Emily could easily point out a hundred differences with her current position as compared to the last time she was seated in an interrogation room. The air was different; dry and choking with a faint chill. The lights were oddly placed above her alone and the mood was too stiff to allow any smart remarks jumping inside her silly head. Officer Burns was nowhere to 'protect' her and the lady detective from months back looked meaner. Emily could tell that she had dug her way into a very deep hole.

"Shall we begin?" The male detective inquired staring at his tight fit watch. The lady detective nodded and took a sip from her cup.

The man prepared the table space and introduced himself as detective Ferguson. He then filled in the first few seconds of sound on the tape recorder and asked Emily to introduce herself and recount the details from the day of the murder. Emily cleared her throat and said her name with the softest voice she could muster. She tried comforting herself about having nothing to be afraid of and tried to dig up whatever memory was left from that fateful night.

Emily found that she couldn't remember her exact routine from the day, only that at therapy the seminarian had said something triggering. Her discomfort was what pushed her to search for drugs, as an easy apology to herself. Terry Jones was still alive. Emily was certain that she never acquired any drugs from him. Not that she could recall. Why would she want to do hard drugs? It was beyond incomprehensible to her.

"At what time do your meetings end?"

"Oh, I stopped going to those." Emily divulged. Prompted by detective Ferguson's pointed look, Emily fell back to answering his initial question. "Around four p.m."

"Your aunt made a call at 7.07 p.m. that day to report you missing." Emily frowned. Technically, it wasn't a report if she was just talking to her boyfriend. Still, she chose to keep quiet. "You turn up over thirty minutes later, drenched in the rain."

Emily shrugged. Those were facts, but she wondered how it was supposed to help the case.

"Terry Jones autopsy confirm the time of his death being between seven and midnight that very same day. He was lying there for a day before his body was discovered."

Emily shut her eyes. The puzzle pieces snapped together. "There was a man, a killer. You should be looking for him." She had done all they asked, ransacked her brain to provide the perfect portrait of the man. All they were doing was wasting time and resources instead of going after a killer.

"Here's where the second witness comes in," detective Ferguson leaned back and kicked his right leg over his left. "He only saw two people struggling, a victim and a murderer."

"He could be the murderer," Emily shrugged. "Seeing how he just sat there and watched someone try to kill me."

Detective Ferguson sighed. "What I'm trying to say, Emily, is that, you're either the murderer or the victim. And the victim is dead."

"Or," the lady detective spoke up for the first time, "we had one that got away."

Emily made a motion to lick her lips then stopped. Her left hand bounced along with her leg and her breaths grew ragged. She had no idea of what to do with herself. She mustered up enough courage for one last question, to ask who the mystery witness was. Neither did the lady or Ferguson give her a name, just that it was a drug addict, Emily was already aware of. Emily then remained quiet for the rest of the questioning session without a single break. By the time her aunt reached the police station, Emily was certain she had developed a urinary tract infection. She could barely walk without a wobble.
 

"I don't think you should have come here without informing me." Mrs. Stuart began once they were inside her car. Emily had relieved her bladder and was wolfing down a brown bag of fries.

"Figured I'd get done with it." Emily responded from the backseat. She glanced outside at the commotion of a cuffed man trying to make a run for the road.

"Emily," Mrs. Stuart called, "I don't think it's as simple as it were the first time."

"What?"

"What you're ###implicated in..." Mrs. Stuart trailed. "Don't you understand how serious it is?" Emily swallowed a big lump of poorly chewed food. She paused waiting for her throat to clear up.

"I have nothing to worry about."

"I know," Mrs. Stuart sighed. "I know." Emily watched the woman's eyes flutter shut for a minute with her words. Did she not believe her? Emily wondered. "All I'm saying is that if I was informed then I would have come–"

"I'm an adult. I can be questioned without a guardian." Emily cut her off. She didn't get the point of the conversation.

"Or made arrangements for someone more knowledgeable to accompany you." Mrs. Stuart finished her statement.

"So a lawyer?"

"Yes, a lawyer." The woman sighed. Emily stuffed her mouth with a couple more warm fries. Most of the times, she was okay with skipping a day's meals. The comforting thought of loosing weight gave her the stamina she needed. However, this day was different. Her brain was working overtime throughout the day, except for when she got to hangout with Mickey for a few hours. From psychoanalysis to police questioning was talking a toll on Emily. This were the moments she wished to have stashed away a stress joint that would come in handy. The fries would taste nothing like day's old oil and mint too.

"Okay." Emily mumbled.

"I also wanted to tell you that Incase things go wrong," Mrs. Stuart gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. "Just know that it's not the end of the world, okay?"

Emily nodded to her aunt's sentiment. The fries inside her mouth turned bitter. She cleared her throat to prevent it from closing up. For the first time, the gravity of the situation she was in settled fully inside her stomach. Just like her brother, Terry Jones was really dead.
 

•|•

A/N
I got caught up, again. Here's half a chapter and thank you for sticking by.