𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐥

07: THE INTERROGATION

I WAIT FOR WHO IS SUPPOSED TO QUESTION ME. My stomach growls as a firm lump forms in my chest, expanding every time I go over the last 24 hours in my head. The room they stuffed me in for questioning is much more cozy than the average room I pictured, but I know why. Despite the obvious ways this room is meant to be a comfort area, the two-way mirror is directed right toward me, and I can feel someone staring.

I sigh, thinking about the half-eaten lunch sitting in my lunch pal. My salad has gone soggy by now but my garlic bread isn't going to eat itself. Can they hurry it along?

"Maxine Malline." My eyes flick toward Detective Lawrence standing at the door. The woman next to him is my therapist, Dr. Diane Flemings. Today she carries fidget toys and plushes in her massive tote bag. And it appears she overdid it because it's nearly overflowing.

"You really know your rights." She nods her head at me but I ignore her. They certainly can't resurrect Michael or anything, but the best they could do is Diane Flemings? She's barely a step above Hannah, and Hannah barely knows me

My stomach is in knots. I'm in this on my own. I lunge for the bag of toys as soon as she sets it on the coffee table between us.

"Can we just get this over with?" I dig my nails in deep against the Mickey Mouse plushie I've played with through countless therapy sessions. He has a schoolroom smell to him that makes me wonder where they store him. I love it. It feels like a happy childhood memory I can't quite reach.

"Yes, but first. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?"

"Sure." My leg begins to shake. I've been sitting here for too long.

"Hi, Max," Dr. Flemings gives me her signature pin-tight smile. "I was appointed as your aid today because of your spot on the spectrum."

"What do you need to know?" I ask Detective Lawrence.

"First, I need a statement about what happened last night." Detective Lawrence flips through his file folders and crosses a leg over his knee, pen at the ready.

I went through the events in decent detail and answered extra questions when he asked.

"That sounds accurate to everything I've heard before. I just have to ask, why were John's fingerprints the only ones found at the scene?"

My heart dropped. I found the courage to meet his eyes. "You can't be serious."

"Now, listen, John said in his statement that the man touched the weapons with his bare hands. Sometimes things get misconstrued when we're traumatized–"

"Yeah. I know how trauma works." I gesture to my therapist beside him and cock a brow. "But that's not possible."

His eyebrows raise. "The evidence also shows that there was no trace of the man in the clown costume at all." He digs through the file folders on his lap. "There weren't any footprints in the dust. And you described someone of large stature so how could we miss that detail?"

He tosses a few photos of different shoe prints onto the coffee table. I can see John's prints and mine,  the same size but different shoes. And another of a stiletto heel, which the survivor must have worn.

"There weren't any fingerprints on the weapons aside from John's." He tosses another photo down, showcasing the blades that John toyed with before the clown arrived.

"That's out of context. John touched some of the weaponry before the clown showed up." My fist clenched around the plushie. The fiber felt dug into my palm, leaving behind a burning sensation. "He didn't know we were at a crime scene."

"The clown that wasn't wearing gloves?"

"We know what we saw. What about CCTV footage, have you tried that?"

"The Horror House isn't wired for CCTV. But every presence was accounted for on the sign-in sheets." He tossed down copies of several lists, all scrawled out in Maddie's handwriting.

"Well you sure have a long list of people to question, then. You had better get cracking because this doesn't get to fall on John and me."

"We've narrowed it down to both of you because of the sheer lack of evidence that could include anyone else. Both of you left DNA all over the scene."

My blood roars in my ears. My heart pounds. I stare at the photos for an answer that doesn't come. He was there. John and I watched him kill Sophie. This much I knew, unless I had another break...

No. That makes even less sense than this. I've been too good for that. I've done my treatment and taken my medications. The Edwards are good people.

"Listen, Max." His voice is soft now, like he's reasoning with me. "I believe you."

My heart surged with relief. Maybe this whole mess was just a tactic to find the liars.

"I believe you." He repeated. "I don't think you would be physically strong enough to help him kill anybody, Max." He steals a glance at the cord in my nose and then back at the evidence on the table. "But I think you saw something and you're being a good friend and covering for him."

I'm not stupid and I'm not weak. Maybe you should get to know your suspects. I wanted to say. But the first time he got a rise out of me was one time too many. If he wanted to see me as vulnerable, I could use it.

"No." I told him. My voice was small and forced. My head pounded and my throat burned, my eyes threatened to spill tears. Which was perfect for the message I needed to send.

"I think that he gaslit you. You seem like a smart kid. You're certainly resourceful if you knew your legal rights." He leaned inward and tilted his head. "If he did something last night, you need to tell us."

An artfully placed compliment wasn't enough to dishearten my taste for John who spent three years protecting me and making me feel welcomed. What I saw was clear as day. It had to be because of what the mystery survivor claimed, and no one was claiming anything to indict John.

"You're wrong." I told him. I choke back the tears. "John didn't do anything last night but watch."

"Do you need a break, Max?" Dr. Flemings asks, tilting her head at me.

I shake my head. I'm deep in thought and angry, not non-verbal. There's one big hole in their theory they forgot to consider.

"Just ask Joshua. Ask everyone on the list. The bodies were at the scene the entire time that John and I had to be counting tickets."

Lawrence sat back in approval but crossed his arms. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Give me your card. I'll call you if I remember anything else."

Lawrence passes me a white cardboard slip, basically an admission of defeat. If the law wants to play dirty, then fine. I'm well-versed from years of arguing with my parents.

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