This is a continuation of a writing prompt I found I found on Pinterest a few posts back. If you would like to catch up on Part 1, feel free to read it here. Please note that I do not own the rights to the prompt; I am simply responding to the prompt in a series of chapters. Also note that this chapter contains an amount of violence and gore, there solely for the purpose of setting the scene. If this sort of content does not attend to your interest, you are more than welcome to scroll past.
“State your business,” the officer exclaimed. Her gun, pointed right at my heart, loomed in front of me as I struggled to maintain my breathing.
“I…I—” I couldn’t manage to get a decent sentence out, despite being interrogated on the spot. John, however, had managed to escape from beneath my umbrella, and began to form a lie faster than a bird could spot a worm from a tree branch.
“I came to this restaurant to order for my family, and this psychotic woman started attacking me with her…umbrella.” I gave him a look, and scowled as he glared at me sideways, continuing his story with a sense of calm that sent chills down my spine. Somehow, someway, he managed to make himself appear meek, and that frightened me in a way I couldn’t express. It made me wonder how much lying he had to do to be that good of an actor.
“I had done nothing to harm her, but she still found the need to attack.” John crossed his arms in triumph.
“Is this true, ma’am?” The police woman gestured to me with narrowed eyes, and I knew whatever I chose to say next could possibly be held against me. I sighed, shaking from the chill in the air.
“Well–uh, it’s sort of true, but I only hit him because he scared the heck out of me as I was leaving!” I bit my lip, wrapping my sweater around me as I wished I was curled up in bed, dreaming, instead of living this reality.
“I see…” Her voice trailed off as she slowly drew back her gun, keeping a steady eye on us while pulling a small, black notebook from her pocket. It was small, with a tiny, golden emblem on the cover.
“We received a call ten minutes ago from a civilian stating shots were fired. Did either of you make that call?”
“No,” John and I said at the same time.
“I’m afraid we need you both to come down to the station with us for further questioning, regardless, at least until we receive more information about the attack.” She put away the notebook, and gestured for John and me to follow her to the back of the squad car.
The police woman, no older than twenty-six, opened the trunk, and pulled out two pairs of handcuffs.
“Just so we don’t have any problems,” she stated. John glared at me out of the corner of his eye with a look that clearly meant, once we were done here, he’d kill me.
Two hours later, I was seated in the interrogation room at the police station, while a couple of officers talked outside the iron door, stealing glances at me every few seconds. Like they didn’t know I could hear them talking about me.
I sighed, fidgeting with the hair tie I never took off my wrist. I honestly swear that thing will still be on for my wedding day.
I looked up as the female officer John and I met earlier entered the room with a file in her right hand.
“So, Cambria Baker…that’s your name, correct?”
“That’s right.” I looked down, attempting, quite horribly, to hide my red face as I prepared for questioning.
“Well, Ms. Baker,” she began, sitting across from me, flipping through my file. “It looks like you’ve got a clear record on your hands, but I still need to ask you a few questions about the attack—if that is alright with you.” She glanced up at me as though expecting me to say otherwise.
“No, no. That’s fine. I understand.” I sighed once more, reading her nametag as she continued flipping through my file, leaving me to sit uncomfortably in my cold chair. Joy Parker. I know you. I’ve seen you on the news a couple of times.
“Okay, Cambria. For starters, can you tell me what you were doing at the restaurant?” Joy glanced up from my file with an inquisitive look.
“I-I came down to eat dinner, and when I was about to leave, someone stared firing shots.”
“Can you remember how many shots were fired?” I paused, struggling to think back to earlier that night.
“Two…I think?” I looked down at my hands, clearly failing to look innocent.
Joy took out the small notebook she used at the parking lot, and jotted some notes down.
“These shots that were fired…could you see who shot them, or what the person might have looked like?”
“No, I didn’t. I was too busy looking for the man who handed me that napkin.”
“Napkin? What napkin?” She glanced up from her notebook as I fumbled with my answer.
“This man—the man you brought in along with me—handed me a napkin before the shots fired. It had writing on it. All it said was Run.”
“Mhm..” The officer continued her notes, apparently unaware of the amount of fidgeting going on under the table.
