Traces of Delilah

Twenty-Two

There were more cars than what started along the strip earlier, when I drove to work. More than usual for a normal day. A few of the police cars parked down the street caught my attention too. More specifically, the two officers lounging around one of the cars.

Both of which I recognized.

Jamie's eyes were glued to the phone in his hands, thumbs pressing viciously against his screen. A pair of sunglasses sat perched on his blonde hair, pushing it back from his forehead. Of course, I'd recognize him. Makayla's brother was an easy target to spot. 

Whenever I saw him, he looked to be in la la land. There were often times I wondered if he ever saw my face and wondered who I was. I'd been around him enough now. Unless he wasn't very good at paying attention to his surroundings, which was ironic for an officer.

As for the other officer beside him—Roth, according to her uniform—I wasn't sure why my chest stirred at the sight of her. It wasn't unease. But it wasn't welcoming either. I couldn't describe it as I felt it. That hadn't stopped the goosebumps from crawling down my skin. There weren't any remnants of her face in my memory that I could think of.

Well, maybe not my memory. But someone else's.

On cue, an overwhelming number of noises prodded at my head at once. This was nothing like Delilah's memory of her night out with co-workers. There were voices. They were soft, intimidating, and firm. Not loud or obnoxious. The faint noises of phones could be heard going off in the background, almost too faint for Delilah's delicate ears.

From outside, breathing in the fresh air, to inside, pale white walls boxed me into a small space. While my head hadn't moved, I could see everything in the corner of my eyes. 

The stale green door across from me. The rectangular mirror embedded into the wall beside the door. A single thin brown table hovering over my knees. The finishing touch was the lone lamp hanging above Delilah's head, with barely enough light to stretch across the entire room. 

This had to be an interrogation room.

My hands were shaking. No, I was pinching my skin. It hurt more than I cared to admit too. The red marks were probably going to leave a scar when I was done. But I couldn't stop. It must've been something else Delilah did when she was nervous. She pinched and scratched and repeated.

The stench, of what could only be coffee, brewing around the police station was unbearable. It slipped through the cracks of the door unnoticed. Just the thought of something sweet, even if it was bitter-sweet seemed repulsive right now. The reason for that could've been the body she just saw not much long ago. Hours, days—I didn't know how much time had passed.

"Hey there, Delilah." The door opened but I hadn't made a move to glance up. I could hear boots crossing the floor, followed by the scraping of a chair. It sounded like metal.

"I brought you some tea. And some sugar to put in it." There was silence after the woman's words. My muscles tensed when a steaming hot cup was under my gaze. The steam evaporated on my face, moistening my skin. I peeked at her through my lashes.

Surprise was the least thing I felt.

"Thank you," I spoke quietly.

"Sure thing, don't mention it. You can call me Officer Roth." Her smile was contagious. As soon as she flashed it, a ghost of a smile was easing onto my face. But under the circumstances, Delilah fought against it.

"Listen here, Delilah. I know you're probably still shaken up from yesterday. It's okay. I understand. You're not in any trouble. We just want to ask you a few questions. Is that okay with you?"