𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞.

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𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄. | 𝟎𝟏.𝟎𝟓.

"𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐞, 𝐰𝐞'𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧."

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐓.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐓

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THE METAL CHAIR CAUSES SHIVERS TO FLY DOWN HER SPINE, HER BODY NUMB AS SHE STARES INTO THE MAN, WHOSE SITTING IN FRONT OF HER, SOUL BLANKLY, CLEARLY BORED. 

"Do you know why you're here today, Ms. Kane?" he questions, a notepad—eerily similar to her therapist's—laying on the table, almost perfectly in between the two. 

"Uh, not really." She lies, slouching against the uncomfortable seat. 

"Well, how about Tuesday night? You went to Steve Harrington's home, correct?" 

"Correct." She mocks, earning a glare from the officer. 

"What were you doing?" his eyes dig into hers. 

"Hanging out with a few friends." She shrugs, confused, amused—by how horrible at interrogation he is. 

"Was Barbara Holland there?" he asks, finally getting to the point. God, Alex would be better at this shit than him, or so she thinks. 

"Yes, she was there." She nods with an awkward face. 

"What was she doing?" the man asks. 

"What do you think? She was sitting down, just like all of us were." She sasses with pointed eyes. 

"Hey, the sarcasm is unnecessary. Did anything seem suspicious?" he inquires, eyes soft—trying to entice her to give him more answers. They didn't work. 

"No, it was a normal night." She deflects, fiddling with her rings. 

"When was the last time you saw her?" 

"Before I left." She answers, annoyed. 

"And when was that?" 

"I don't know." She answers bluntly. 

"You have a watch." He points out, "Right on your wrist." 

"That doesn't mean I have it on twenty-four-seven." 

"Your watch wasn't with you Tuesday?" he queries. 

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄. | 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐫.Where stories live. Discover now