club and the hotel, see if they've told us the truth. Hers and Damian's declaration coincide. And if we find a record of them there, I think it's safe to say that we have absolutely nothing against them." Nichole said.
"We could keep her in there, isolate her a bit. Maybe she didn't tell us everything. Maybe she knows more about the letter or holds incriminating evidence against Damian. Look at her, she's going to crack soon. She's the weak link. Who knows what..."
I didn't let Carter finish his sentence. I stepped in from my hiding spot and walked towards them. They faced me with a surprised look.
"You're not allowed to be here, mister Belfort." Nichole stated in a gravelly voice.
"So I've heard." I retorted. "Are you done torturing miss Ingold?"
"Miss Ingold is just fine..." Carter chimed in exasperatedly, but I cut him off before he could say another word.
"Fine?" I asked. He must've noticed the antagonism in my eyes and sensed the hostility in my voice, because he flinched slightly under my unrelenting scowl. "Of course. She must be weeping out of joy then. Not because you attacked her verbally. Not because her friend is dead." I clenched my fist tightly, my nails digging into my palm. "Let her go home. It's the least she deserves."
Nichole watched Carter pleadingly, beseeching him with her eyes. I knew that she was on our side, that she believed us. Henry was befuddled, unsure how to react, but Carter was fixing me with an unwavering stare. He was the one in charge; and as he eyed me condescendingly, my aversion towards him increased by the second.
"I'm afraid that's not up to you. Go back to the waiting room."
"I'm not going anywhere until you release her." I asserted.
"This is a police matter. I strongly suggest you return to the waiting room or you're at risk of being charged with obstruction of justice. Do not make me arrest you sooner than necessary." detective Carter threatened in the same snobbish way.
I nodded with a contemptuous smile, whilst on the inside, I was fuming.
I was never good at controlling my anger. This day was no exception.
I punched him in the face, feeling and hearing the sound of bones cracking under my fist. He let out a cry of pain, at the same time that the other two policemen emitted a low utterance of surprise. Detective Carter brought his hand to his nose and exclaimed furiously:
"The bastard broke my nose!"
Nichole gave me a was-that-really-necessary irritated look, although her eyes glistened whimsically. Henry wasn't amused at all. He clasped my wrists together behind my back forcefully, making me wince slightly.
"Well, at least now we know what Carter's weak link is." I quipped, motioning to his nose with my head.
I turned my head and glanced at Rosabel through the glass. She wasn't crying anymore. She raised her head and supported her chin on the back of her hand. I know she couldn't see me, but it was as though her sight landed on me. She looked exhausted and despairing. Her cheeks were red and puffy, stained with black streaks of mascara, and her wavy hair was in disarray, but she was still the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
"Damian Belfort, you're under arrest for obstruction of justice and assault on a police officer." Henry cited robotically. "You have the right to remain silent..." The rest of his words distorted into the background noise.
It was totally worth it.
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