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MALLORY
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Oh, my head. I should not have drunk all that vodka. I feel like absolute shit. Did someone just come in? I thought I heard the front door close, but it could have been my pounding head. My mouth tastes like what I imagine a litter box tastes like. Vile, dry, and shitty.
The last twenty-four hours are a blur to me. What exactly happened? I went on a date—the first one in many months—with Dr. Pratt. It didn’t go very well, and I think that was mainly my fault. I was looking for an out, a reason for us not to be a couple. I took the first opportunity and pounced on it. He never stood a chance against my shattered heart.
What happened after that? I feel like there is more buried beneath the fog. Something that sent me off the deep end.
It comes to me as I brush my teeth for the third time. Oh my God! Shawn! “Shawn is dead!” I say aloud, making the memory real.
The police were here questioning me about it. They said he was with Amy, and she was also dead. Someone killed them. How? How is this all happening? I’m surprised they were together without me knowing. I didn’t even think they liked each other.
Wait a minute. Am I a suspect? I reach into my back pocket and pull out the card Officer Jones left me. She told me not to go anywhere. As in, I am not allowed to leave town. They must have eyes on me. I am the last person they should suspect in this. I didn’t keep up with either of them.
Hell, I didn’t even know they were having an affair. Because they had to have been having an affair. She said they have been living together for six months. Shawn and I have only been apart for that long. Who moves in with someone right after a break-up? I’ll tell you who, someone that was already seeing that other person.
I feel hurt from this betrayal, but not as much as I would feel if they were still alive. I mean, they died. They are dead. They got murdered, together, like...no, it is nothing like Romeo and Juliet. Stop trying to romanticize this, Mallory. Every fiber within me is not happy, and I have no idea what to think about any of this.
It’s Saturday, and the laundry room is sure to be packed. I didn’t get any loads done yesterday, but there is no other option. I could take my three loads of clothes and sheets to a larger, outside laundromat, but what transportation would I use? Paul has given me rides before, but I haven’t seen him in a few days and would feel weird asking for a favor after he brushed me off the last time I saw him. Maybe if I just wait until later this afternoon, it won’t be so bad.
Taking my time in the shower—I spend most of it crying about Shawn—I exit, not as refreshed as I usually feel after a long shower. My body hurts, and it might have something to do with my constant visits to the toilet. That vodka really did me wrong. I am paying for it today.
This also reminds me that a trip to the grocery store is needed soon, as I am almost out of toilet paper. I could always order delivery from the local Tom Thumb. Those fees really bug me, though. I mean, they are already upcharging everything, and we have to leave a tip! Tedious problems enter my mind while I try to avoid the big ones.
Do Mad’s sheets need to be washed? She has been here for over a week. That’s sad. My sister has been here for over a week, and I still haven’t made the time for her. Granted, she seems to sleep all day and is awake all hours of the night. The girl is not very accommodating, but I guess, neither am I.
Entering the kitchen, I see that Mad finally made the spaghetti and meatballs she spent my money on. There is a leftover container in the fridge, so I heat it up as my late morning breakfast.
Oh, this is good. She was always the best at this. It has been so long since I have tasted a home-cooked meal.
I should call my mom. Things have just been a little off with us since Mason moved away for college. He doesn’t like me anymore. This is known. Maybe not known by my parents, but I see it. Or at least I saw it the last time I was around him, which has been close to four years now. I never did anything to him. He has no reason to hate me.
Mason might not actually hate me. He is just distant. I never talk to him. The only news I hear about him is from my parents, and that is scarce. It’s sad because we were once close, much closer than my twin sister and I ever were.
Trying not to fall into a food coma this early in the day, I clean up the house before venturing out. It is already two in the afternoon; people are sure to have better things than laundry to do on a beautiful Saturday.
Lugging my dirty loads of clothes down the stairs is always a chore. I will come back for the sheets once I see what the machine situation is. I haven’t seen my sister yet, but will pester her about the bedding when I get back. I step into the courtyard and the bright daylight hits me.
There is a commotion about. Several residents idle around. When I look up, I see police officers outside of one building. The building next to the laundry room. The building that Paul, my annoying neighbor, lives in.
What’s going on here? I hope the laundry room isn’t off limits. I don’t have enough clean scrubs to get me through the next week. Marching onward, set on my task, not caring about the onlookers. I need to do laundry, and now is my time to do it.
“Oh, shit,” I call out a little too loudly, but I don’t think she heard me.
Officer Jones is there, not even thirty feet from me. She is talking to the building manager, and it looks heated. Should I keep going? I mean, I did nothing wrong.
Just go about your business as if it is a normal Saturday, Mal. Even though it isn’t a normal Saturday. Nothing about this is normal because you always do laundry on Fridays. Chill! I try telling myself. Last week I did it on Thursday. This week is also different. It’s like I’m a rebel. One step in front of the other, everything will be okay.
Whew, I made it. No one even saw me. I start two loads since that is what I have in hand and that is exactly how many washers are free. Looks like I will have to wait until these are done before I bring down the sheets.
Turning to make my exit, I come face to face with Officer Jones. “Miss Moore, just the person I was about to go see. Is today laundry day?”
“Uh, not typically, but I didn’t get around to it yesterday, so here I am. Laundry on a Saturday. Guess you can go ahead and write that down in your little notebook. Can I list you as someone to corroborate my whereabouts, or would that be considered conflicting evidence?” I don’t know why I feel the need to be snarky to this woman. It just unfolds without my approval.
“I don’t think today is going to matter much, but yesterday will. Where were you yesterday?” she asks.
I have to think about this for a minute because yesterday is still a bit fuzzy. “Well, I was with you in the morning. You know this as you and your partner were the ones to wake me up. After that... I don’t know, it’s a bit of a blur. I got some disturbing news yesterday morning. One minute I was told that my ex-boyfriend was having an affair with my old roommate, then the next minute, I was informed that they were dead. Not only dead, but murdered. It was a lot to take in. So, I regret to tell you I spent the rest of yesterday in a drunken stupor thanks to Mr. Smirnoff and someone else. Who was it? Oh, it was you. Because you were the one to deliver that unfortunate news.”
“Do you have anyone to vouch for you? Was there anyone with you while you dove into this drunken stupor and stayed inside all day?” Her lips purse as if she already knows the answer.
Balking, I fumble for an answer. “How many people are around you while you are in a depressive state? I am going out on a limb here, but will answer for you. Not many, if any, I am sure. No, after you and your partner left, I was alone in my sorrows, just as I prefer.” I can tell by the look on her face that she has no sympathy for me.
“Wait!” I announce. “My sister was there. I clearly remember her helping me to bed. You can ask her.”
“Okay, this helps. Is she home now?”
“I think she is in bed. Do we need to wake her? She isn’t the most pleasant person to deal with.” I grit my teeth, hoping we do not have to involve Mad just yet.
She shakes her head. “Look, I am in the middle of investigating a crime scene right now. How about you and your sister come down to the station? We have a lot of questions for the two of you. Can you come tonight, say about five? That gives me at least an hour to finish up here and do my paperwork.”
“Yeah, we can manage that,” I answer.
“Good.” She nods and pockets her notebook. “Do you know where to go? Do you still have my card?”
“Yes, I have it, and I know where to go. We will be there.”