Chapter 3
“ A reya, my name is Officer McDannon. You are safe. You can come out of the closet now.” Her voice was distant, muffled, as though traveling through water. I blinked at the stranger, watching her lips move, but the words didn’t really register. It felt as though I wasn’t even there, as if I’d drifted somewhere far away, submerged in an ocean of numbness.
“She’s in shock,” said a man’s voice, equally distant.
“Find out if she has any family,” the woman said.
“Areya.” A hand tugged at me. I looked down at the small female hand touching mine, my gaze shifting to the bracelets on my wrist, staring at the gold and silver chains for a long moment before an image of Mom’s lifeless face tore through my mind.
Suddenly, the hand on mine felt unbearably heavy, intrusive.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” I screamed, yanking my hand away, curling tighter into myself.
My knees pressed hard against my chest as the memories came barreling back, each one sharper than the rest: my mom; her body; blood. So much blood.
A violent sob escaped me as I buried my face in the fabric of the dress, clutching it like a lifeline, my body trembling. The tears came in torrents and the pain … God, the pain. It felt as if someone had taken a jagged blade to my heart, hacking through it, leaving me to bleed out.
How could I survive this? How could I live in a world without my mom—my best friend?
Time seemed to warp, stretching out in slow, agonizing seconds as chaos suddenly erupted around me. Heavy footsteps thundered toward me, then the cold metallic click of a weapon being drawn cutting through the air. A harsh light blinded me, and a man’s voice barked through the haze of my grief, “Put your hands where I can see them!”
The sharp, commanding tone tore through the atmosphere, jolting my entire body.
“PUT YOUR DAMN HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM AND COME OUT OF THE CLOSET NOW!”
The words slammed into me. Trembling, I slowly raised my arms, but before I could comprehend what was happening, rough hands yanked me out of the closet with brutal force.
They dragged me to my feet, my head spinning, as strong hands gripped my arms, and twisted them behind my back. The cold bite of metal clamped around my wrists, pinching the skin.
I swayed on my feet, dizzy and numb, my vision blurring, scanning the room.
Angry, tense faces surrounded me, their eyes hard and unforgiving. My own drifted beyond them, landing on the bed. My mother.
Her lifeless body lay still and cold against blood-soaked sheets.
The sight hit me worse than a punch to the gut, my knees buckling beneath me, and I collapsed, wrenching violently as my stomach convulsed.
Vomit spilled from my mouth, yet I barely noticed. All I could see was her—my mom, gone. The air seemed to thicken, becoming too heavy to breathe, my vision beginning to blur at the edges. Darkness came creeping in until the room around me dissolved into nothing.
And then, there was only blackness.
***
I tried to open my eyes, but the harsh, blinding light overhead sent waves of pain through my skull, intensifying its pounding throb. As my vision slowly adjusted to the room, nausea twisted my gut, threatening to rise again. The metallic stench of blood mingling with the sour odor of vomit filled the air. Endlessly, I blinked, disoriented, taking in the cold metal bars against which my body leaned. My wrists were still bound behind me, cuffed tightly, while the shocking reality of where I was began to sink in.
A suffocating wave of panic crashed over me, chest tightening, struggling to breathe.
With my hands behind my back, the sense of entrapment grew rapidly unbearable.
I gasped for air, my breaths coming shallow and fast, the room seeming to close in.
My body gave way, collapsing forward onto the rough concrete floor, pain flaring in my cheek as my face smacked against the cold gritty surface. Now, I was choking, desperately clawing for air but it felt like drowning, wholly lost in the all-consuming panic.
The metallic clang of the jail cell door opening echoed above me.
Footsteps approached, then the tight grip of the handcuffs loosened as a dark-haired female officer unlocked them, freeing my aching arms, sending relief through my tense body.
Trembling, I tried to push myself up off the floor, my muscles weak and shaky.
The officer’s hand gripped my arm, steadying me as I staggered to my feet, my legs barely able to support my weight. Once upright, I stumbled a few steps back before collapsing on the cold metal bench, the officer lingering until I was seated.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes to begin your processing,” she said before leaving me alone again in the cell. I didn’t respond, I couldn’t. All I could do was sit there, my mind swimming in the chaos of everything that had just happened, unable to make sense of any of this nightmare.
I focused on controlling my breathing, trying to calm the storm of raging thoughts.
None of this made sense. How had everything in my life fallen apart in just a few hours?
Did I somehow lose my mind and murder my own mother? The idea sent another round of nausea and panic hurtling through me, the sheer thought unbearable. But then reality hit again—my mother was dead. I doubled over, arms wrapping tightly around myself, as if that could somehow hold together the pieces of me that were breaking apart.
