19. Elle
19
ELLE
N ever in my wildest nightmares could I have imagined something as humiliating as this. I’m being treated like a criminal. Like a liar. And I don’t know how to make them listen to me.
That feeling of utter helplessness is so terrifying that I can barely think straight. Bright lights seem to flash constantly inside my own mind, dulling my senses and making me stupid. I try to draw in a deep breath to clear my head, but the pressure around my chest is so intense that I can barely make my lungs expand at all. It feels as if someone is standing on top of my chest.
“You will be charged with vandalism,” Mike Paulsen says.
He’s the police officer who has been interrogating me. Though I’m not sure if it can be called an interrogation since I have barely said anything. I need to defend myself. I know that. But my mind has just been a jumble of screaming panic since the moment they handcuffed me and put me in their car .
I glance down at my hands in my lap. At least I’m not in handcuffs anymore. But I still feel extremely trapped.
The room around me is quite small and there are only three pieces of furniture in it. A metal table. The hard chair I’m sitting on. And the chair that Mike Paulsen is sitting on opposite me. The walls were probably white once upon a time, but they look more beige in some places now. A few coffee stains are splattered on the wall by the door. I stare at them for a second, trying frantically to compose myself, before I meet my interrogator’s gaze again.
“If found guilty, it could lead to steep fines,” Officer Paulsen continues. His brown eyes are stern and serious as he locks them on me. “And jail time.”
I jerk back as if he had slapped me.
“That got your attention,” he says, narrowing his eyes. He is silent for a few seconds before adding, “You need to start answering my questions. Why did you do it?”
I open my mouth to tell him that I didn’t, but my throat closes up and I can’t get the words out. Squeezing my hands into fists in my lap, I bend forward slightly to try to ease the pressure on my ribcage.
Paulsen slams his palm down onto the table. “Answer me.”
The sound of the hit is like a gunshot through the room. It slams into me and snaps me out of my panicked stupor by sheer force.
I suck in a deep breath, finally refilling my lungs fully.
“It wasn’t me,” I gasp out.
Only silence answers me.
At last, I sit up straight again and meet Mr. Paulsen’s gaze once more. He’s scowling at me.
“It wasn’t me,” I repeat. “I swear. ”
“Do you know how many people say that exact thing in this room?” he says, sounding suddenly tired.
“But it’s true.” Desperation bleeds into my voice, and I raise my hands to motion at my own body. “Do I really look like someone who spends her nights smashing up old gym halls with bats and axes?”
“You’d be surprised by the number of crimes that seemingly ordinary-looking people commit.”
“I don’t…” Frustration washes over me. Raking my fingers through my hair, I release a long miserable breath and then meet his stern eyes again. “I didn’t do this.”
“You were standing in the middle of the room, holding the bag of tools that were used to cause the destruction.”
“I was set up.”
“By who?”
“Tristan Kane.”
His gaze sharpens, but all he says is, “Explain.”
“He was blackmailing me, and he told me that he would stop if I did him a favor. I agreed. He told me to go to that gym tonight, pick up the bag hidden outside the door, and then go inside and wait for someone to show up. I thought it might be drugs, and I didn’t want to get caught up in that, so I looked through the bag. But there were only tools in it.”
“And you didn’t find that suspicious?”
“Of course I did,” I say, some of that frustration leaking into my voice. “But like I said, he was blackmailing me. So I went inside anyway to wait for whoever I was supposed to give the bag to. But they of course never showed up. It wasn’t until you arrived that I realized that I had been set up.”
Mike says nothing. Sitting back in his chair, he watches me for a while. The clock on the pale wall ticks loudly into the silence .
“Do you have any evidence to support this claim?” he asks eventually. “Any tangible evidence at all?”
I squirm slightly in my seat and wring my hands in my lap as I drop my gaze and admit, “No.”
If only Tristan hadn’t seen right through me when I barged into his bedroom. Then I would’ve had an audio recording of him admitting that he had set me up by planting a knife in my clothes. That would’ve proved that he was already blackmailing me. But unfortunately, that cunning snake anticipated my move. So I have nothing.
