Page 11 of The Perfect Marriage

“Get the hell out of my house!”

The two men in uniform charge forward and grab me. They throw both my arms behind my back. My cell phone drops to the floor just before I complete my call. I struggle. I know whenever you see people struggling against the cops, you always think as a spectator,What an idiot. Don’t fight the police. You’ll never win that battle. But when you find yourself in that situation, when you have no idea what’s going on, whether the ones you love are okay, or why this is happening… You fight like hell.

I throw Sheriff Stevens to the ground and get my arm free. The sheriff mumbles something like “You dick” under his breath and stands back up, charging at me. Deputy Hudson still has one of my hands behind my back.

“All right, I’ve had enough of this bullshit.” Deputy Hudson brings his knee into my face. I drop instantly to the ground. Blood sprays from my nose into a puddle beneath me on the floor. Deputy Hudson drives his knee into my back, while the sheriff handcuffs me.

“You just had to do that, didn’t you?” Sheriff Stevens says with a chuckle and a look of disappointment.

“I miss getting a little dirty,” Deputy Hudson says with a grin, I assume, as I can’t see his face.

Deputy Hudson stands up, brushing himself off. They pull me to my knees. “Are you ready to come down to the station now, you piece of shit?”

I spit blood at his feet. “Fuck you… you’re gonna regret that.” I glare at him.

“I doubt that,” he says. “Now, you have the right to remain silent…”

Two hours later I find myself alone in a small interrogation room with a stale cup of coffee on the table in front of me. A large one-way mirror is on the wall to my left. I drop my head into my hands. My foot taps the floor with fervor as my patience has worn thin.

“I want my phone call,” I scream within the empty room. “I want my fucking phone call!”

The door opens, and Sheriff Stevens and Deputy Hudson enter carrying Styrofoam cups of coffee.

Sheriff Stevens sets a bottle of water in front of me. “Thirsty?”

I pick up the water, chug it, and crunch up the empty bottle. I toss it into a trash can by the door. They take their time settling into their chairs across from me. They give each other a glance as they casually sip their coffee. They’re trying to look calm, but their clenched jaws and strained eyes give away the fact that they’re pissed off.

“I want my phone call.” I still have no idea why I’m here. These assholes roughed me up a bit and threw me into the back of a squad car. I haven’t been charged with anything, and I’ve been sitting in this room for over an hour. I don’t know if Sarah is okay. I don’t know how I’m involved in any of this.

“Mr. Morgan—can I call you Adam?” Sheriff Stevens asks, as if we’re on a first-name basis, as if he’s trying to be personable with me. These fucking backwoods pieces of shit. I’m tired of this, and I just want to know what the hell is going on, so I nod with no enthusiasm.

“Good. Well, you can call me Ryan and this guy,” he pats the deputy on the back, “you can call him Marcus. Now, we’re here to ask you a few questions, and hopefully, you’ll decide to cooperate with our investigation—unlike earlier. Do you understand?”

I take a deep breath and rub my forehead with my hands, trying to soothe the headache I have coming on. “Yeah.”

“Excellent. Now, can you tell us where you were last night?” Sheriff Stevens asks.

My eyes dart around the room. “I was at my lake house over on Lake Manassas until around midnight. Then, I drove home.”

They nod. Deputy Hudson pulls a notepad and a pen from his shirt pocket and begins jotting down notes. “Were you alone at the lake house?”

“No.”

“Who were you with?”

“What’s this got to do with anything? I want my lawyer right now. I’m not answering anything else until I know what’s going on and why the hell I’m here.” I stand up, kicking back my chair and shaking the table. The cups of coffee spill and two other deputies immediately charge into the interrogation room, restraining me.

Deputy Hudson stands quickly flinging his chair back. He charges at me, grabbing me by the neck. His eyes bulge, and his lips purse as he comes within two inches of my face. “Listen up, you little shit! Kelly Summers was stabbed to death in your bed. Perhaps you want to start telling us what really happened, because, with the amount of evidence stacked against you, your days are fucking numbered.” He pushes me against the wall as Sheriff Stevens pulls him off telling him to cool it.

“I’m not going to fucking cool it. Kelly was a good girl. She was family, and this white-collar piece of shit comes into our town and kills her. Fuck this guy,” Deputy Hudson spits. Drops of sweat accumulate at his hairline.

“Wha— what are you talking about? Kelly? She was fine when I left,” I sputter, choking on my own words. “How? How did this happen?” I collapse. The room spins and spins. The deputies let me fall to the ground as they take a step back.

Who would hurt Kelly? The text messages from her husband. I recall them, each more menacing than the last and full of threats. It had to have been him. “Her husband. It had to have been her husband. Check her phone. Check her texts,” I plead—trying to put all the pieces together, trying to make sense of it.

“Don’t you fucking talk about her husband!” Deputy Hudson points his finger right in my face.

Sheriff Stevens pushes him away from me. He turns back toward me. “We’re looking at all angles, but like the deputy eloquently said, this isn’t looking good for you.”

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