Halloween House Party (6)

Chapter 6:

I don’t exactly remember what conspired after I fell into the arms of Officer Stanton, everything kind of going blurry and dark for a beat; my head pounding with a bigger headache as I think I blacked out. But before I knew it, I was at the police station, drowning in an extra-large sized LAPD Academy sweater with an ice pack, handcuffed to the desk and being interrogated for yet another murder I didn’t…fucking…commit!

“All right let’s get started.” Reeves says as I start to regain focus, slowly taking notice of the small room, both officers now dressed in something other than those authoritatively intimidating uniforms sitting on the opposite side of what looks like a one of those long tables used for parties at school. “It is Tuesday the 28th of October, Officer Reeves and Officer Stanton are here interviewing…” he pauses looking to me for the answer. “Uh Miss, state your name for the tape please” he presses, the edge in his tone compelling me to cooperate.

“Quinn Harlem” I mumble, most of my sassy attitude drained at seeing my girlfriend all cut up and bloody.

“Yes, thank you and this is in regard to the call we received at 662 Park Row Drive about a possible homicide.”

It returns at the mention of possible homicide. “Question, do I mention now or later that I didn’t fucking do it!” Shouting into the room, my eyes laser focused on fucking Officer Reeves who still seems set in his ways to lock me up.

“Miss Harlem, if you could refrain from the profanity and just tell us what exactly happened tonight” Stanton tries once more to dilute the bad blood between Reeves and I.

“And how and why you did it” he’s nonchalant to add, that same smarmy smirk painting his lips as he sits back all comfortable like with arms crossed over his chest. The light blue button down stretched across his torso, sleeves ridding up just slightly to reveal a set of tattoo sleeves.

“I didn’t…. fucking… do it! Asshole.”

"Language Miss Harlem” he retorts back bored. This motherfucker.

With a huff I slouch back in the seat as best I can, the cuffs rattling as I shift. “How about instead you tell me what’s going on with my girlfriend. I want to see her. Now.”

Officer Stanton, a purple plaid fleece caressing her petite form leans forward, folding her hands, as if to prepare herself and maybe me for the delivery of bad news. “Miss Harlem, Quinn” she corrects herself, pursing her lips. First name usage doesn’t make us friends lady. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your girlfriend died as a result of her injuries.”

It takes every inch of will power I have to keep my composure and not start bawling like a fucking baby in front of these asshole pigs. Which of course, will seem even more suspicious and place me as number one suspect on their list. Though from the sounds of things, I’m sitting alone on that list. Swallowing I force back the tears. “What do you want to know” I mutter, keeping my gaze down refusing to look at them. Or give Reeves the satisfaction.

“Just start at the beginning” he says, trying to sound more pleasant. “Tell us everything that happened at the party.”

Not ready to tear into that can of hissing snakes just yet, I stall as long as I can.

“Can I uh,” clearing my throat I try again. “Can I get some water and something to eat please?”

The two look to each other, Stanton shutting the manila folder sitting on the table before getting up to leave. “We’ll be back in twenty.”

“Don’t go anywhere” Reeves slyly adds, “we’ll be watching” that fucking smirk hardly moving as he points to the security camera in the corner of the ceiling before shutting the door, leaving me to my array of horrific thoughts.

Shaking my head, arms crossed I stare off into space, mind unfortunately and consequently wandering back to that damn house and that damn kitchen. Nothing makes sense! Sly was there. Dead, fucking dead. But he was breathing, wasn’t he? Or was I just seeing things? And then Cas? How the fuck did she end up with all those stabs and the broken bottle in her jugular? Fuck, there was so much blood, too much. The floor practically drowning in the gory stuff. How did this night end up getting so fucked up?

The piercing pain of sadness overwhelms me as I lay my forehead on the table, hazel eyes turned down filling with tears. I sniffle back the impending sobs, my throat filling with pebbles, swallowing down the sorrow nearly impossible. I hardly shift as I hear the door open and shut before feeling the table rattle slightly as someone sits down to witness my pathetic pity party.

“Come back to dig the knife in—” the words die on my tongue as my eyes widen so big at the person sitting before me. And then I fucking scream!