"Miss Weihen, my name is Senior Constable Dobson. I'm going to ask you a few questions. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence." The tired officer said his piece in a run-of-the-mill professional voice, though his tiredness shone through plainly. "You have the right to call a lawyer and the right to call a relative or a friend. Coffee?" Brigitte shook her head. She didn't know any lawyers, and it wasn't like she could remember her mum and dad's phone number off the top of her head. Even if she did, what would they say if they found out she was in police custody?
"I think... I'll be okay." Try as she might, she couldn't completely remove the trembles of fear and anxiety from her voice. Would that be incriminating? What was she even suspected of?
The policeman looked at her, cocking an eyebrow and twisting his round face into a suprised expression. "You sure, love?" Brigitte nodded. His mouth twisted into a thin-lipped frown of reservation. "Your funeral, then." As he sat down, he opened up a manilla folder. "Let's start at the top, then, shall we? You're suspected of the murder of a Miss Maria Sunnadara, age 14." Brigitte blinked back tears as Dobson slid a photograph of the girl across the table. "I am presenting exhibit A to the suspect. A photo of the victim." Dobson's hard eyes met Brigitte's. "I'm sure you want to get out of here as much as I do, love." The smile on his face didn't hold any happiness at all. Dobson stood up and began pacing up and down the table, drumming his fingers loudly on the table. Why would anyone think she was a murder victim? She just wanted this to be over. She hated this so much. What would Alessa do? Thoughts raced through her mind as quickly as Dobson's fingers were drumming on the table. "Did you know the victim?"
"What...? Um... N-No. I mean, yes, but... But not really."
Dobson slammed his hand on the table. "Give me a straight answer, love!" he yelled, sending droplets of spittle from his mouth across the table. Brigitte burst into tears. He took a deep breath and raised his hand, ready to bring it down again when the door opened. Another cop entered the room with a tray holding two mugs of coffee.
"Senior Constable Dobson, go take a break." The other policeman wasn't as thick set as the first. As Dobson stalked out of the room, he grabbed one of the mugs and slammed the door. "I'm sorry for my colleague's behaviour, Miss Weihen. Long day, you see. The name's " He opened a small grease-stained bag on the tray. "Donut?" He pushed the tray over after taking one out for himself. His pleasant, casual manner reassured Brigitte and she wiped at her eyes. The tears had stopped, but her chest still spasmed as she sniffled. "Guess not, then? Well, okay." As he drew the tray back, he stared at her intensely. "We know you didn't do it, love, so don't worry 'bout that." Brigitte's head shot up. "Sometimes we get cases like this. Weird ones. Curve balls." He took a bite of his donut and a swig of coffee. "You've got to understand, you see. We're putting you in the watch house tonight for your own protection."
Brigitte paled. She'd heard stories about watch houses. Was it like on the television?
It turned out that the watchouse was actually very dull, and had it not been for the horror she felt at being put in such an institution to begin with, Brigitte would probably have coped fine. As it was, though, she spent the remainder of the afternoon and well past the time the guards shut off most of the lights curled up in a ball against a wall. Some time after that, the sounds around Brigitte stopped. The snoring, the footsteps of guards, the banging against the bars of cells; they all stopped. Brigitte looked up from her position against the wall, her chest still spasming with despair. She couldn't see anything in the cell across from her. She thought there was two women in it. Standing up shakily, she approached the cell's bars.
No one was in the cell. In fact, it seemed like there was no one in any of the cells at all. Maybe prison had finally made her lose it. Something dripped into the middle of the white linoleum between the cells. Inky and dark, it splattered on the floor, the heavy drops marking the ground black. Brigitte tried to peer out of her cage to ascertain what was leaking the goop, but her eyes only met darkness. The drops continued, slowly becoming larger, quicker, and then suddenly they stopped.
From the pool of darkness shot a hand, thin and stick-like. With a shriek, Brigitte jumped back, away from the swift-moving limb clawing its way around the spot she was just standing in. The hand jumped upright, and in its palm opened an eye of red. It's iris surrounding its horizontal pupil was black, and it searched around the room frantically until it froze on Brigitte. At the bottom of the hand a mouth open, contorting into a silent, tortured scream. Child of the sinful bloodline..." The thin, rasping voice seemed to come from that mouth, though the black lips' movements were frozen in the soundless shriek. "You cannot run forever. Your blood belongs to us. Your flesh belongs to us. Your soul belongs to us."
Through the haze shone a light, blindingly bright. After failing to turn over, Brigitte closed her eyes again and groaned. "So you're back with us," said a male voice. She turned her head and squinted at the speaker. It was a policeman. She tried to sit up, but was unable. Looking down her body, she saw why--she was strapped to the bed. "Sorry about that. You went hysterical. Flailing about like a looney, screaming about eyes in hands or something. Brigitte just blinked. She was in too much of a drugged up haze to process anything. The policeman stood up and straightened his shirt. "My partner's waiting for me. You'll be escorted back to the questioning room after the anaesthetic wears off." The large man gave her a reassuring smile before heading for the door. "Oh, Miss Weihen." He stopped at the doorway, looking back at Brigitte, who returned the gaze, fighting hard to keep her eyes open. "You cannot run forever." As she slipped back into unconsciousness, Brigitte saw the man's eyes gleam red.