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MALLORY
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Several days have gone by. A week, maybe? I have no idea how long I have been here. I refuse to talk, so no one will tell me anything. The punishment works both ways. Or is it really only hurting me? Madeline is probably long gone by now. Off destroying another life. Good thing I never caved and got that Beta fish I had my eye on a few months ago. He’d be dead by now.
Yesterday was fun. Two big ass, nameless dudes in white scrubs came in and manhandled me, the most action I have seen in months. Someone decided that it was a good idea to force a physical on my unwilling body. I was held down, poked, and prodded. So much for consent. No one even bought me dinner first. Withholding human contact is one thing; forcing it is another thing entirely.
“Knock, knock,” someone announces.
Rolling over to face the bars, I see who the voice belongs to. “Oh, look, it’s Detective Protect and Serve, more like Harass and Screw Over.”
“No need to be vile, Miss Moore,” Detective Sloane says.
“Did I say that out loud? My bad. It has been so long since I have spoken to anyone I forgot how talking aloud worked. What can I do for you this fine evening, Detective? Or is it morning? You know, one can never tell when locked inside all the time.”
“Nice to know your good humor is still intact since the arrest,” he comments. “I come bearing news.”
“Oh, well, this can’t be good.” I sit up and give him my full attention. As much as I loathe this guy, I desperately need someone to talk to.
“Why would you say that?” he asks.
“You come in here, saying, ‘I have news’, not good, not bad. Just news. Therefore, it must be bad. Am I wrong?”
“Depends on what side of this news you sit on.” He shrugs his shoulders, looking all too pleased with his clever response. When I say nothing more, he continues. “We have matched your DNA to not only one crime scene, but two. I am adding the murder charge of Paul Wilks to your case. We found so much of your DNA in his apartment, we could make a clone of you. Hey, we could even recreate your dead sister with it.”
I pounce from the bed and charge the bars. Spittle flies from my lips as I seethe my words his way, “Why does everyone keep saying that? Why won’t anyone tell me what happened to Madeline? Are you going to charge me with her murder next? What happened to my sister?” I scream.
He backs away and wipes my spit from his face as I try to press my head between the bars. “Alright, there’s all that rage I knew was in there somewhere. Thank you for finally letting me see it firsthand. I came to relay some news. As you put it, ‘bad news’. My job here is done. You can go back to your solitude now.” That sickly smile sits on his face again, if it can even be called a smile.
“We are not done here. Come back! Where are my parents? Why have I not been allowed to talk to them yet?” He is gone before I am done yelling my demands and questions.
***
“Alright, Moore, pull your pants up. You have a visitor.” I hate this guard the least among them all. I think his name is Rick or Dick. No one ever tells me anything around here, not even names.
“A little privacy would be nice.” Which is impossible. I cut mid-stream and jump up, pulling my cloth bottoms on before anyone can lay their eyes on my goods.
“Who is it?” I ask while he cuffs my hands through the bars, then opens the cell gate.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Walk.” He lightly pushes me forward.
“Mom, Dad!” They sit in metal chairs surrounding a small table. Jumping up, they head my way. My mother is about to cry. Please don’t. If she cries, then I will cry, and that isn’t going to be pretty.
I want to hug them, but Dick didn’t release my restraints. He stands by the door, acting like he is invisible. Dude, you are almost seven feet tall and at least three hundred pounds. Everyone can see you!
“What took you guys so long? I have been locked up for days!” My voice sounds like a whiny child, causing me to cringe immediately. I am not someone that has ever depended on my parents. Of course, I have never been in a situation like this either.
“Mal, honey. They had you on a forty-eight-hour psych hold. There was nothing we could do,” my father says with one hand on my back leading me to a chair.
“Did they not tell you this?” my mother asks.
“No, they haven’t told me anything.”
A small knock on the door interrupts us. Dick opens it and allows the intruder in. Who is this? Slenderman enters the room wearing a charcoal suit and carrying a briefcase. Okay, not Slenderman, but some tall, skinny old guy.
“Mal, this is Robert King. He is the attorney we retained for you. He specializes in criminal defense,” my father explains. “Please come in and have a seat, Mr. King.”
“Okay.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Hello, Mallory. It is nice to finally meet you.” He holds a hand out for me to shake and I just raise my brow and stare at him. “Right, sorry. Let’s get down to business. We don’t have much time.”
Huh? “Why are we short on time? I don’t know much about the law, but I know that time with my defense is essential. Aren’t they supposed to allow that?”
“Oh, we are allowed time,” Mr. King states as he attempts to get comfortable. “I have somewhere to be in a little over an hour. Don’t worry, we can get a lot done in an hour.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but that sounds like a ‘you’ problem. Right now, we are dealing with a ‘me’ problem, and my problems currently trump everyone else’s in this room.”
My mother’s eyes go wide with my sudden outburst. I don’t care.
“Look, I have been arrested and held for days because of a crime I did not commit. There are a lot of questions I need answers to, and this could take much longer than an hour. No telling what will happen to me after this visit. So, if you don’t mind canceling your next appointment, I would like to maximize this time to the fullest.”
No one objects right away. I feel like Mr. King here might try to rebut, so I give him the craziest stare I can summon: ‘I am already in the psych ward, don’t push me, old man’ is what I hope this look relays.
He fumbles for a moment. “Uh, yes. That is understandable. Let me just make a call really quick.” Mr. King stands and pulls a cell phone from his jacket pocket before heading out the door.
“Yes, make it quick, please. Also, the time you take for this call will not be billed to us,” I announce without turning around.
When he’s gone, my mother leans in and brushes some hair out of my face. “Are you okay? Nothing has happened to you while you were in here, has it?”
“What do you mean, Mom? Like, have I been jumped or raped? Yes, both of those things happened within the first hour.” Her gasp is a little dramatic. Meanwhile, my father remains silent and just rolls his eyes.
“I’m kidding. Please, give me a little credit. I would have tried to fight them off, or at least said something about it the moment I entered this room. Besides the food and poor excuse for a mattress, it hasn’t been all that bad. Dick here brought me a book, and I’ve been getting a lot of sleep.”
“Dick?” my mom questions and looks up behind me. “Is Dick a nickname or something? His badge says ‘Jesus’.”
“Oh.” I turn around. “Sorry, my bad. I didn’t even realize you had a badge on. You know, my mind has been elsewhere since we met.”
“Understood,” Jesus muffles. He doesn’t even look Hispanic.
“Anyway,” I start again, focusing back on my parents. “Where is Mason? I thought he was with y’all.”
“He was and is still close by, but they...” My father is interrupted by Mr. King reentering the room.
“Sorry for the delay, folks. You have my full attention. So, Miss Moore, we have a lot to go over. Let’s start with your questions first.”