"Because of what happened at the restaurant?" I say, my voice steady despite the dread pooling in my stomach. It tells me something bad is coming. Though I’m not sure what or why.
The other witnesses corroborated what I saw and there’s no way I could have done the damage by myself, knocking down walls and destroying a whole business.
"Is Miguel okay?" I ask, my fingers digging into the table.
Larson doesn’t answer for a moment. He studies me with bloodshot, watery eyes that likely come from a combination of not enough sleep, too many after-work beers, and bad cholesterol.
"Mr. Acevedo remains stable but unresponsive."
I blow out a sigh of relief and scrub a hand over my face, trying to release the tension that has ratcheted up into my shoulders.
If anything happened to him...
"Right," Detective Larson says gruffly, steamrolling over my emotions. "Now, we've got a situation where multiple witnesses reported seeing... monsters, which frankly, sounds like mass hysteria. But here's the thing—when our officers arrived, there was evidence of... something. Guts, for lack of a better term. Then it was reported they disintegrated before the forensic team could properly analyze them."
My mind races. Shadow's words echo in my head—the atmosphere is toxic to their kind. Of course there wouldn't be any evidence left behind.
"Does any of this sound likely to you, Ms. Smith?" Larson asks, squinting one eye at me.
Can I explain the physics of monsters and our world to the detective without sounding insane?
Yeah, there’s no way to do that. So I keep my mouth shut and wait.
"Yeah, none of that sounds likely to me either." Larson leans forward, his bulgy, watery eyes intent on mine. "What does sound more likely is someone pumping drugs into the restaurant's ventilation system. Hallucinogens strong enough to make everyone ride the same brain cell killing trip."
I still don’t know what I’m doing here, so I remain quiet, lips sealed.
"And what’s notable, Ms. Smith, isyouhave a history with these... occurrences."
There it is. The reason I’m here. Someone he can pin the blame on.
He leans back, setting a hand on his large stomach. "It's not much of a leap to think you're involved."
The room becomes smaller, the fluorescent light too bright. My hands clench in my lap. They don’t believe what happened. Not even with all the evidence and eyewitness accounts. The cops need someone to pin it on, someone to be the villain, the scapegoat.
Who better than the loner nobody with ties to strange and unusual deaths?
"I didn't drug anyone," I state, but the look in Larson's eyes tells me he's not convinced.
A beat, and then two, drags out between us. He’s giving me ample room to let the pressure from my conscience break me. The only thing I’m guilty of is trying to have a normal life.
Well, until two days ago, anyway. I’m new, different, and I’ve no doubt life is going to shift around me to support this.
The silent stalemate ends with his huff.
"We're charging you with public endangerment, disorderly conduct, and possession with intent to distribute narcotics," Larson finally says, the words falling like a gavel.
"On what evidence?"
An eyebrow lifts. "Circumstantialevidence. I doubt a jury would miss the uncanny similarity to a situation that ended up with your foster mother locked up in a psych ward, raving about monsters."
Acid coats my tongue. The charges are weak, but enough to hold me.
"Youare the common denominator, Ms. Smith. And I intend to find out what it is you are doing to the people around them. You may come off the quiet, pretty girl, but I see you. I don’t for one moment believe you are as helpless as you seem."
Flashes of my body clenching on Shadow’s cock as I come, sentencing my neighbors to death with my release come to mind.
I’m careful to keep my face blank.