“I know I asked you this earlier, but did you or did you not attack this man with your…” she glanced down at my file, “umbrella?”
“Yes, I did, but only because he startled me. I accidentally hit him with my car as I was pulling out of the parking lot.” Joy nodded once more, scribbling my statement down.
“Okay, thank you.” The officer closed my file, placing it into her bag for further review.
“Alright, Ms. Cambria. We’re going to ask your friend in there a couple of questions, and then we’ll be right back with you.” The officer smiled, got up, and walked out of the room.
I’ll be here.
As it turns out, I didn’t remain in the interrogation room long after my chat with the officer.
I was slowly beginning to drift off in the cold, metal chair, a slight amount of drool exiting my mouth, when I heard shuffling from outside the interrogation room door. When I glanced up, I could no longer see, or hear, the two guards positioned outside the room.
I glanced at the two-way mirror, wondering if there was anybody back there watching me, but I had the feeling there wasn’t. How I knew, I had no idea. But I couldn’t feel eyes on me like I could earlier, when I was answering Joy’s questions.
In fact, I could barely feel anything. I couldn’t feel the buzz of the security cameras positioned in the corners of the walls, nor could I feel the cool rush of air that nipped my feet from the vent, as I could earlier.
To any other person, it would have seemed as though the electricity were malfunctioning, or that the vents weren’t working. But I could feel a shift in the atmosphere, and I didn’t like it.
I stood from my chair, grimacing from the sound of the metal’s movement against the floor. There was a chill in the air, one I knew wasn’t a result of the vents. It felt unnatural on my skin, sending a rush of blood that produced goosebumps on my arms.
The lights began flickering, ever so slowly, then all at once. Something wasn’t right. I could feel it.
I slowly made my way to the interrogation room door, hoping to find the two guards re-positioned as they were before. I found them there, alright, but not in the way I was hoping.
There, lying helplessly on the ground, sopped in what looked like a puddle of blood, were the two guards, stab wounds dotting their chests. Their eyes, opened slightly with a close resemblance to mine at that moment, were frozen with the shock of their predicament.
I forced my hand in my mouth to keep from screaming, tasting the tears streaming down my cheeks as I watched the puddle grow larger with blood by the second. The tears mixed with blood on my tongue as I bit down on my gums to keep any noise from escaping my mouth. I watched too many crime shows to know that a scream would be one heck of a stupid idea in that moment.
Obviously, whoever had stabbed those poor guards was unaware of my presence inside the room. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be breathing to tell you this story.
I wanted to run, to get the farthest away from the place as I could, but I knew the murderer could still be out there, waiting for any sign of life. I moved away from the window to the corner of the room farthest away from an outside view, and hugged my legs to my chest as I sank down to the floor, bursting out crying.
I could just tell you that I wasn’t scared, or that I had faith, but in that moment, I was worried that I might just lose my life. There are those moments in the movies, or in the TV shows, when the protagonist gets herself in a sticky situation with a killer, and you think that it’s just play, or that it’s all pretend. But when you suddenly find yourself nearly face-to-face with reality, the idea that the movies don’t know what they’re talking about almost hits you like a train.
I don’t know how long I remained in that position, silently choking on sobs, but I remember watching the door jam open, revealing John in a blood-soaked tee, eyes frantically searching the room. I didn’t know what to think in that moment. All I could see was a bloody man, with bloody hands, reaching for me. But as I was slowly embracing the same fate that came for the guards, I could feel hands on my shoulders, lifting me off the ground.
John’s eyes were suddenly in front of mine as he helped me and my wobbling knees up.
“Cam, we need to get out–now.” I didn’t know how he knew my name, unless the officer had told him during his interrogation. If she even got to it.
Everything was moving too fast at once, leaving me with a burning headache, and trembling hands that couldn’t stop fumbling.
The last thing I remember before blacking out was bursting through a set of double doors to the main lobby of the police station, and seeing a figure leaning over a couple of dead officers sprawled out on the floor. I couldn’t make out their face, but the vibrant green eyes would haunt me in my nightmares for days to come.
Everything went dark as I felt the cool, night air hit my face.