BELLADONNA

Chp39: arrested?

The very next day, the police showed up at our house. I was in my room when I first heard the commotion—the murmur of unfamiliar voices, hurried footsteps, and something that sounded like a muffled argument. My curiosity got the best of me, so I quickly made my way downstairs, heart pounding as I tried to piece together what was happening.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw two police officers standing in our living room. And there, in the middle of it all, was Aleena, her hands behind her back, wrists locked in cold, silver handcuffs. I froze, my mind racing, trying to make sense of the scene before me. Aleena’s eyes looked wild, a mix of anger, confusion, and something close to fear flashing across her face. She glanced at me, a silent plea in her eyes, but I was too stunned to move.

My family stood around, everyone talking at once, trying to protest, to explain, to ask questions, but the officers were focused only on Aleena. One of them was reciting her rights, his voice firm and detached, almost as if this was just routine for him.

"On what basis are you taking my daughter?"

my dad shouted, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. His face was flushed, fists clenched tightly at his sides as he tried to keep his composure. I had never seen him like this before.

The police officer remained unfazed, responding by silently pulling out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. With a swift flick, he unfolded it and held it up for my dad to see. It was an arrest warrant—with Aleena’s name printed in bold letters. My stomach churned as I read it over his shoulder, the words blurring together in my mind.

"Your daughter has been implicated in the Belladonna case,"

the officer stated flatly, his eyes scanning the room.

"And she’s suspected in connection with the murders."

His tone was cold, almost mechanical, as if he were reciting from a script he knew all too well.

Just then, two other officers pushed past us and headed upstairs toward Aleena's room. I watched helplessly as they rifled through her things, opening drawers, lifting the mattress, scanning every corner of her space. Moments later, they returned, one of them holding something small and metallic in his gloved hand.

A knife.

It had a faint, dark stain along the edge—dried blood. My heart sank, my mind struggling to accept what I was seeing. They carefully slipped the knife into a plastic ziplock bag, sealing it as evidence. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from it, wondering how this could be possible. How could something like this be connected to Aleena?

The lead officer, who seemed to be the detective in charge, nodded to his partner.

"Send the knife to the lab,"

he instructed, his voice calm and steady. He glanced briefly at me, at my dad, then at Aleena, who was staring numbly at the floor, her face pale.

In that moment, a thousand questions flooded my mind, but I was too shocked, too frozen, to voice any of them. How had my sister become a suspect in something so horrifying? And could this really be happening?

I glanced over at the detective—the same one I’d met just yesterday when I handed him the USB. He caught my eye and gave a subtle nod, an acknowledgment of sorts, though his face remained unreadable. It was as if we shared a silent understanding, but there was no comfort in it. The memory of that moment flashed through my mind, of how he had carefully taken the USB from me, his gaze hard and focused, asking questions I barely knew how to answer.

Now, he turned back to Aleena, who was standing quietly between the officers, her wrists still bound, her expression distant. She looked so small, so fragile, and yet here she was, at the center of something I couldn’t fully comprehend. The detective gestured to his team, and with a firm but gentle grip, he began leading Aleena toward the door.