Page 180 of American Hellhound
Then
She was on the right side of the interrogation table tonight, playing the role of victim instead of juvenile delinquent.
Detective Richards set a cold Coke down on the table in front of her and sat. Smoothed his tie. Consulted the notes the responding officers had provided for him.
“Miss Lowe, I know you gave a statement, but if you would, walk me through it again.” He lifted his head from the notes and gave her a tight smile. He had to know who she was, she figured, the girl who’d attacked a classmate and spent a few hours in the drunk tank. He had to be thinking that trouble of all sorts had a way of following problem kids like her.
Hell, she was starting to think it.
“Sometimes,” he said, “people leave things out in these sorts of situations – not intentionally, they’re just rattled. And a few hours later, it makes more sense. They remember details a little better.” He tilted his head. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
Beside her, Denise cleared her throat again. She couldn’t seem to stop doing that. She hadn’t been crying when the cops cut her wrists loose, her eyes dry, but her voice wasn’t working properly.
“You said you heard the truck engine first?” Detective Richards asked.
“Yes…”
She repeated what she’d told the uniforms at the scene. A dry telling of the facts, her voice emotionless.
Partway through, Denise opened the Coke and slid it right in front of Maggie, wanting her to take a sip. The sugar and the fizz would help with shock, Detective Richards had said.
Maggie didn’t want it. She didn’t feel shocked. She felt…tired.
So, so tired.
This moment seemed to be happening on a screen she was watching, a movie that looked alarmingly like her real life. She couldn’t feel the uncomfortable chair beneath her, the chill of the AC that hummed through the vents; the detective’s question hit a filter in her brain somewhere, meaning nothing. She answered – she knew her lips moved and she formed words – but it was a script she read from; she described the attack, but didn’t relive it.
Her father was in another interrogation room now, lying about the second redneck – the one Collier had thrown in the back of a truck. Arthur was claiming that the man got spooked when his friend was shot and fled before the police arrived.
They’d all agreed not to say anything about Ghost.
Maggie had no idea why her parents went along with that plan. Later, when she wasn’t so numb, she might be grateful for it.
Time seemed to crawl, an unending stretch full of the droning of the light bulbs and Detective Richards’ monotone repetition of questions.
Finally, it ended.
Maggie forced her legs to work and they trooped out of the interrogation room into the bullpen, where her dad was waiting for them. He looked as blank-faced as she felt.
Detective Richards walked them to the airlock and left them there with a, “You folks take care. We’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you,” Denise said.
Maggie thought maybe she really was in shock, and maybe it was starting to wear off, when they stepped out the front doors and the cold night air hit her face. The wind tossed her hair, crept down inside her collar, sent immediate chills racing down her arms. She took a deep breath and the cold hurt her lungs. Stung her eyes. She started to shake.
When they started down the steps, she noticed there was someone waiting at the bottom. Someone in dark clothes, arms folded, faint glimmer of a wallet chain swinging at his hip.
Ghost.
Her knees went out. Chalk it up to relief, to the delayed effects of adrenaline, exhaustion, but her legs stopped working. She staggered down the next three steps and he came forward and caught her, her parents’ limp hands falling away from her shoulders as Ghost’s strong arms went around her waist and crushed her into his chest.
“You’re alright,” he said against her ear, his breath warm, the words soft, and it broke through the last of her trance.
She closed her eyes tight, buried her face in his neck, and let the tears come. It didn’t matter that the man she’d shot had broken into her home, smashed things up with a bat and threatened her – threatened her parents – she’dshota man. The act had brought the stark brutality of the world into new focus. Humans were capable of horrible violence – including her.
Considering this whole mess was tied to Ghost, she shouldn’t have felt safe in his arms right now. But she did. It was a simple fact, one she couldn’t deny.
