Locked Up

If the officer looked close enough, he would see my heart beating through my chest.

I tried to control my breath, to get air through the lungs so that I could calm down.

But it wasn't working.

It didn't help my nerves that the officers put me in this grey, sterile room over an hour ago. One flimsy metal table rested in front of me, a two-way mirror on the wall in front of me, and the only door behind me.

Occasionally, someone would check on me and say, “An officer will come to talk to me soon."

They want me to break.

The door sprang open with force. I jolted up in my seat. A cop entered. He wore a simple collared shirt and jeans. A loosened tie hung around his neck, and a gun and badge hung on his belt. He stood tall, with his shoulders rolled back. He had slicked back his salt-and-pepper black hair. Normally, he kept his chin clean-shaven, but now stubble pushed its way out. He held a manilla folder under his arm and a pen behind his left ear.

"Been waiting long?" the detective asked.

I nodded my head.

"Sorry, it took longer than expected to examine the scene. What with the part of it happening at the top and the rest at the bottom," he said as he moved across to the other side of the table. He dropped the folder down and then sat in the chair opposite me. "Want to just confess?"

Sweat permeated my forehead, yet a fog over the last few hours still clouded my memory. “I don't remember what happened. Is Shelby okay?"

He nodded with his lips pursed and turned down at the corners, then opened the folder. I could see photos printed of cliffs. I could see a dark red stain that started at the top of the cliff and went all the way down. "I can see why you wouldn't remember. Murder can cloud your judgment."

I chuckled. I hadn't planned on someone accusing me of murder when I left the house tonight. It took a moment to realize he hadn't joked.

"Is that funny?" he asked, his voice venomous. My heart stopped momentarily before racing even faster.

The room spun. I shook my head, realizing he was waiting for an answer.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes judging me. He flipped through his notes and said, “Can you tell me anything about what happened tonight?"

I looked at my hands, trying to access my broken memory. "We went for a drive."

"Who is we?"

"Shelby and I."

"Who drove?"

I could make out a picture of something. "I was. She acted agitated, kept starting fights."

"Fights? Over what?"

"Just petty stuff. Things she had been holding on to. But I-"

"So you killed her?" he asked.

"I would never-" I left the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

"What were these petty things?" He readied his pen to scribble a note.

Just on the horizon of my memory, I could see something. "I don't know. It’s like things from the past, words we said that never resolved. You know?"

"I don't." He continued to judge me.

"Like how she never talked to me when her phone was out. Always on TikTok or SnapChat."

The officer scribbled more notes. "Then you pulled over and pushed her out of the car? Or did you trick her into getting in front of the car before you hit her?"

"What?" I couldn't have done what he said. "No! I love her."

"Most attacks come from a loved one. Someone that has just enough pettiness to justify murdering."

I shook my head. "I could never."

"What else can you remember?"

"This room." I raised my hands towards the walls and looked around.

"The finest accommodations," the detective said with a smile. It felt like he wanted me to speak, to say something I'd regret. I waited. "Is there anything else? Like where you stopped. Was there anyone else with you?"

I forced myself into the fog of memory. Mentally, I swam through it, trying to find anything. Still, nothing came to me.

"I don't- I can't."

He sighed and shook his head. "Your girlfriend is dead."

I couldn't say anything. Time froze. My body froze. I had to will my body to get my heart and lungs to start working again.

We both looked at each other. I knew he didn't believe me, and I knew he would arrest me if they had any evidence.

He knew it, too.

He looked into my eyes, measuring me up.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You're free to go. I'll have someone escort you out. I wouldn't go far, though."

He stood up and crossed the room. Once the door opened, I felt like a weight had lifted from my chest.

He didn't look at me as he exited. I heard him say to someone beyond the door, "he did it. We just need something to hol-"

As the door shut, I smiled.