MARIEL

31~ Until We Nerf Again ~

Chicago, IL

February 16th, 2020

"You're all set, Miss Caravan. We'll follow up if there are any other things that come up. Any questions for us?"

The Styrofoam coffee cup sat before her on the interview room table. She hadn't touched it. When they'd offered it, it had sounded appealing at the time, until she had to relive the events of the rally attack.

Esther Caravan had stammered multiple times, apologized, and requested a chance to go back and fill in the gaps of her statement regarding the rally. The investigators, providing her a comfortable environment complete with fidget and sensory friendly toys, were empathetic and understanding. However, the questions were insistent and exhausting.

'Who did you see firing the shots? Can you describe the individual? White, black, brown? Male or female? What direction was the individual firing?'

Esther answered to the best of her ability. She admitted her exhaustion, and asked that they give her patience. They did. So, as the cup of coffee sat untouched on the table before her, she asked her own question.

"Did the assailant die? Did I kill him?" The questions blurted from her lips, but she knew the two investigators sitting before her would not answer that.

One investigator, clad in a suit, was a Hispanic male with black hair and a beard. The other investigator, dressed in a purple blouse and dress pants, was a white woman in her forties with reddish-brown hair falling just beneath her ears.

Both looked at each other before the man responded. "He was injured. That's all we can say at this time. But -"

"Miss Caravan," the woman interrupted. "I do have one more follow up question."

Her eyes shot up. Realizing her palms were sweaty, Esther wiped them on her black pants. She'd wanted to wear yoga pants and a sweatshirt, but chose her black leggings with a green, draped cardigan that had a front and sash tie. Before leaving, Esther had decided that if she was going to get arrested for shooting someone, she wanted to look cute doing so.

"Sure, go ahead." Esther sounded meek. She wanted to leave. How did Officer Mysterious deal with this type of pressure every day?

"Can you describe the shooter one more time please?" The woman twirled her pen.

The memory changed each time. White? Brown? She wasn't sure anymore. It was a man dressed in black (and she was pretty sure it was a man).

"My recollection of the event tells me that he was either white or light-skinned. And, I'm pretty sure it was a guy." Esther looked from one investigator to the other. "Not to sound like I'm relying on someone else's statement but... the sergeant I helped, Eric... he made a comment while I was holding pressure on his gunshot wound."

"And what was that?" The woman was scribbling.

"He said something about his partner Thompson. Something like: 'Fuck you, Thompson, you'll pay for this if you ain't dead'." Esther found herself the chaotic alley again, and she heard his grunts of pain as she tightened the tourniquet.

In the interview room, she looked at her hands. For a moment, Esther thought they were red with the sergeant's blood.

"Well, things were very chaotic," the male investigator said, slowly, as if Esther wasn't aware. "At this time, we aren't one hundred percent certain yet who the shooter was."

Esther looked at him. If she hadn't been so overwhelmed, she would have thought the investigator was questioning her judgment. Well, she wasn't sure if it was Eric's, or hers.