Lee Holmes stood with the phone still pressed firmly between the fingers on her left hand after hanging up, wrapping them around the screen as she closed her eyes and exhaled. Preparing for each and every day as of late was like preparing to jump over hurdle after hurdle time and time again. Even after her breakup with Morgan, the mental Olympics she was having to commit to wasn’tbeginningto wear her down, it had reduced her to nothing more than an empty shell. The further she pushed herself, the harder it became to jump.
She had always found it interesting how her mind was always clouded around other human beings, as if she couldn’t see through the smoke until every other person was no longer in it themselves, as if they were emitting their own fog just by being around her. Latching onto the thoughts she required when holding up a conversation had always been difficult for her, and after disconnecting the call with Diana, today was no different.
Her thoughts at that very moment latched onto the flowers that lined the hallway, namely, the flowers that connected Morgan to The Hyacinth Homicides. It was only then that a laugh escaped her lips as she placed a hand over her mouth, as if acknowledging etiquette despite no one else being in the room besides her. She laughed, because in thirty minutes, she would either leave here in handcuffs, or, just about every cop in the area would be sent to apprehend her ex-girlfriend.
And then—another latching thought.
Either option was likely only plausible if the hyacinths still remained in their apartment by the time the detective arrived.
If flowers were known to have a calming aura, these particular flowers had lost their calm connotations completely.
Decisions were just passing thoughts, that’s all they were, Lee deduced. A passing thought today might look completely different than a passing thought tomorrow. The actions she undertook, or didn’t undertake, might take place or not take place in another timeline, another day, another universe. Even so, Lee Holmes did not have the time or luxury of being philosophical.
The passing thought that she had that day was all that mattered.
Before she could latch onto another decision within her mind, and change the future in a different way, she grabbed the closest pot and carried it into the kitchen. Placing it onto the counter, she took a pair of scissors and cut each hyacinth in rapid succession, throwing them into the sink before placing the plug inside. Turning on the tap now, she reached into the cupboard to her left whilst the water filled and retrieved a tub of baking soda. She flicked open the lid, turned off the tap, and poured. “This is fucking insane,” she said aloud, as if convincing herself to turn back time and put the flowers back exactly where she had left them.I swear I had no idea, officer. I’ve always just admired the pretty flowers.“What thefuckam I doing?”
As the flowers dissolved alongside what was left of her innocence, she replicated the same action a total of six times to account for the remaining flowers, leaving herself with seven plant pots filled with nothing more now than roots, and soil. She was completely aware presently that with the little time she had, the only option as to removing the soil was to pour it into the drain. She sighed at the prospect of potentially causing the greatest clog known to man, as she carried two pots at a time into the bathroom, pouring the contents into the bathtub. Just as she had done before, she turned the tap on and made her way back into the kitchen, grabbing her baking soda once again and a bottle of vinegar as an additional measure. Before she made herway back to the bathroom, she turned on the kettle to prepare some boiling water.
Pouring both the baking soda and vinegar into the bath, she created a nasty brown concoction sprinkled with white powder floating at the top. With the water from the taps still present, she returned to the kitchen in order to retrieve the kettle before pouring it down the bathtub drain in a vague attempt at separating the dirt as much as possible.If all that comes of this is a clogged drain, I will never ask anything of anyone ever again,she thought to herself.
Her phone taunted her on the side of the bath as she continued her work, practically falling into the tub as the vibration moved it closer towards the edge. She grabbed it with slightly wet hands before it became submerged within the makeshift-soup she was creating, illuminating the screen to see that Sienna had texted her back. She considered reading the message her reprieve; a way of postponing the inevitable upon the detective’s arrival. An electronic purgatory.
Sienna 10:35am: Girl, you have nothing to apologize for. We’ve both been dealt a shit hand recently. I’m not quite ready to talk about Dylan, there’s still a lot of hurt there that feels too fresh to uncover right away, but I would love it if you came and looked at some apartments with me! I’m working on a budget so you can help me find something affordable but cute. P.S. I love you too. x
Lee allowed herself a smile at that moment, acknowledging that despite the fact that her world was crumbling around her, there were still tiny pieces—pieces like Sienna, Kat, and Natalie, that were still intact.
Lee H 10:36am: Cute and affordable are my two middle names. I can’t wait. We’ll chat about it soon. x
Typing the word ‘soon’ felt like allowing herself a future—manifesting the idea that in a few days she would be looking at apartments with Sienna as opposed to stewing in a jail cell. Sienna would look at that text and see nothing more than a collection of words upon her screen, but to Lee, they meant everything, because without ‘soon’ she had nothing.
