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“What are you talking about?” I fired back at her. She scared the shit out of me with her outburst, and I gripped my chair tight against the anxiety she was causing.
“That creep you slept with totally has something to do with this!” she screamed and nearly crawled up the chair. The officers didn’t make her leave, and I looked between them for help.
“With what? No one has said anything!” I was growing irritated with the gated information. “How am I supposed to help if you won’t tell me what you really need? Are you waiting for me to slip up without proper legal representation? I can call my father.” I fired off the questions to Detective Bishop and the officer who stood near him. If he hadn’t made connections about my father, then there was no help if he fucked up procedure.
“Ms. Laughtery, one of your classmates was the victim in a violent accident. I’m not here to trick you or sew mistrust. I apologize. It seems the information hasn’t gotten around to her peers just yet. Trisha Manohen was murdered the night of the party and her body was found at the park the next morning.” Detective Bishop continued talking, but I stopped listening.Murdered?
The other man was speaking now. “Ms. Laughtery?”
“I’m sorry, but I still don’t see how this has anything to do with the man I slept with.”
“It totally does! Trisha bumped into him, and he totally creeped on her!” Kiera was shouting again, and they let her continue this outburst.
“Is this really necessary for our conversation?” I blurted out. My patience was burned up.
“Kiera, Bexley was with him for most of the night. He couldn’t have done this,” Mari soothed and patted Kiera’s hand.
“We have hours unaccounted for, and Kiera claims that at approximately 1:30 a.m., someone in a mask gave Trisha a drink and they left the party together. What time did you and this masked person finish your encounter?” The way Detective Bishop said “encounter” made my throat tighten. I gripped my chair harder, and my knuckles started to ache.
“I don’t know. It was late. Mari came to get me,” I answered as I looked to her for assistance.
“It was about one in the morning.” She twisted her fingers in her hand. “We have midterms, and I knew she wouldn’t be happy if we were up later than that.”
“I’m telling you it couldn’t be him,” I said desperately and looked between the men.
“If you could,” Detective Bishop directed one of his officers, “please escort Kiera to the counselor’s office.” When he turned back to me, he gave me a stern look. “We’re going to need details, everything you can remember.” I racked my brain, but I hadn’t seen Ghost walk down after me, and I couldn’t recall seeing Trisha again.
That thirty-minute gap was enough time.
Could I have been with a murderer?
If so, why didn’t he hurt me during such a vulnerable time? The entire accusation felt off. Someone who was so delicate and attentive didn’t scream “psycho-killer,” regardless of his costume.
Jai
It was all over campus now, confirmed by the email administration sent out. Trisha Manohen was deceased. The study group was right in their deductions for the most part. She was getting a spotlight and praised as a soulful individual the world lost too soon. What wasn’t being distributed was how she was before now. I transferred to Riverwalk, and during my junior year, she was a massive bitch to me.
Forgive me if I don’t shed those tears.
It was actually when I turned her down in high school that she completely flipped the script. She stayed that way—cold and bitter. There was nothing warm about Trisha where I was concerned. Not many people were immune to the charm she pushed out, but being on the receiving end of her cold shoulder for years made it hard to see affection in everyday actions.
“Are they still gone?” Draven asked as he closed the door to our study room. It had been an hour since the girls had left. Brent nodded in response. Some of them had classes right now but took the guidance of the email and forwent attendance if needed.
“You going to class, Wells?” I looked up to see Daniel Pisner staring me down as he leaned in the corner. I called him Piss Boy in other crowds. He was Trisha’s boy toy for a while there and he knew our problems.
It’s fucking cramped in here.
“Don’t see why that’s any of your business, Pis.” It was close enough to the nickname to tick him off, but not enough to justify public confrontation. Did I mention he was in the same fraternity with me? Peaceful all around.
“Well, it’s not like you were Trish’s number one fan, Juvie.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It was hardly any time spent away that summer of junior year, but that was the extent of his creativity.
This was why I preferred the branch-off company of Bex and Mari, and the occasional Brent.
“Is there an accusation in that, or are you just pissed you couldn’t get your dick wet one last time?” That was the jab that sent him over the edge. He pushed off the wall and bumped some of the girls on the table as he stomped over to me, his face reddened.
I rose out of the tiny chair that was built for a fucking second grader. I didn’t care to fight people much anymore. My demons were mostly settled after successfully detaching from my father’s grip.
At my full height of six-six, I towered over most of the student body, Daniel included.