The officer returned, her footsteps echoing off the cold walls as she unlocked my cell door a second time. I forced myself to stand, my limbs still shaking. Barefoot, I followed her down a cold empty hall past a row of cells, keeping my head low, eyes fixed on the floor.
Every step felt heavier than the last, as if I was dragging myself through a nightmare from which I couldn’t wake.
She opened a door to a small private room, then gestured for me to enter.
Inside, she handed me a blue uniform—a pair of pants and a button-down shirt—and told me to change. The officer didn’t leave the room as I peeled the soiled pajamas from my body, shoved them in a plastic bag, and donned the uniform. The garments were rough against my skin, and the entire experience was surreal, akin to watching myself from a distance.
Then, she lifted a blue plastic bowl in front of me. “Remove your jewelry,” she said.
I glanced down at the silver and gold chains on my wrist, the last physical connection to both of my moms—pieces of the women who had loved me, pieces of lives now cruelly ripped away.
Teeth clenched, I forced myself to unfasten each one, my hands trembling uncontrollably.
The sound of the metal clinking into the bowl represented a final blow, the last fragile thread holding me to my past.
“All personal artifacts will be returned to you upon your release.”
The officer’s voice cut through the silence as she glanced at me, clearly noting my hesitation.
She emptied the bracelets into another, smaller plastic bag, alongside my phone; I must have still been clutching it when they’d arrested me.
I followed her down the cold, unforgiving, concrete corridor as she led me back to my cell.
“Another officer will come to finish booking you,” she said, then the door to the cell clanged shut behind me. I bolted for the metal bench, curling up on it, wrapping my arms tightly around my abdomen again. My mind threatened to unravel, so I closed my eyes, forcing my focus on the faint hum of the light overhead. I had no grasp on how much time passed—minutes or hours—before a door creaked open, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching.
“Excuse me, sir. You cannot be back here,” the female guard’s voice said, echoing down the hallway. Yet the footsteps grew louder, closer, joined by the noise of the guard trailing behind.
I opened my eyes, straining my neck to get a look at who the officer had been yelling at.
The moment my eyes landed on him, my blood ran cold, and my stomach dropped. Standing just outside my cell was the dark-haired man from the arcade. I turned pale with cold fear, frantically looking to the officer. She had just reached him, about to open her mouth, but he spoke first, his voice unnervingly calm.
“You will release Areya Bennett and her belongings to me, then you will forget I’m here.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she unlocked the door to my cell. Then she left, only to return a minute later with the bags containing all my belongings, holding them out to the man.
He eyed the bag of soiled clothes, his face wrinkling in disgust. “Burn them,” he said, taking the smaller bag, and tucking it into his pocket.
The guard quickly turned and walked away as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening.
Then he stepped into my cell.
Tremors wracked my body as I stared at him, his dark, cold eyes boring into mine, his presence filling the space with an unnatural stillness. I willed my body to stand on legs that were shaking so violently, I had to brace myself against the cell wall.
“You—I have been trying to find for a very long time.”
There wasn’t a hint of amusement in his voice.
He reached behind him and pulled something from his pocket, handing me a pair of black leather gloves. “Put them on, and don’t remove them.”
Without even making a conscious decision to do as the man said, I watched in horror as my hands took hold of the gloves and slid them on obediently, one by one. A whimper escaped as I desperately glanced around, hoping to see the female guard—to find someone, anyone who could help me. But there was no one else, only him now.
“You’re afraid of me.” I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a question.
“Shouldn’t I be?” I managed to whisper.
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Interesting.”
Without another word, he slid his hands inside his pockets, then turned and strode from the cell. I didn’t move, my feet rooted to the spot.
But he glanced back over his shoulder, saying, “Come now, Areya.” His voice was soft but commanding, and against every instinct screaming inside of me, my legs betrayed me, and I found myself following him. This could not be happening.
We passed through the door and into the front of the police station.
There, not one officer so much as glanced our way, even as the voice of a news reporter played on a small TV.
“ Breaking news out of Huddleton tonight. Areya Bennett, a local young female , has been arrested for the suspected murder of her mother.”
The words hit me way too hard, knocking all the breath from my lungs.
The man turned, his eyes locking on mine.
“Areya Bennett, you are going to want to stay very close to me.”
As he walked out of the police station, I felt it, a pull deep within me, as though every fiber of my being demanded my feet to follow him.
And, against all logic, I also wanted to.