“I see,” Mike Paulsen replies. “While you, on the other hand, had both the means and the opportunity. Not to mention that we caught you red-handed at the scene.”
My gaze darts up to his and I throw my arms out in desperation. “But I don’t have a motive. Don’t I need to have a motive too?”
“For vandalism? It could be something as simple as you blowing off some steam.”
“If I want to blow off steam, I go for a run. I don’t vandalize property!”
Ignoring me, he simply presses on with, “If we check those tools for fingerprints, will we find yours there?”
Hopelessness crashes into me as I stare back at him pleadingly. “Yes. But like I said, that’s only because I looked through the bag because I was worried there might be drugs in it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Please. I am telling you the truth. It was Tristan Kane. He has a vendetta against me for something that happened back when we were in high school, so he blackmailed me and then he set me up to take the fall for this.”
Officer Paulsen just watches me in silence for a few seconds. Then he starts gathering up the papers on the table in front of him, getting ready to leave.
Panic and terror sear through my veins.
“Please,” I beg again. “I’ll pay whatever fines you want. I’ll do whatever you want. Just, please… don’t formally charge me. I can’t have a criminal record.”
“That’s not how this works,” he says.
Then he gets up.
And leaves.
The door clicks shut behind him.
That awful sound sends a spike of fear through me. I suck in a shuddering breath, but the pressure on my chest is once more increasing.
Still seated on that hard chair by the metal table, I stare at the coffee stains on the white wall next to the door and focus on trying to breathe.
The clock ticks loudly into the dead silence.
And the hours drag on.
It feels as if someone has gripped both of my lungs and is squeezing them hard.
I’m going to be charged with vandalism. I’m going to have a criminal record. I’m going to get kicked out of Bercester U. My parents are going to hate me. My dad is never going to be able to look at me again. I will never be able to go into politics myself. I will never be able to get a good job. I won’t even be able to get a good degree.
Oh, God.
My future is?—
The door is abruptly pulled open.
I blink, snapping out of my spiraling panic and back to reality, as Officer Paulsen walks across the threshold. But he doesn’t return to the table. Instead, he stops two steps into the room and motions towards the door, which someone on the outside is holding open.
“You’re free to go.”
The words reach me, but I can’t seem to process them. Paulsen raises his eyebrows and shoots me a pointed look.
At last, his words finish echoing through my stunned mind. My mouth drops open.
“I am?” I blurt out.
“Yes. All charges against you have been dropped.”
I scramble up from my chair. I’m just about to ask him why he’s releasing me, but thankfully, I manage to stop myself before I can actually do it. The fact that he is letting me go is a miracle, and I’m not about to risk anything by asking stupid questions.
So instead, I dip my chin in a sign of respect and say, “Thank you.”
He says nothing. Only watches me with unreadable brown eyes as I walk past him.
I keep expecting him, or one of his colleagues, to stop me. To jump out in front of me and grab me. To tell me that it was just a cruel joke. But none of them do.
However, I still keep my mouth firmly shut and keep all my confused questions to myself. My entire body remains on high alert until I have finally walked out the front door and into the warm night beyond.
Then, and only then, do I dare to draw in a deep breath of relief.
It’s almost midnight, so the area around the police station is dark and quiet. Only the yellow pools of light from the streetlamps break up the blackness of night. I stagger a step forward, towards the road ahead.
My head is spinning. My nerves are raw. And my heart aches. This was the worst night of my life. I just want to sit down and bawl my eyes out and then sleep for a week. And then, after that, I want to break into Tristan’s room and rip it apart with my bare hands and then shove a knife into his heart.
God above, I don’t think I have ever been this utterly exhausted and this blindingly furious at the same time before.
“You’re welcome.”
I jump.
Whirling around, I whip my head from side to side, frantically searching for the source of the voice. I jerk back in surprise as I find a man leaning against the wall behind me. He’s positioned to the right of the front door, in a spot where he can’t be seen from inside the police station. Which is why I didn’t see him when I walked out.
Recovering, I flick a quick glance up and down his body.
