“No?” he repeats.
“No. That doesn’t sound right.”
Beside me, Casey has gone strangely still.
“Fear can play tricks on the eyes,” Officer Stud Muffin says, his tone lower now. Smoother. “In a chaotic situation, it’s easy to misinterpret what you see. Perhaps it was just a few drunk men who became aggressive.”
My stomach tightens. Something about his phrasing feels slick, designed to slide right into place.
Casey’s eyes lock on his. He hesitates, then nods slowly. “Yeah. It was dark, and really loud. I guess... I guess it was just a bunch of drunk idiots.”
I stare at him.
Then at Officer Stud Muffin.
Then back at Casey.
I nudge his arm. “Casey.”
Slowly, his head turns toward me, like it takes a second longer than it should.
“Yeah?”
The fog clears from his eyes just enough to make me doubt myself.
Maybe I’m just looking for weirdness because last night broke my brain.
Officer Stud Muffin’s attention shifts to me, eyes impossible to read behind the sunglasses.
“You were frightened,” he says.
It’s not a question.
“You left immediately afterward and returned home.”
The words settle over me like a warm blanket, and my head feels fuzzy, distant. A simple, normal explanation. For a second, my exhausted mind wants to sink into it, to just agree and be done.
Then I see it again—Casey’s feet dangling off the floor. Red eyes. Fucking fangs.
I dig my nails into the doorframe, the sharp sting helping to cut through the haze.
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not what happened.”
Officer Stud Muffin goes still. “You witnessed intoxicated individuals engaging in a physical altercation.”
Casey’s posture straightens.
“Yes.”
I nearly growl with frustration.
Officer Stud Muffin’s head tilts slightly, like he’s looking at a puzzle piece that refuses to fit.
Then, to my surprise, he takes off the sunglasses.
And wow.
Okay.
