Halloween House Party (9)

Chapter 9:

“Oh, I get it. You don’t actually care what happened, you just want to get me to confess to a crime I didn’t commit so you can look like a hero for wrapping things up so nicely. Am I warm?” I find my voice, snipping back at him.

“Think what you want kid” he says unbothered, browsing through the paperwork left by Stanton, pissing me off more.

“What, turned the tape back on and have to hold your tongue now?”

His eyes raise to me, brows furrowed. “We never turned it off.”

“You literally told me you did, and you just turned off the cameras like thirty seconds ago.” Tilting his head, he turns to look at the supposedly turned off security system. But the light is blinking as red as ever. “What, no that can’t be right. I watched you do it.” His eyes on me give nothing away, my heart beating too fast as the world around me continues not making sense.

“Miss Harlem” we’re back to that are we, “did you take anything tonight?”

“What like drugs? I don’t do drugs.” I retort with a sneer not interested in his assumptions shoving away the gnawing fear in the back of my mind that I might be losing it.

“Why don’t you fill this up, and we’ll find out.” Placing a small plastic cup with a cap in the place between us he crosses both arms on the table.

“Lovely” I pluck it up extending my arms as far as the table will allow, waiting impatiently to be uncuffed.

With a slight scoff and that ever present smile, he walks over unlocking each silver bracelet, my hands rubbing out the imprints left. “Down the hall and to the left. Need me guide you there?”

“I’ll be fine” I manage to bite back as I stand, stepping around him slamming the door shut behind me. Taking a glance down the left of the hall, I notice the station bustling; a half-eaten box of donuts sitting on the reception desk, a few patrol officers in various states of casual attire and full uniforms as the phone rings and rings and rings. The corner of the holding cell packed with teens and twenty somethings in run of the mill costumes, though none of them look like they were at the party. Poor kids.

A loud piercing whistle sounds out tugging my gaze behind me. “This way Miss Harlem” Reeves points to my right, crossing his arms over his chest like a principal discipling a misbehaving student, the glasses placed back on his straight nose, piercing gaze staring me down for his high and mighty authoritative tower.

“Bite me” I mutter, rolling my eyes as I march into the ladies’ the cup pinched between my thumb and forefinger. Resting my back on the door, I twist the lock, the bolt sliding into place as my heart slows its pounding. Pushing off I stride into the first stall hunching over like a damn fool collecting my sample, “fucking cops.”

Finishing my business and popping the cup closed with a click I step out, resting it on the sink washing my hands thoroughly, the red stain of blood barely coming off. “Come on” I groan, scrubbing a little harder with my nails, the surrounding skin merely getting pinker. Braving a glance in the mirror, I pause at seeing my face; dead and sad simultaneously with mascara-stained tear trails running down making me look as crazy as they think I am. Pursing my lips, eyes closed, I bend down splashing some water over my eyes and cheeks, rubbing away any remnants of makeup.

Blindly reaching out I feel along the wall for the paper-towel dispenser, only feeling tiled wall. Eyes tearing up, vision somewhat fuzzy I turn to the left and feel there, grabbing at something paper-like and rustling as I run my hands along. Rubbing it over my lids and lashes, cleansing my gaze I nearly jump out of my skin at the horrifying figure standing before me. “Cas” her name coming out like a haunted whisper on my lips.

Her skin so ghostly pale, eyes wide and hollow with blood dripping down her lips along her chin. The stab wounds in her midsection all the same as I saw before I blanked. But something’s different, the black mixed with blood red kiss marks along her neck. Those weren’t there, she had a black set of smudges when we last talked.

Looking to the leaf in my hands, blood staining most of it I let it fall, my eyes wide and pulling back to the figure as I step back. “You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not real!” I scream, shutting my eyes hoping that when I open them, she’ll be gone. But instead, she’s even closer, tugging at the roots of my blonde hair spinning me around and sending my face flying into the mirror before I too fall to the ground, head pounding with a new set of bruises if it hasn’t completely split open with such severe impact.

Standing over me with a piece of broken glass in her hand she smiles, a demonic grin teeth laced in red before I feel a sharp pain in my wrist and I scream.

“Quinn, what’s going on?” Reeves pounds into the door, before there’s a similar pain in the opposite wrist, my skin wet with blood vision blurry. I watch with a hazy gaze as it pools around me, encircles my limbs painting my skin in gore and red. Blinking to stay awake I feel my lids get heavier just as Officer Reeves and a few others comes barrelling in, the door bent off its hinges. “Radio for an ambulance” he demands, trying to staunch the bleeding from my wrists just before everything gets muddled and fades to black.