Long Live the Queen

Two: Good Cop, Bad Cop

"Nah; I'm an atheist."

"Of course. Do you know this Miss Ingrid McKay and her sister, then?"

I freeze for an instant; it's clear what he's leading to, though it's a completely ridiculous way of fishing for a solution. Still, the word of a cop is taken much more seriously than that of a no-good kid.

"Somewhat. They go to my school. My friend Ella gets along with them, and I try to say hello in the street because I may as well, but I couldn't tell you much more than that."

"Any idea why she'd ask you to make the call for her, then?"

"Well, she wasn't in any state to do it herself! She bumped into me out on the street."

"And why were you there?"

"Does it matter?"

Silence. I know that I most likely just made myself into a target for Perty's watchful eye; Aaron used to watch court dramas on his crappy laptop and he said withholding evidence was dangerous. I think he always wanted to be a lawyer - he surely had the smarts for it - but he dropped high school to make some money for us to survive. I was going to do the same, only every time I mentioned it Aaron would look as if I'd shot his puppy. Bloody fucking hypocrite

"I find it odd that people around you keep killing themselves, Mr. Fosse."

"Are you saying I'm a suspect for the murder of my brother? Because if so, you can leave, come back with a search warrant, and fuck yourself with it."

"I'm saying it's a possibility," he says, standing up from the wooden kitchen chair I offered him when he came in. "But rest assured: if another suicide happens, and that person is found to be linked to you, I will return. With a warrant."

Pause.

"I don't suppose you knew Maia DeRosa?"

"No."

Yes.

\\\

The first thing I learned when I smoked up the first time was not to mix it - not when you're a person in my shoes, anyway. I was at a party that Ella thought would cheer me up after finding out Ricky cheated, and by the time midnight came I'd had enough to drink to know I wanted to try pot. By that time Ella had left, uncomfortable by the smell of if that was just about everywhere, but Ricky was out back with a bong and I figured it'd make a good excuse to talk to him. Next thing I knew, I spent the rest of the night crying to him and Aaron about ruining their night. Ricky laughed and told me it was fine. Aaron was worried sick.

I lost it to him that night.

Ricky, not Aaron.

Now my hands shake as I hold the bong in my hand - it feels cold, though I know there's a small flame lighting the bottom. I take another puff of it, though by this point I haven't the slightest idea how many I've had; I can just take one hit after the other after the other. My first time, like most other people, I'd almost coughed out a long, but as time passed I grew desensitized. My head still swims ever so slightly, though for the most part I'm able to push it away.

I can feel the pain calling me from inside my drawer, but I resist it. Already the guilt growing inside my stomach is horrible, and I'm not going to add to it. After the events of my first night, Aaron made me swear never to go near anything like that again. Obviously he knew I lied about it - the smell is a bitch to hide if you don't let it fade away - but he always settled for disappointed looks every time I broke my promise. Sometimes I think that may actually have been worse than merely yelling at me.

There's a knock at the door.

Making sure to deal with and put away the bong properly, I stumble my way out my bedroom door, confused as who could be waiting for me. It hits me that this could very easily be Perty, come with more bad news and I curse the fact that I smell like the dark alley of any big city. But then I decide this is unlikely, seeing as he wouldn't have had the time to draw up the necessary documents. Which once again leaves the key question that's answered as soon as I open the door: who is it?

"I hope I'm not bothering you."

Standing before me, chewing on a strand of her red hair, is Ingrid. Donner with big eyes and nice lips, she looks much more innocent than I know her to be, but equally shell-shocked and just my type. Not because she's broken, of course, but because anybody who can rock grey on grey deserves all the attention I have to offer. A year or two ago, a little after Ricky, I had a massive crush on her. But, of course, my failure to talk to her resulted in my eventual moving on.

"Nah, I'm fine. You're saving me from boredom anyway."

"Oh, good." Ingrid sniffs the air, though her face remains emotionless. "Is that -"

"Yeah. Want some?"

"No. I'm fine. I came to talk, actually."

"Alright, then. Sit. Can I get you a drink?"

"No."

I nod, pulling out the chair in which Perty was sitting earlier today, and then sit in the one directly in front of it. Ingrid sits without making even the slightest fuss, despite the shitty quality of her chair. Sometimes I forget that she lives in an environment really similar to mine, even if it's one of the things that drew me to her back in the day. It feels nice to know that somebody understands what I'm going through, and now that understanding is multiplied. I'm not sure if she knows, though; I haven't exactly waltzed around telling people.

"So, how're you?"

I shrug. "Well, I could be worse, considering...."

"Right," she says, shaking her head. "Sorry. Stupid question."

"You heard?"

"Ella told me. I was talking to her and she mentioned there might be some connection."

"Connection to what?"

Ingrid looks down at her hands. "Well, it sounds kind of stupid when I say it out loud, even though Ella agrees with me..."

"You can tell me, you know. I trust Ella's judgment."

Ingrid nods slowly, though her skin seems even paler than it usually is. Her nails are bitten to stubs, and big bags decorate the space under her eyes. For a minute I think she may have managed to lose about ten pounds since I last saw her, but I'm sure even the amount of stress she's under cant have that big of an effect on her.

"Are you okay? You look like you're about to be sick."

"I'm - I'm fine. I just need to get this off my chest."

"Alright, then," I say. "Shoot."

"Well... I was thinking about Maia and Lindsey and Aaron. And it seems so weird to me that none of them seemed the type to kill themselves, a
and not even the people closest to them suspected it."

"Well, some people hide it well."

"But you don't believe Aaron hid anything."

"No. I don't. Where exactly are you going with this?"

"I think that they were all murdered. Their deaths have to be connected somehow, right?"

I blink. "You realize how crazy this sounds, right? You think that Maia DeRosa, your sister and Aaron were all killed by the same people?" I pause for a second, just to think. "And why do you need to tell me this, anyway? Do you want my help or something? Because this is completely fucking insane."

"That, Jack, is exactly what I want."