The Keys to freedom

Chapter 52- Turmoil

The shrill wail of sirens echoed her ears even long after they had gone and faded into the night and she wondered if the sound would ever fully go away. She stood frozen in her room, her hands trembling, blood staining her clothes and hands.

Her gaze drifted to the bedside table. The roses he had given her sat wilted and dead, their petals curled and brittle. She swallowed hard and reached for the tiny snow globe beside them, brushing her fingers over its smooth surface before picking it up. Slowly, she blinked, allowing the last remnants of her tears to fall before shoving the globe into her pocket.

With a deep breath, she turned and made her way back to the living room, where everyone was waiting.

They were all gathered around the couch to bothered to even sit down, Grayson was throwing things in his backpack including the box they uncovered from the dunes. Before his attention jerked to Oz.

"I need to go to the hospital to check on Pyke," she said, her voice quieter than she expected.

James stepped closer to her, eyeing her blood-soaked clothes. "Are you sure you don't want to shower first? Or at least change?"

She shook her head and kept walking toward the door.

"Oz, you're covered in blood. Maybe—" Grayson started.

"No," she snapped, cutting him off. The word came out harsher than she intended, but she didn't care. They all stared at her, worry and sympathy across their faces. She took a shaky breath, softening her tone just enough.

"Please, just take me to the hospital. I just...I need to be there,"

James hesitated for only a moment before nodding, grabbing his keys off the table. "Of course. Let's go."

Just as they gathered themselves and turned, the doorbell rang.

Confusion filled there expressions as James pulled the door open—only to be met by two uniformed police officers standing on the doorstep.

"Good evening," one officer began. "Is this the residence of Lozzie Harris?"

Her body went cold.

"Yes?" Her voice barely came out, she stepped forward, her heart pounding. "That's me,"

"I'm officer Crace. This is Officer Lane. We are going to need you to step outside,"

James shifted beside her, stepping forward slightly. "What's this about?"

Crace stepped toward her "Lozzie Harris, you are under arrest for the murder of Pyke Hastings."

The words slammed into her like a physical punch.

The room spun.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head as her pulse roared in her ears. "No, that's—that's not right. He's not—he's in the hospital."

The younger officer, Lane, reached for his cuffs. "Pyke Hastings was pronounced dead twenty minutes ago. His injuries were fatal."

Her body went numb, her mind unable to comprehend.

"No," she said again, louder this time. She stumbled back a step, but Grayson caught her by the shoulders, steadying her.

James snapped out of his stunned silence. "You can't be serious. She didn't..."

"You can explain everything at the station," Crace said, voice firm. "But right now, we need you to turn around and put your hands behind your back."

Her entire body felt like a bag of noodles as Officer Lane stepped forward, gently grabbing her wrist and turning her around. The cold steel of the handcuffs locked around her wrists.

"You have the right to remain silent," he began with a voice that felt distant, unreal.

James was still protesting, but his words blurred into nothing.

Oz's vision tunneled as they led her toward the door steal reading her rights. The blood on her clothes felt heavier now, like it was seeping into her skin, branding her.

Pyke was dead.

And they thought she had killed him.