He’s wearing a black baseball hat and a gray hoodie that zips up in the front. In the dark, and beneath his cap, it’s difficult to see his features clearly. But he somehow manages to both look casual and intimidating at the same time as he stands there, his arms crossed over his chest and leaning one shoulder against the wall.
“I’m sorry?” I say, and glance from side to side since I’m not even sure if he was talking to me.
But there is no one else here.
He pushes off from the wall and straightens, letting his arms drop down by his sides. Then he takes a step towards me. “I said, you’re welcome.”
I instinctively take a step back.
He notices that, and hesitates for a second. Then he continues towards me again. “I’m not going to hurt you. If I had it in for you, I wouldn’t have made sure that they dropped the charges against you.”
I’m halfway to telling him that I need to go when his words register. Freezing mid-step, I stare at him with my mouth slightly open. He uses my moment of surprise to close the final distance between us. But he doesn’t do anything else. He simply stops in front of me.
This close, I can see his face better. His eyes are gray, and he has a fairly forgettable face which also makes it difficult to tell his age. Though I would guess somewhere between twenty-five and thirty.
“You got them to drop the charges?” I manage to press out at last.
“Yes,” he replies.
“Why?” Staring at him, I shake my head. “Who are you?”
“Who am I?” He tilts his head back and looks up at the dark sky for a few seconds. Then he heaves a deep sigh before tipping his head back down and meeting my gaze again. “I’m someone who wants to see justice done.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I can help you. If you help me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You said that Tristan Kane was blackmailing you.”
I start slightly, stunned that he knew that.
He chuckles, and nods towards the police station behind me. “I have a lot of friends in there.”
“I…” I shake my head again, feeling more confused than ever. “I still don’t understand what you want.”
“I can keep you from getting arrested on false charges again. And keep you from getting expelled from your university.”
Hope flares up inside me .
He must have been able to tell, because he raises a finger in warning and adds, “If you do something for me.”
“Do what?”
“I want to know about Tristan Kane’s movements. I want to know where he goes. Who he sees. And what they’re doing.”
“Why?” Suspicion twists inside my chest like cold snakes as I narrow my eyes at the stranger. “Who are you? Who is Tristan to you?”
He holds my gaze, his face an unreadable mask. “All you need to know about me is that I am someone who wants to see justice done.”
“I—”
“This is the only offer you’re going to get. Take it or leave it.”
Indecision swirls through me. On the one hand, I’m wary of making deals with strangers that I know nothing about. But on the other hand, I really do need his help. When Tristan finds out that I haven’t been arrested and expelled, he’s going to come after me again. And like he threatened earlier, he only needs to succeed once while I need to anticipate his moves and evade them every time. But if I have a safety net, someone who can get me off the hook when Tristan sets me up, it changes the entire game.
And besides, this stranger has already proven that his word is good. I went from definitely getting charged to released with all charges dropped within a few hours. If he can do that, he certainly has influence over the police force just like he claimed.
I lick my lips.
“Well?” he prompts. “What’s it gonna be?”
“Deal,” I reply .
His mouth curves up in a lopsided smile. “Good.” Then he holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
I hesitantly hand it over. He seems amused by my caution, but doesn’t comment on it. All he does is to simply take my phone and dial a number.
A distinct vibrating sound comes from his pocket.
He ends the call.
“Save my number,” he says as he hands me my phone back. But when I take it, he doesn’t release it. Instead, he remains holding it while locking commanding eyes on me. “And text me with updates.”
“I won’t be able to follow him around all the time,” I say, still holding on to my side of the phone. “I have class.”
“I know.”
I’m just about to ask if that means that he’s okay with only getting sporadic updates, but before I can get a word out, he abruptly releases my phone and starts walking away.
“Wait,” I say. “What should I call you?”
“Call me whatever you like,” he replies while he keeps walking.
Standing there, my phone still in one hand, all I do is to stare after him as he disappears into the darkness. I should feel worried. Or at least unsettled. But I’m not.
Instead, I only feel fire burn through me. I feel like something inside me has snapped. I trusted Tristan, I did everything he said, and he screwed me over. If it’s war he wants, it’s war he’ll get.
No more holding back.