"Do I need a lawyer?" Emily blurted out, her mind struggling to absorb the overwhelming information. Shaking her head in disbelief, she rephrased her statement, "I need a lawyer." I think I'm in trouble and I need help digging myself out of this one.

Officer Burns waved away her concerns with a chuckle. "This isn't an official questioning, at least not yet."

Covering her lips with her fingers, Emily tried to think.Just the other day, her aunt suspected her of doing narcotics and now she was a murder suspect? That she was somehow involved in a murder that had been haunting her for the past few months, a crime that had pushed her to the brink of despair....

"Murder?" Emily muttered, her tone filled with disbelief. Officer Burns allowed her a few moments to process the hefty revelation. "But how?" she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose as she contemplated the situation. She glanced at Officer Burns, who remained impassive. Frustration and fear welled up inside her, and she cursed under her breath. "Who is Tyler Jones anyway?" Emily's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"The name doesn't ring a bell?"

"No!" Emily snapped back. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember the name of a guy I'd murdered."

Officer Burns hummed to himself, tapping his index fingers together. Emily wondered if he truly believed she was the murderer. If he did, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it; his expression remained inscrutable from the moment she walked in until the point where he revealed that she was a person of interest in the murder case. "That's funny because you're in the same grief group as his younger sister."

Emily bit her lip, trying to prevent her jaw from dropping. She shrugged in response to Officer Burns' pointed look, struggling to find the right words. No comment?

"You both meet every Sunday for two hours at the church," Officer Burns continued, assuming that Emily hadn't made the connection yet. Her brain scanned the faces that attended those gatherings in the tiny assembly hall. There was a strange old man who had lost his wife decades ago, an arrogant man, two quiet middle-aged women, an innocent-looking lady in the corner and a much younger face of a girl. The girl rarely spoke, often limiting their participation to reading assigned scriptures or describing their week with a single adjective.

"I stopped going to those meetings," Emily said, clenching her cheeks to control her emotions. "You got me a new therapist, remember?" She arched her right brow.

"That was after Tyler Jones passed away."

"I told you, I don't even know him!" Emily said with frustration, her eyes welling up with tears. Officer Burns' condescending look took her back ten years, reminding her of when she was nine and had stolen a few coins from her mother's purse. Squirming in her seat, she pressed her palms under her thighs.

Officer Burns produced a second envelope, bulging with A4-sized papers. He retrieved two copies of texts and handed them to Emily.

"Here," he said, pointing to the first paper, "you asked him if he had weed, and what did he say?" Emily studied the text with a frown. "Read it out loud."

"Nah, got some acid though," Emily replied with a croak. She examined the second text. "And stuff to shoot up your veins." Her frown turned to offense.

The second text jogged Emily's memory. She did recall a shabby-looking guy often lurking around the church grounds during their group meetings. He had introduced himself as Kush. Emily groaned out loud and facepalmed herself.

"Drug dealers and their stupid names," she mumbled to herself.

Their first encounter had been coincidental, and Emily had only talked to him because he seemed like a user. He was always around, smoking rolls of tobacco. He had promised to get some weed for Emily and had given her his number. That was way before Emily discovered that her cousin Jordan had his own guy, Eddie, who didn't look like he could strangle the life out of anyone.

Emily stood up and paced around the room, supporting herself with her right hand as she plucked at her dyed hair with the other. She blinked rapidly to hold back the tears as Officer Burns continued to explain something else.

"I want to go home," Emily said from the corner of the office where she stood. She swallowed hard, trying to suppress a sob, and dug her teeth deeper into her cheeks.

"I have no objection," Officer Burns said, raising his palms in a gesture of defeat. "We were just having a chat."

Emily nodded silently, afraid that if she dared open her mouth, she might scream.

"I'll see you at home," Officer Burns said, dismissing her with a nod toward the exit. As he began shuffling the documents back into the envelope, Emily took a moment to steady her feet. Thankfully, her underwear remained dry.

As soon as Emily stepped away from the police grounds, she broke into a run. Emily ran all the way to the park, ignoring the painful stitch in her stomach, across the same park, and towards the abandoned factory. She had never been to that place alone out of fear. Fear of the police or groundsmen, and the ghosts of the dead who had plummeted to their death inside the machinery during the factory's prime. However, her physique remained calm, stripped off any ounce of fear. Her end was near, and a ghost would be a welcome ally.

At the top of the building, Emily squeezed herself into a corner, brought her knees to her chest, and let out a maniac laugh.
 

•|•

A/N
I got a little bit excited and submitted this story to the Wattys. Catch is I need to keep posting for about 13 weeks but I have like only 8 chapters to ''Z'' and I got lazy so, enjoy this half chapter! Thank you for sticking by!