“We aren’t certain this is Harrison’s MO, but given there’s been a second kidnapping on the same campus within the space of a year, we need to consider the connection,” Kinge tilts his head. “Have you had any contact with him since he went quiet? Any letters, emails, sightings?”
“No,” I answer immediately, maybe too quickly. My hands clasp in my lap. “There’s been nothing.” I know that’s not helpful, but it’s the truth. Holden scowls openly whilst Kinge presses on with a gentler approach.
“No anonymous messages? No new social media accounts attempting to contact you? Anyone you’ve noticed following you?”
My skin prickles. I think of the times I’ve felt eyes on me across campus. The way I sometimes double-check over my shoulder on the pitch to make sure those around me are familiar. The security cameras Thiago insists on monitoring. There’s been paranoia, sure, but nothing concrete. I shake my head, feeling even more useless. Laura is out there, reliving my nightmare, and I still can’t offer any sort of assistance.
“What about the fire at the stadium? Did that incident feel targeted towards you?”
My gaze sinks towards the table, my hangover colliding with the taste of ash locked in my throat from that day.
“It was set near the women’s locker room, but I couldn’t say. Fire isn’t really Harrison’s deal.”
“What is his ‘deal’?” Holden pushes, leaning his forearms on the table. I stare at his knotted fingers rather than the doubt in his face. I get it, he’s the bad cop, but I’m not the one under investigation here. I’m just trying to help.
“When he took me, it’s because Frederick ordered it. They were cell mates. From what I understood, favors were traded, and I was one of them. He delivered me to Frederick, and then I didn’t see him until…”
“Until he shot Frederick point-blank in the head,” Holden finishes. I simply nod. He’s read the case file. I don’t need to relive the horrors I’ve seen, but Holden seems to think differently. “You’ve never explained what happened in that house. What changed for Harrison to defy his cell mate? The only person who knows what took place is you, a missing convict and a dead man.”
“I don’t remember,” I lie through gritted teeth. I haven’t spoken about what happened in that house because I don’t understand it. I can’t come to terms with it. The pair facing me clearly know I’m holding back, but thankfully, we move on.
“Let’s approach this from a different angle,” Kinge interjects. The eye roll Holden tries to suppress tells me all I need to know about the dynamic before me. The old dog who likes to do things by the book and the young newbie who is trying to adopt new strategies. For that reason, I lean towards Kinge, ignoring his partner entirely. “We’re struggling with motive. It’s our job to eliminate the suspects rather than pin it on them. Is there anything you can tell us that will eliminate Harrison from our investigation?”
I sit back now, twisting my lips. A light knock on the door announces the female officer from before. She pops in to give me the coffee and pain meds I didn’t ask for, but I’m wholly grateful. Tossing the pills into my mouth, I sip the coffee and let the warmth settle low in my belly. A part of me hates that I get to enjoy these simple pleasures while Laura is fuck knows where.
“I suppose it’s odd that Laura and I were together when we entered the party last night. If it were random, why her?” I wince. Kinge nods, writing notes and presenting new questions. Finally, we get into the finer details. What time did we arrive? When did I last see her? Did I leave alone? I answer what I can, sipping the drink clutched between both hands. Holden pitches in with unhelpful comments that I mostly ignore where I can.
“The Calloway parties are notorious for trouble. Not the kind of place I would leave a young, naïve freshman to fend for herself.” Shame burns through my cheeks, bringing color to my face. Kinge maintains my eye contact, rooting me to the room.
“I can see this has shaken you. Take your time, and when you’re ready, we'll have a car take you back to your dorm.”
“That’s it?” I frown, slowly sitting upright. “I can go?”
“Unless there’s anything else you can tell us,” Kinge replies hopefully. My eyes dart around the room, trying to dig something up. Trying to be useful, but there’s nothing. All I’m doing is taking up their precious time when they could be out there, searching for her. I shake my head and Kinge visibly deflates.
No one feels his disappointment more than me. Even if Harrison has been present, I’ve been too self-absorbed to realize it. Talk about a relapse in my recovery. I’m taken straight back to the hollow shell of a girl who sat in a hospital bed, and then a rehab facility, overridden with shame, guilt and rage.
I’m led through the building, handed my phone and charger, and eased into the back of a police car for the second time this morning. Once belted, I power on my phone with the little battery it’s got, and my heart sinks. I’d expected a long line of messages from Thiago, orders to report back before he hunts me down digitally. There’s nothing on his end. Although, there is a hell of a lot from mine, timestamped all through the night.
I cringe, waiting until I’m deposited back in my room before slipping on my headphones and sinking into my bed fully dressed. My thumb hovers over the first voice note of many, my stomach twisting from nerves and lack of food. I don’t even recall taking my phone out, let alone recording myself. For a second, I consider deleting them all without listening, but ignorance isn’t going to help me bridge the gaps, so I press play.There’s a rustle first, distant music in the background and my own breath heaving too loud against the mic.
“Thiagooo,”I sing, drawing his name out in a way that makes heat crawl up my neck even now. I sound fucking wasted. “This party is everything I’ve been missing in my life!”A round of grunts and scuffs follow as if I’m dancing down the road. I squeeze my eyes shut as Drunk Me continues, words slightly slurred but still coherent.
“I just wanted to say, you’re like…the best. Do you know that? Like, elite-tier, best friend material. Platinum level. Premium subscription.”There’s a giggle.“I don’t say that enough. You’re always there. Always watching. Kinda creepy, but in a comforting way. Just the bestest of best friends a friend ever friended. You know?”
In the safety of my bed, I physically recoil. Apparently alcohol acts as a weapon of self-sabotage for me. I play the next voice note. Laughter filters through the speaker, followed by the bass thudding in the distance.
“You care about me more than anyone. Isn’t that stupid? You barely know me. I’ve had friends for years who don’t give a fuck. My own twin sister, she’s busy with living the life she has because of me. The life I suffered for. I don’t even know if she’s happy but she better be. I-I-”There’s a heavy sigh, and we cut to the next one.
“Anyways. We’re talking about you. Are you okay? Like seriously. You’re like, obsessed with me. Isn’t there anything else fulfilling in your life?—”
I cut off the voice notes there. No fucking wonder he hasn’t messaged me. That round of messages are stamped around midnight. Skipping ahead to one twenty am, I hope I’ve sobered up some. No chance.
“Thi. I’m so tired of being the girl who survived,”I groan. My words are slower now, no longer upbeat, but frayed withanguish.“Like that’s my whole personality. Survivor. Trauma girl. Reject. Don’t push her too hard, she might crack.”There’s a pause, long enough that I almost think it cut off.“Everest doesn’t look at me like that,”I admit quietly. “He looks at me like I’m… a challenge, or a weapon, or something that could burn him if he’s not careful. He doesn’t treat me like I’m broken.”
My throat goes dry. Taking a moment, I smack my forehead with the phone. Idiot, idiot, idiot. You’ve singlehandedly ruined the one good thing left in your life. I skip ahead, noting that the background noise has gone now. I’m somewhere indoors, presumably in my room.
“Thiago,” I practically whimper, sounding fragile in a way I don’t recognize.“I think I messed up. Like, I’ve really fucked up. I thought it would feel empowering,”I whisper. “It just feels… hollow. I don’t know why I did it.”
