Page 12 of Relapse

I hadn’t had a moment to breathe before someone came in with a plastic evidence bag, ushering to the bloodied dress that still clung to my skin. “We need your clothes,” the woman said abruptly. “For processing,” she added, like that made it less invasive.

I wasn’t exactly sure what this woman’s title was, or if she could even legally ask me to strip and give over my clothes, but I complied, trying my best to be cooperative. Every thread of the dress felt heavier now that I stood up, knowing it’d be sealed, labeled, and handled by strangers wearing gloves.

In a bittersweet way, I remembered how I had been so thrilled to purchase the dress with Chelsea. It was a perfect fit, and it allowed me to see myself in a way I never envisioned before. For one night, I actually felt beautiful.

That feeling was gone now.

I knew why the police needed the dress—I was harboring a piece of evidence that could mean solving a brutal attack. No pressure, my mind chimed in.

Before I could ask what I was going to wear instead, the officer handed me a set of scrubs, pale green and thin as paper. This was the kind they gave to patients, but I guess they didn’t have anything else to offer me. I wasn’t going to complain.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

The woman stepped outside, just enough so I could close the remainder of the door and begin to peel off the dress. Through the door, I could hear the faint beep of a monitor, the squeak of wheels against tile, the low murmur of nurses passing by. Life went on out there. In here, though, it felt like something was waiting to die. Or worse, someone had already died, and I was wearing the last of his blood. The morbid idea brought goosebumps to my arms.

The dress bunched around my ankles, and I kicked off my heels before slipping free of it entirely. The chill of the tile seeped into my bare feet, and I cringed. It was then that I noticed the blood stained darkly around my calves, and partially on my shoes. I swallowed nervously, picking the dress off from the floor and sliding my arms into the scrubs.

This was my first time getting to see the dress in front of me, not on, since the attacker fled. I gazed down at the lacy fabrics, the white crystal like sewing tainted red with the blood of Noah’s dying father. I shuddered.

The female officer returned abruptly and I yanked the scrubs closed, covering myself. I tried to watch the placement of my hands on the dress and attempted to fold it neatly on the table.

“Don’t bother,” The officer said, coming forward with blue gloves to grab and shove my clothes into a plastic bag.

“Let’s chat,” she finally said, ushering to me as she folded over the bag, sealing it closed with tape. She tore off the gloves in one fluid motion, tossing them in the trash can by the door.

I eyed her name tag, and as though she were reading my mind, she said, “Officer Richmond. I’ll be taking your statement tonight.”

“Okay,” I said with a little nod. “What do you need to know?”

She pulled out a notepad and pen. “Start from the beginning. How did you get an invite to the Hansens’ ball?”

I took a deep breath. I wanted to be as detailed as possible, to try and help.

“I was invited by Noah Hansen, the chief’s youngest son.”

“And how do you know Noah?”

He saved my life, I thought.

“We go to school together,” I answered, trying not to provide unnecessary information.

“About how long were you at the event before the stabbing occurred?”

I began going through some of the timeline in my mind. Arrival. Dancing with Noah. Noah’s mom. Damian asked me for a dance. David appeared briefly. Waiting for Noah. Noah wanted to leave.

“I am not too sure, it couldn’t have been more than about an hour or so. Maybe a bit longer.”

“And you were with Noah the entire time?”

I paused. I didn’t want my answers to sound bad, but the truth was, no. Noah was actually gone for most of our time together.

“No, his mom actually went to dance with him, and we were separated for a bit.”

The officer nodded and scribbled something down on the pad.

“What did you do during that time apart?”

“I…went and got punch. I sat and waited for him to be done.”