Love... A Niall Horan Love Story

Chapter 31: Alone

Brielle’s P.O.V.

I sat in my cell, trying not to cry again. I had a couple hours until I could go home and see Niall. I appreciated his visit, even though it made me miss him more.

I can do it, I thought. Only a couple more hours, then you’re home free.

Yeah, until your trial, a voice in the back of my head whispered.

I chose to ignore it. I sat straight ahead and stared at the wall blankly. A minute passed, then another. One hour, fifty-eight minutes. I was down to one hour and fifty minutes when a police officer stopped in front of my cell door. I looked up at him.

“Get up,” he said brusquely.

“Why?” I asked.

His eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t a question.”

“Well I was asking one,” I shot back.

In my defense, I was a little pissed that I was in jail, and this police man was part of the problem. I needed to take my anger out on something.

The police officer opened my cell door and pulled me to my feet. He started hauling me out of the cell block and into a carpeted hallway.

“Where are we going?” I asked stupidly.

The police man ignored me and threw me into a room. I almost fell, but caught myself on a table. I straightened up and looked around. I was in a small room with mirrors covering a wall, and there was a table with chairs on opposite sides. This was an interrogation room. I took a seat in one of the chairs and stared straight at the mirror, where I knew that policemen were watching me. Yeah, I’d seen those cop shows.

Finally, a detective walked in. “Hello, Ms. Williams, I’m Detective Summers, and I have a few questions for you.”

“Ask away,” I said, leaning back and smiling serenely.

Detective Summers blinked, but asked anyway. “Where were you on the night of your brother’s murder?”

I sighed. “Detective, we’ve been through this already.”

“Answer the question!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the table.

I jumped. “I was on a walk, because we had fought about my grades. He was bugging me, so I left. I took a walk and came back. He was dead.”

Summers slid a folder across the table. I opened it and flinched. A picture of my brother’s body was there. His chest was covered in blood, and I could see the wound where his killer had stabbed him. His face had dried blood on it, and his eyes stared, unseeing. I swallowed hard.

“Did he look like this?” Summers asked, watching my every move.

“Yes,” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away from my brother.

“Did you kill him?” Summers asked.

“No,” I whispered, still looking at James.

He was so still. I never saw him that still. James was always moving it was like he had ADHD. Even when he was sleeping he was twitching or rolling around. I used to hate that about him.

“Do you expect us to believe that?” Summers asked.

“No,” I said. “But I’m not lying to you.”

Summers tugged the picture out of my hands. Good. I couldn’t look at it anymore. I looked up at him. He looked like he believed me, but you couldn’t trust law enforcement. They lied and tricked you into confessing.