Chapter 6: The Interogation Room
The handcuffs were constricting against my hands, but I guess that's what they were meant to do. I never pictured I would be the one to experience them. I had run for two months and for what? I am exactly where I didn't want to be. But they were going to imprison Garrett for a crime he didn't commit. That was not going to happen. I have kept my promise. I will always keep my promise.
The man in the uniform harshly tugged me into a room. The guard pulled me over towards the metal chair and roughly pushed me down into it.
I gave him a sickly sweet smile, biting my tongue. That asshole could at least of been a little less brash.
"Sit there," The guard jerked my cuffed my hands. Without another look in my direction the burly officer walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I stared at the blank wall. My mind wandered. Where was Garrett right now? Where had they been keeping him? Will I be able to see him?
I didn't know. I didn't know anything. It's like one moment I think I know what I want and what I was going to do, and then the next moment I am doing the complete opposite. I don't know what is wrong with me. Maybe this is all apart of the greater scheme of me losing my freaking mind.
It all makes sense. Maybe after all those years of being beaten and abused made me snap, and I never came back from it. Maybe this is the way I am now. Maybe I really am different. The event changed me no doubt, I was no longer the girl whom I used to be, but I always thought that a part of me was still intact. That Drake didn't take everything away from me. Maybe I was wrong.
My head hung low, so low that if I really wanted to I could lay my head on the steel table. But I didn't. I knew that I was tired and putting my head on that table would result in me falling asleep.
The interrogation room wouldn't be the best place to fall asleep, especially when I just confessed to murder. Yeah, that wouldn't be a good idea.
I wondered if Kathy had read anything from my journal yet. I wonder if she even saw it. Maybe she didn't realize that it was there. I felt slight panic, realizing anyone could've taken it off of the table. Anyone. Why should I even care? I am in an interrogation room. I have already confessed to killing Garrett-- What else could I have possibly-- Oh God.
No. No. No.
Garrett cannot find out. He can't know everything that I did. He can't.
Suddenly, the metal door opens and in walks a skinny looking man with blondish-greyish hair. He had crease lines all over his face and I wondered if that was from age or from doing this job for however many years.
The detective didn't say anything. All emotion was wiped away from his face. After a moment of looking at him, he looked back at me. My head snapped down towards the table, and I lightly used my right hand to rub the part of my skin under my other wrist. These handcuffs hurt and made my skin itch like crazy.
"Jenna Weston," The detective mumbled, opening up my file. I finally looked up when the man sat right across from me. "I'm Detective Bradford." His eyes scanned the pages of my file, and I felt the bile slowly rising in my throat, making it a little harder for me to breathe. I didn't know what was in there. Maybe they got my fingerprints off the murder weapon? No it has only been thirty minutes. Cops work fast, but not that fast. What if it is-- "Age 25. Former foster child to-- Well look at that, Drake Mota. What a coincidence." He said condescendingly.
"You don't really believe in coincidences do you detective?" I replied sarcastically. He narrowed his eyes, a taunting smirk etched on his old features.
"No. Not in the slightest."
I gave him a taunting smile. "Good to know."
"Watch your tone Miss Weston. I wouldn't want to mess with someone like me," He leaned closer. "Your fate is in my hands."
I narrowed my eyes, not moving an inch. "You really think that don't you?" I asked him amused. I probably shouldn't be making enemies, but something about this guy really pissed me off. He had power and he knew it. He strived on it. He reveled in it.
"I know I do." He told me arrogantly.
"Well, I'm sure in some cases you do," I gave him a bitter smile. "But I turned myself in. I knew the repercussions of stepping foot back into this city, and into your department. I walked in here. That was my choice. You thought my innocent brother killed Drake. Never once did you question me." I paused, I could practically feel the steam coming out of the detectives ears. "Lost your touch, eh?" I asked innocently. His jaw clenched. "You might want a lawyer Miss Weston. Too much talk like that will get you nowhere fast."
"I don't need a lawyer Detective. Just ask your questions and get this over with." I request. Detective Bradford shrugs his shoulders, "That's fine with me." Then he starts asking questions.
"Did you kill Drake Mota?" He asked, cutting off the former conversation.
"Yes."
"Did you stab Drake Mota?"
"Yes. I think I answered that question about 5 seconds ago." He didn't look impressed. Detective Bradford changed his direction.
"Why did you kill Drake Mota?"
I paused. That was something I didn't want to share. "You don't need to satisfy your curiosity, Detective. Just book me and be done with it."
He raised an eyebrow challengingly. "I am going to repeat the question--"
"You can repeat the question all you want," I told him honestly, "but I'm going to continue to say the same answer." I took a breath. "Just book me."
The detective leaned back again with a thoughtful expression. "Why aren't you telling me why you killed him?"
"Maybe I want to see if you truly have lost your cop mojo. If you want to know, figure it out. Because I sure as hell will never tell you." I told him harshly.
"Listen and listen good. I don't play games--"
"You can't be serious?" I questioned. The detective leaned back crossing his arms over his chest, as if he wanted me to elaborate. "You play games with people all the time. That's how you get your information. That's how you put people in prison."
The detective grunted angrily. "I am done with small talk." He announced.
"Not your fault, some people just can't keep up." I told him, "Not everyone has it in them." I shrugged my shoulders.
He gave a evil laugh. "Why don't I stick my best new detective on you. I am positive he likes to play games. Especially when it means finding out what really happened that night." Detective Bradford stood up, leaving me cuffed to the table.
"I have endured worse than this, Detective." I told him. His hand froze at the door knob. He turned around giving me another one of his thoughtful looks. "I have learned how to bottle things up my whole life. I'm not going to spill my life story to someone who only wants to find out what happened that night so he can get his paycheck for the month." And with that I looked away from him. I felt his eyes studying me before he opened the door and walked out.
✣
The mirror beside me hid the other detectives who were probably at this moment trying to come up with new tactics to get me to spill everything. I am not stupid. I will NEVER tell them why I killed Drake. They don't need to know. The evidence all points to me. They don't need anything else. Waiting for this supposively "game loving" Detective was pointless. I wasn't going to say anything.
Detective Bradford was delusional if he thought I would all of a sudden tell this Detective all of my secrets. Hell no. They didn't want to know about Drake before he was dead, so they don't need to know anything now.
They know he is dead. They know the killer. That should be enough. Hell, that is enough.
I itched at my wrists again. These damn handcuffs were ridiculous. I wasn't going to hurt anyone, but I guess they didn't know that. I guess I was now categorized as crazy. I guess to kill someone, you have to be.
I wasn't always this way. I was once innocent. I was once normal. Drake took that away from me. He stripped it from me. I can't go back. I can't undo what has already been done.
I'm not a good person anymore. I have blood on my hands now. I will never be the same Jenna ever again. Maybe it was best to lock me up. Garrett just turned eighteen. He doesn't need to be held behind anymore. He doesn't need to be plagued by what I did.
This time when the door opened I didn't look up. I was annoyed and you could probablly see that on my face.
"Jenna?"
I looked up quickly, barely containing my gasp of shock. I would know that voice anywhere.
"Blake?" I trembled, my whole body completely frozen.