Pulse

Chapter 1

There was a slight breeze that night. I was coming home from Hannah's around eight o'clock. We had been studying, World War II, until we got off course and started talking about our girly ways.

I had bundled up, expecting the weather to be the way it was. It was December 21st, so it was pitch black as I walked home.

Hannah's house is only a block away, and that's why I couldn't have done it, he was murdered three blocks away from my house, near the school.

"What exactly were you wearing?" the interrogator asked.

"My long brown coat, with my converse red sneakers and a pair of black pants," I answered, squeezing my hands together below the table.

"Your brother's phone history shows he had called you one hour before the murder. Did you have any idea something was wrong?"

"He didn't usually leave the house so late," I told the man. "He said that he had to run to the drugstore to get some Advil because we were out."

"Do you think he was lying?"

"Jordan wasn't the person to lie," I took a deep breath, "but I don't know why he called me, and not Mom."

"Your mom was at work?"

"Yes," I straightened up. "To my knowledge, she was working a late shift."

"Your mom's co-workers say she had left at eight-thirty. Were you back when she got home?"

"Yes, I saw her walk through the front door at about eight-fifteen."

"Okay," he nodded his head, letting the single light reflect off his bald head. "Julie, it looks like, to me, you are innocent, but one thing doesn't line up with your words and your mom's. She said you came home after her."

"Not possible," I suddenly got mad. "My mom walked in with groceries, that would have taken her longer than me."

"She said she got those that morning."

"There was milk in the bag," I countered. "Even my mom wouldn't be stupid enough to do that."

"Thank you, Julie," he looked up from his notebook. "We'll get you to sit in the lobby while we process this information."

I pushed the chair back, making a terrible noise on the cement floor. The interrogator ushered me through the door into a small lobby where three of my brother's best friends sat, two with parents, one without.

I recognized one automatically, Alex Walsh. My brother had suggested that he take me to the spring dance last year. It kinda made sense that he was there, he wasn't known exactly for being the nice guy; and he happened to be one of my brother's best friends.

He was staring at the floor, tapping his left toe. He looked like he was sweating, a lot. I wondered if it was nervous sweat or guilty sweat.

Ignoring the fact that I could have been going to sit beside a murderer, I walked over and sat in the chair beside him. He glanced up, just for a second, at me before returning his eyes to the floor. I didn't say anything for a few minutes, in fear that I would attract attention from one of the five police men and women in the room watching us.

"I didn't kill him," Alex said, more towards the floor than to me.

"I didn't want to talk about that," a part of me did, but not there.

"I can't believe someone murdered him," Alex looked up at me. "He was such a nice person, and now he's gone."

I watched a tear slip down his cheek. I wondered why I wasn't crying. I loved my brother, probably more than I loved my mom.

Just as I finished that thought, the door swung open and the interrogation guy walked out. He scanned his eyes around the room, landing on me and Alex.

"Alex Walsh?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Good luck," I whispered as he got up.

I watched him walk up to the door. The man rushed him in and slammed the door behind him.

I took another deep breath and looked around the room and saw that three of the police officers had their eyes on me.

Maybe I was more of a suspect than I thought.