When the act was completed in its entirety, Lee Holmes just about keeled over. Her fitness watch was in the process of congratulating her for completing her cardio for the day when the doorbell rang. Finalizing the cleaning of the tub in case the detective desired to use the toilet, she wiped herself down, flattened her hair slightly, and left the rest up to chance.
Standing in the newly empty hallway that felt as if it may swallow her whole, she closed her eyes and exhaled. She wasn’t exactly centered, but all things considered, she was the closest to centered that she could be at the given time. Upon opening her eyes, she cracked her neck at the same time she cracked open the door, greeting the detective she had met before at the station with a toothy grin and partially lifeless eyes, the same detective that had interviewed her about the disappearance of Edward Beckett. “Good morning, detective. Please, do come in. Excuse the mess.”
Fortunately, the mess that she described consisted primarily of a few dirty dishes and some discarded newspapers that Morgan had yet to throw away as opposed to dozens of hyacinths connected to a serial killer and multiple bloody floorboards. Despite knowing how thorough both herself and Morgan had been in relation to cleaning up, Lee Holmes still felt as if she was currently taking an exam, whereby the detective was grading her efficiency at disposal.
As he stepped inside the threshold, the first positive sign was that he didn’t grimace at the smell, suggesting that she could tick that fear off her list at the very least.
The next positive sign was that he handed her his coat in order to hang it on the rack towards the left of her, which implied that he didn’t necessarily feel a dire need to promptly arrest her, or perhaps worse, run in the direction from which he had just come from. She took his coat with more enthusiasm than was required for taking one's coat, which was to say she nodded and smiled too much, as if his outer attire was some kind of award, and she had just won it. Placing the coat upon the rack, she extended a hand towards the kitchen, attempting to have the both of them vacate the hallway in which dozens of hyacinths had resided only twenty minutes prior.
“Tea, coffee?” Lee asked, already making her way over towards the kettle at the far end of the kitchen. Choosing the kitchen as opposed to the living room for the interview was the smarter option, but in order to sell this particular room to the detective, she would have to provide adequate reasoning as to her choice. “I recently acquired some toffee hot chocolate as well if you’d like that instead.”
Accepting her sales pitch, the detective nodded as he settled into one of the stools against the kitchen island; Morgan’s stool, or at least, it was, she acknowledged. “A hot chocolate would beperfect. I’m trying to cut back on the caffeine. Adopting healthier habits, as they say. Thank you, Lee.”
Lee wanted to say at that moment that she was adopting healthier habits herself by packing up her belongings in preparation of moving to a new apartment. An apartment in which a murder had not taken place. Naturally, she didn’t. Instead, she pulled the now steaming hot cup out of the microwave and placed it in front of the detective before sitting down beside him. She acknowledged etiquette.
“So…” Lee said, watching as the detective blew on the cup. It reminded her of Morgan. “I’m more than happy to answer any questions you might have for me. Go ahead.”
Lee Holmes was not, in any way, happy to answer any questions, nor did she want the detective to go ahead, but cooperating as enthusiastically as possible seemed like the best route to take at that very moment, and so, she took it.
The detective took his first sip of hot chocolate, moaning into the cup in the process. Lee tried not to appreciate the fact that his being distracted by the taste of the hot chocolate could potentially save her from a lifetime in prison. “Thank you,” he said, putting the cup down. “I’ll try and make it quick. We have a lot of tenants to get through, though, in all honesty, not a lot to say, so I should be out of your hair before this hot chocolate becomes cold chocolate,” he joked, laughing in the process.
The joke wasn’t in any way humorous to Lee, and yet, she forced a laugh out anyway, if only to dispel the awkwardness that was presently sitting between the both of them, lingering like a bad smell. The irrational part of her brain told her that all she needed to do to stay out of prison was offer hot beverages and laugh at the detective's poor attempts at humor. “Excellent.” she said. “Fire away.”
“May I ask where you were on the night of Edward Beckett’s disappearance? Namely the 4th of September.”
Lee deliberated as to whether to pause, as if trying to pinpoint a memory, except, the act seemed futile given the fact that the date corresponded with her anniversary with Morgan. It dawned on her simultaneously that this second experience with the same detective felt surprisingly easier than the first time, as if she had become acclimatized to lying in order to save her own skin only after two attempts. “Morgan—Diana’s daughter, and I were celebrating our five-year anniversary. We donated some items to charity after dinner at the apartment, and we had a few drinks after that, and then we went to bed.”
