Chapter Eleven
Lee had never felt the collar on one of her shirts before as it lay across her neck without extending a hand to touch it first. She had never compared her heartbeat to that of a marching band—her body on high alert. Always the gazelle, never the lion.
Now the headlights were approaching, and no matter how many times she peered left or right, the outcome was always the same.
She could jump out of the way and be met by snakes, or alternatively, spiders.
Spiders had a way of burrowing their way inside and hatching their eggs—hundreds of tiny moving parts.
Lee Holmes would sooner choose the snakes. Except, within these four walls, she didn’t have the luxury of choice.
The detective had a kind voice, a voice reserved for children’s books and documentaries, perhaps.
His pleasant voice matched his equally kind exterior, sporting a graying beard against his dark skin as he placed a hand towards his face to scratch it.
Just as Lee had felt the fabric of her collar against her neck without even touching it, she felt the saliva in her mouth as it traveled down her throat.
When it was gone, her tongue was dry. “May I have some water?”
There wasn’t a river in a thousand miles that could quench her thirst at that moment, though she would gladly indulge in drinking an entire ocean if only to stall for time.
She could hear the rattling of the snakes beside her ears now.
How was it possible that Edward was alone, and not with her girlfriend as he made his way up to the apartment?
She remembered her first day at school at that moment, and the abandonment she felt upon her mother leaving.
She remembered feeling too young to be there, and yet too old to experience the thoughts she felt at the same time, pondering the idea that she needed to know all of the answers to the universe before she had even stepped inside the gates.
She felt like that now, in this room, completely abandoned and terrified of saying the wrong thing.
Lee Holmes was playing checkers with the detective, and yet, it appeared that he had elected to play chess. She wasn’t prepared for chess.
A gentle looking man with bags under his eyes entered the room and placed a ceramic mug with the station's logo upon the table.
Lee indulged in its contents immediately, gulping it down in two swift movements.
He stood firmly in place, his hands behind his back like a trained soldier whilst the detective pushed on.
“I understand that this is a lot to take in, Miss Holmes. May I call you Lee?” the detective asked, leaning forward in his chair as if to invade her space.
Lee couldn’t help but compare the situation to her own actions in the kitchen just an hour before, cornering Morgan for the answers she craved.
Before she could respond, he continued. “This is no small thing, and I’m not just talking about the fact that a man is missing.
I’m talking about sitting here, in this room, under these lights.
It’s a lot. The sooner we get your side of the story, the sooner we can get you out from under these lights. Out of that uncomfortable chair.”
It had yet to occur to Lee that the chair was in fact uncomfortable, too busy focusing on what the next few minutes of this conversation could look like. The possibility that the next thing that came out of her mouth could determine her entire life.
Morgan, too egotistical in her ways that she had gotten away with it, hadn’t weaved a story in relation to their midnight charity escapades for Lee that she was prepared to recite word for word to cover the both of them and their lack of involvement.
Even if she had, would Lee even wish to tell it?
Furthermore, what story was Morgan weaving in her own interrogation? Lee murdered him, officer. I was there.
Lee Holmes grasped the cup between her hands; her fingers wrapped so firmly around its cold exterior she feared it might break. That she might break. “Do you have a picture of this man that I might look at? I don’t know how much help I can be without one.”
The detective peered over towards the man with bags under his eyes, nodding him out of the room as if the pair of them had an unspoken understanding of one another. “I can do you one better,” he offered. “I can present the CCTV footage of Mr Beckett entering the elevator.”
Suddenly, it felt as if Lee was standing upon the tip of a needle, careful not to tip over the edge to the endless freefall below, whilst equally careful as not to be pricked by the unforgiving point of it.
“Excellent,” she practically whispered, thwarting herself internally for drinking her water so fast, if only to allow herself a means of seeming occupied with something, anything, other than what was happening within the room.
After a few awkward moments of silence, a small black television set was brought in on an equally black table that housed a set of wheels, much like she had experienced at school when it was time to watch a video.
Just like the snakes, she would much sooner take a children’s movie over what she was about to witness.
It would seem almost comical, if not for where she currently found herself.
The tape was inserted with a click, and the screen came to life, as did Edward Beckett.
Standing in the lobby of her apartment complex was a thin, wiry, older man with graying hair and a slight stubble across his face.
Lee had half expected horns to come protruding from out of his head given what she knew about him.
A pitchfork in one hand and a ball of fire in the other.
Yet as he stood there, waiting for the elevator, he just looked…
ordinary. It terrified her that he looked ordinary.
Lee Holmes didn’t need a mirror to realize that the color had completely drained from her cheeks.
It had only occurred to her at that moment that Edward Beckett, regardless of how awful he was, was once a living, breathing, being.
It seemed almost foreign to watch him standing there, now, unbeknown of what was to come.
He would be immortalized forever within the confines of a screen, and simultaneously, had perished forever because of what Morgan had done to him.
Everyone was destined to leave this world eventually, Lee pondered.
But was this always Edward Beckett’s destiny?
One moment, he was standing there, the next, the elevator door had opened and suddenly he was just…
gone. It was symbolic, almost, Lee thought, as Edward Beckett stepped out of view—stepping into doors like stepping into fate.
Stepping into oblivion. “Is there any footage of him leaving the elevator?”
Lee surprised herself at the question. She wasn’t sure why she asked, exactly. Perhaps to seem less guilty. Perhaps because she wanted to know where Edward and Morgan’s paths collided. Perhaps both.
The detective shook his head. “Unfortunately, this is all we have. The CCTV is working on every floor besides yours. I would have told you that this is out of the ordinary, but the landlord at your apartment complex tells me that it’s been dysfunctional for months.”
Another question forced its way to the front of Lee’s mind. And then another. She kept both close to her chest. Did Morgan have something to do with the CCTV? Was she lying about having never brought someone back to the apartment before?
Lee Holmes coughed, if only to alleviate the newly formed silence in the room and to dull the voices in her head.
She had already helped Morgan dispose of the body, and yet, somehow, disposing of a body somehow insanely felt easier than lying about disposing of a body.
“Miss Holmes, Lee,” he corrected. “I don’t mean to push you, but this is a large floor, and we have multiple residents to witness. Have you seen this man before?”
She felt the collar of her shirt again without even touching it. She felt the blood inside her body as it kept her alive. She felt the power evaporate from her like steam from a hot shower. “No, detective. I’m afraid I haven’t.”