Bad Girls Go To Heaven ✔

29/ confessions

ELAINE – PRESENT DAY

The few hours of sleep I've had back in Scranton aren't enough to prepare me for this conversation. I don't think anything could prepare me for it. I drag myself to the police station; tired, anxious and scared. The grey building stares at me ominously.

Detective Davis, the same guy who's questioned me before, waits at the entrance for me, and offers a small, comforting smile as I bow my head and walk in.

I find it strange how rugged and old the building is on the inside. It looks like no one's invested money in it for years; the tiles are cracked in places, the paint from the walls chipped, and the door handle on the wooden doors loose. A bunch of people awaits in the hallway. Their expressions mimic mine in terms of exhaustion.

They're probably here because of stolen stuff, a parking ticket, or something equally insignificant in the great scheme of things. What would they think if they knew what I'm doing here?

"Wait here for a moment." Detective Davis says and points at the plastic chairs. "We'll come and get you."

I nod, squeeze my bag and sit.

The smell of mould evaporates from the walls, mixing with the faint smell of sweat coming off the other people in the station. There's an old, shrivelled, grey man who keeps leaning against his walking stick. There's the middle-aged, obese lady who keeps wiping the sweat off her forehead and checking her watch every five seconds. And there's a business man, dressed in a suit, tapping his feet against the ground all the time.

Deep, frustrated sighs leave their lips and they switch their crossed legs every now and then. They'd probably rather be anywhere else.

And for a moment, I sympathize with the cops. Imagine being the person no one ever wants to see? The feeling must be terrible.

I only wait for five minutes before Detective Davis comes back for me. It's funny how frustrated and angry everyone seems once I stand up, almost as if they're envious of a seemingly special treatment I'm getting from the cops because I don't have to wait.

They'd change their minds if they knew why I'm here.

"Let's go to my office." Detective Davis leads me through the hallway.

His office is a small, paper-filled room, with a wooden table and an office chair. On the other side stands a regular, school chair. The cabinet against the wall is full of binders. A breath of fresh air comes from the open window, but the room still smells of mould.

Detective Campbell, the female detective who questioned me, is leaned against the radiator, her narrow gaze cuts through me and I shrivel in the small chair. Perhaps I should have an attorney present, but I'm afraid it will make me look suspicious.

"So, Elaine, do you know why you're here?" Detective Davis sits in his office chair.

My voice is a whisper, "I assume this is about Graham."

"Exactly." Detective Campbell cuts in, her voice sharp.

"A couple of things emerged after Graham's funeral, things we haven't considered before." Detective Davis tries to be gentle and comforting, but he looks tired.

I can't blame him, he's just doing his job.

"What kind of things?" I ask, feeling way too small.

"Things that make the suicide assumptions a bit suspicious." Detective Campbell answers.

My heartbeat quickens and my mouth turns dry, "I thought... I thought the case was closed."

I wonder whether Adora was right. She said Graham's parents hired private investigators to look into the matters. Perhaps they found out something the cops couldn't.