Page 53 of Carnival
It takes me a moment to collect myself. My eyes don’t move from the screen, and I’m a little puzzled when police sirens fill my ears. Then, my eyes widen a little. The sound isn’t from the iPad — it’s in real life, right in front of the building.
A message pops up on the screen, and my blood runs cold, the color draining from my face.
“Good luck with convincing him it wasn’t you.’’
In an instant, everything from the iPad is gone. All the videos, all the footage I spent the past five minutes watching, and the message that popped up — they’ve all been wiped clean.
It’s precisely when James decides to come through the door, hair wet from the shower. Fear fills my body, and I’m unable to move from the spot on the couch. I swallow thickly, and James instantly notices my reaction.
“Hellion?” He takes a step forward. “What’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to respond, but don’t get the chance to. The front door of the apartment bursts open, and multiple police officers rush inside, weapons drawn, pointing at James. My eyes widen, and I don’t know what’s happening.
“James Maddox,’’ one of them yells. “You’re under arrest.’’
20
Rose
“Idon’t know!”
I scream out in frustration, my breathing heavy. My hands are fisted on my lap, and I’m pretty sure I look like shit — hair messy, bags under my eyes, with the stupid apron still wrapped around my waist.
It’s been seven hours since James got arrested and seven hours since I got taken in for questioning. I’m no law student, but I’m almost certain they’re not doing everything by the book. They’re quite literally not allowing me to get an attorney, and I’m pissed.
“Miss Ashford,’’ Agent Knightly presses, his lips thinned into a line. “You’re his girlfriend. You’re really trying to convince me that you didn’t know your boyfriend is a serial killer? You never, not even once, suspected anything?”
“For the last time,’’ I groan, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, exasperated already. “He isn’t my boyfriend!”
“He was arrested in your apartment, Miss Ashford,’’ he grinds his teeth, leaning forward. I’m honestly quite glad to see that I’m not the only one suffering here and getting angrier by the second. “Stop lying to me and tell me what I want to know.’’
This time, he doesn’t raise his voice, and I can’t say I’m not a little scared. I’ve never had trouble with the law before, and for my first time to be… well, this is making me anxious. The other agent in the interrogation room is a woman, seemingly in her mid-thirties, casually leaning against the wall behind Agent Knightly. I didn’t expect the FBI to be looking for James or that they’d be involved in this.
As time passes, painfully slow, I’m struggling. Knightly is pressing me, knowing which buttons to push, and the fact that his partner, Agent Davis, hasn’t said a word is grating my nerves. She’s just observing me, profiling me, and I’m failing the test miserably.
When he mentions New Orleans, the blood in my veins freezes. He must’ve noticed the brief moment of my expression falling apart before I managed to mask it back to a stoic one, because a low smirk tugs on his lips.
I swallow thickly, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. I wasn’t allowed a phone call, a lawyer, or even a glass of water in the past seven hours. I’m starting to panic, because outside of my apartment were Hudson’s men.
If he cannot get to me, it means something is very fucking fishy, and I’m scared.
The look on James’ face when he was put in handcuffs continues to replay in my mind, right behind my eyes. It will haunt me for as long as I’m alive. He didn’t care that theyforcefully pushed him to the ground and put shackles on him as if he were an animal — no, his eyes were on me.
Any trace of vulnerability that he’d displayed for the past two weeks was suddenly gone, and I could see his walls building back up, but this time, they were made out of iron. The look of pure hatred on his face, the look of betrayal, and perhaps a look of disappointment.
He didn’t say a word, and once they started ushering him out, he didn’t even turn to look at me. My heart clenches at the vivid image of this morning, and I’m struggling to keep it all in. I wasn’t the one who turned him in; I’d never do that, but at this point, I’ll never be able to prove it.
“Two people can simply be friends,’’ I scoff. “It doesn’t automatically mean we’re dating.’’
Agent Knightly slams his fist on the table that’s separating us, but I don’t flinch. I don’t even look at his fisted hand and keep my eyes on his face instead. He’s definitely getting more and more furious as seconds tick by, but I can’t show him fear, or he’ll swallow me whole.
“I didn’t want to do this,’’ he says, then takes a deep breath, as if to steel himself, before pulling out his phone. He taps on the device a couple of times, then puts it on the table and pushes it toward me.
My eyes flick down at the screen, and my heart sinks. A wave of nausea builds in my throat, and I try my best to swallow it down. It’s not the feeling I felt when I watched videos of James killing people. This one shouldn’t even exist.
It’s the carnival from two years ago… the part when James and I had sex for the first time.
There weren’t supposed to be any cameras there, and I don’t think James would’ve lied about that. Meaning, he was unaware of them, and it’s from different angles, too. I try my best not to make any sort of reaction to the video, but my hands start trembling on my lap as I watch the video, reliving the memory.
