Page 127 of Massacre Monday

The officer cuffing my hands behind my back pinches my shoulders closer together and grits out, “Can’t. You’rebothunder arrest…”

forty-one

Officers escortme down the hall of the campus police station. Mitch’s blood still saturates my clothes. Ryan’s come drips from my pussy. We approach a couple of solid doors labeledInterrogation Room.Ryan is shoved in front of me, passing by as they throw open a door for him. As he enters, we pause and catch each other’s eyes.

My chin trembles, trying to hold back some tears, but his face broadens into a grin, then he makes a kissing face at me and gives me a wink, and I feel better. How can he be so unafraid?

As soon as I’m thrust into the small, white-walled room, a crowd of suited women and men pushes their way in and stands in front of me, laying out papers on the table. One shoves their finger in my face and commands, “Don’t speak one word.”

“Get these handcuffs off her!”

“Can’t do that. She was found at the scene of a gunshot called in, then bodies found.”

“Get the supervisor.”

“She’s not resisting.”

Arguments fly from the suit wall like they are my archers in battle, shooting arrows at the broad-shouldered men in uniform.

My head spins with so much going on in the room.

It’s only a few minutes until I’m out of handcuffs, have a warm blanket over my shoulders, a large cup of water and tea in front of me, as well as a recording device set on the table between me and a kind detective. One woman in a business suit, Lainey, is apparently from Cardell Enterprises. And my personal defense attorney.

“Okay, you can answer that question.”

Shifting in my chair, I curl my hands into fists on my thighs. “Yes, I shot her. But it was self-defense. She had me in chains on the wall, threatening to have Mitch rape me, then remove my body parts.” My voice wavers as I try to remember my Criminal Justice studies. “I was under immediate distress that she was going to kill me unless I acted.”

My lawyer gives an encouraging nod, but my throat stays tight like the words are still caught there.

“Mitch McCloud. Your dance partner?”

“Yes. He was my dance partner, but he had grown too attached. We argued because of my new boyfriend, and he was jealous. In the cellar, he told me he was upset that I wasn’t appointed to him. He admitted…” I take a deep breath. “He confessed that he was the one who put my roommate Gwen’s face on my door.”

She swallows and nods, then asks her follow-up. “And how did you get down to the cellar?”

“He found me in an alleyway on campus and told me he needed help. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, and he was covered in bruises and cuts. So I followed him because he said he was in danger. Only, when I got to the woods, he injected me with something. The next thing I knew, I was chained to the wall down there, and my head was fuzzy.”

“She needs medical, I told you,” the lawyer says.

“I don’t think this will take long,” the detective tells her.

Her response makes me relax somewhat, but the bubbling in my stomach tells me I’m not in the clear. Not yet.

It’s an hour before the rest of my statement is taken down and I’m able to walk out of the building with several lawyers. In the front room, my entire family crowds around the little waiting area. My mom and dad rush to grab me.

“Pippi!” Mom yells, and immediately tears spring to her eyes, which makes me lose it. We hold each other for a moment until I swivel and grab my dad around the waist. His broad hands stroke back my hair, which soothes me for only a moment.

“Where’s Ryan?”

Adal grips my shoulder gently. “He’s still back there, but I’m sure he’ll be out soon.” He darts his eyes across the room toward Aiden and a man of about forty who looks identical to him. That must be his father. His mother and sisters aren’t here. Probably for the best.

Instead of going to the hospital as everyone encourages, I wait while pacing the room. Aiden and Mr. Cardell stay on their side, but he and my father eye each other a few times as if holding a world of guilt. It’s only another half an hour until Ryan comes around the corner with several of his lawyers in tow.

I run into his arms, but he grunts in pain, and I slide down him and massage his neck instead. He leans over to kiss me softly, then greets his family. And mine.

“They’re free to leave. If we have more questions—” one officer starts, but the band of suited lawyers turns around, and he finishes. “We will direct them to Cardell Enterprises.”

Mr. Cardell steps forward to shake the officer’s hand and says, “Thank you, Lieutenant. Tell Chief Thornton we’re grateful for his officer’s superb treatment of our son and our soon-to-be daughter-in-law.” The words are kind but spoken like a threat.