Something Unexpected(ON Hold)

Chapter Four

The station was quiet, which wasn't surprising for the small town. There was hardly any crimes here other than hoodlum teenagers.

I was placed in an empty room, and told to wait for the investigator that they had brought in to help them with this case.

And so I waited.

I waited for two and a half hours, before the door opened and a man in his late thirties walked in. "Sorry for the wait, Ms...?"

"Maya Johnson," I filled for him, watching as he sat across from me and set his coffee and files down.

"Ms. Johnson, yes. We have a couple different files on you. You're a long way from home, aren't you?" As he talked about these certain files, he spread them out in front of me and then took a sip from his mug.

I shrugged, "The whole city life wasn't working out for me."

His eyebrow raised, and a file was opened. Pictures of me surrounded by men in suits came into view. My strawberry blonde hair was pulled up on top of my head in an elegant twist, and my blue eyes were painted to look intense, but elegant. I was wrapped in a red dress, and jewels adorned my throat, ears, and one of my wrists. I looked like an important person, when really I was just another woman at the gala.

"This wasn't working for you?" the investigator questioned, and I pulled the whole file to me. Picture after picture of me at galas and openings, surrounded by men in suits, on the arm of an attractive older man.

"This wasn't much. Pictures don't show the whole story. He paid me," I lied smoothly, pushing that file away and pulling another towards me.

Before I could flip it open, he pulled it away from me and flipped it open himself. "You were a good student, good kid, in high school. Smart."

I nodded, "Sure, and then my family was killed."

He looked over the file, "You disappeared for a while, and then showed up in California."

"I know," I muttered, remembering the time I was homeless, and hooked on things I shouldn't be.

"You were brought into jail multiple times due to drugs." The man continued to spout facts about my life to me. I watched him carefully, watched his eyes flit over the papers in front of him, watched the sweat start forming at his hairline, and watched the way his fingers fidgeted with the pen in his hand. "You were picked up at drug busts on three different occasions in one year, but weren't charged with anything. The only thing you've been charged with is J-walking."

I laughed at that, remembering that day clearly. I hadn't been J-walking, I had been attempting suicide; I was just lucky that the car I had attempted to kill myself with had been a police car. "Keep going," I mused out loud, ready to hear more about my life since the accident.

The sweat that had begun to bead finally began to drip, and he reached his hand up to wipe it away. "Just after you turned twenty, you disappeared from California. The cops stopped picking you up for loitering and other small things, and then you showed up once in New York." He stopped and took another drink, picking up another packet of papers from the same file. "You were picked up at a huge drug bust. You were chalked full of drugs and had been in a bad shape. You were in the hospital for four months, before you were discharged to a Mr. Dominick Gallo. After that, you disappeared again for seven months, and then you showed up at an important charity event with the man in these pictures. You acted like you had always been in that lifestyle, some people say."

I shrugged, "Things happen. Dominick changed my life for the better," I lied again, looking the man in the eye.

He nodded, before pulling the last file out. "Mr. Gallo was found murdered four months ago. Two months ago you disappeared, and here you are again. Where have you been all this time?"

Shocked, I pulled the last file from his fingertips and before he had time to react it was spread open in front of me. "Four months?" I questioned out loud, astonished.

The pictures in front of me didn't make sense.

"Yes, Dominick Gallo was found dead four months ago by his wife. His mutilation was the same that we had found Mrs. Kerigan's brother. The markings and ways of torture closely resembling each other, leading us to believe that the same person did this."

I couldn't answer him, because they thought I was the one to do this. "Four months ago doesn't make sense," I mumbled, looking over the pictures. Jason's mutilated body did resemble Dominick's, but I was the only tie they knew of, so I would be the only suspect. Something wasn't right.

"Why doesn't that make sense, Maya?" the man questioned me, taking the file from me and spreading picture after picture out in front of me.

I shook my head, "I parted ways with Dominick seven months ago, and have been traveling since. He talked to me three months ago. There is no way he was dead four months ago." I tried to piece it all together. Remembering how Dominick had sounded worried for his family during the last call, and how he had said things were getting hectic. He had sounded himself at the time, but with the picture of his dead body lying in front of me, I began to think differently. The conversation I had had with him had a new light to it. "It was a mimic..." I whispered to myself.

"What?" The man sitting across from me questioned. "Who was a mimic?"

I looked at him, shaking my head, "The person that called me, he begged me to come back to them. I told him no. He was a mimic. Dominick was gone."

He looked back at me, confused. I knew this man was clueless on just how big this was. How large it could get. I knew things. I was Dominick's closest confident. I went to every meeting, knew every important Don by name. I was a special case of being let out. Dominick is the only reason I am alive.

"You have to get me out of here," I said hurriedly to the man, trying to stand, forgetting that my ankles had been chained to the chair I had been sitting on.

The man's brows furrowed, and he questioned me. "Why? Who was trying to get you to come back? To who?"

I began to hyperventilate, something I hadn't done since right after my families death. I doubled over and began to yank at the chains binding me, "Please, please let me go. They are coming for me!"

The man stood up, and walked to the door calmly before opening it and exiting the room, when he came back he had a woman with him. The woman had a syringe in her fingers. Behind him in the doorway stood a few more men in suits, and I knew then that this man wasn't just brought in by the local station.

I fought to get way from the woman, taking my chair with me, I pushed myself across the ground.

She caught up to me easily, and without even sterilizing my arm, shoved the needle in willy-nilly. She was lucky on her first try with finding a vein. I felt the liquid enter my bloodstream, the temperature cooler than that of my blood. The effects of the drug hit me fast, and my body became weightless, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Whatever they had given me didn't knock me out, and I wondered to myself which would have been worse: unconsciousness, or being awake but unable to move?

Things became slow. People I didn't recognize began to stream into the room, and they began to clean.

Erasing evidence.

The man that had interrogated me was cry to a man in a suit, and I could vaguely make out the words, "family" and "promised", before he was shot point blank.

I blinked slowly, and suddenly it was like a cut change in scene. I was being carried outside of the police station, people fearfully backing away from the group of men in suits. Vincent was outside as well, hidden in the shadows. That was the only thing I needed to know that he wasn't the only family searching for me. Someone wanted something that only my brain could tell them.

Or they wanted to keep that something quiet from someone else.

What would be my fate?

 Which would it be? Death? Cell for the rest of my life? Forced into marriage to a member of the family? Used as a whore, full of drugs for whatever time left I have?