Ugly, and it shamed me inside that I had allowed myself to be reduced to something so low and vile. And I wondered if secretly, Nick thought of me that way too, even though he acted otherwise.
“Doesn’t it bother you that it’s my fault that guy is dead?”
His facial muscles stretched and scrunched in all the wrong ways. “Are you kidding me?” he asked angrily. “What that shithead did to you was worse than death. So no, I don’t have a problem with what you did. It was either you or him. I’m proud you had the strength and courage to do what had to be done. Otherwise…”
He cut off, but I knew the rest. …I’d still be there, and he and my family would still be brokenhearted, desperately praying and seeking me out.
We sat in silence most of the remaining drive, and by the time we reached the police station, my head was pounding, my insides twisting with anxiety. We were taken to meet Detective Farrow, a man in his forties, with olive skin, dark brown hair and eyes, natural frown lines and a disposition that just screamed unhappiness. Even when he introduced himself and shook our hands, I got the distinct impression he was annoyed to come interview me on his day off.
Well, tough shit. I didn’t want to be here either.
“Let’s get this over with as quickly as possible, shall we? Then maybe we can all have a partial day off.”
My eyes rolled toward Nick. He wasn’t going to get a partial day off for this, as he would still have to drive back to Portland tonight.
“Mr. Ellis, if you’d take a seat here, I can escort Ms. Whitaker to the interview room from here.”
My eyes widened as I met Nick’s gaze. We never considered we’d get separated and already my insides had hit the panic button. “No,” Nick replied firmly. “I’ve already promised Megan I won’t leave her alone.”
“Well, that wasn’t your promise to make. My questions are for her and her alone.”
Oh, shit. I’d only ever seen that look on Nick’s face once before, when that dipshit grabbed my ass at the diner. “Are you arresting her for something?” he questioned cautiously, memories of the fire already trying to preoccupy my thoughts.
“No.”
“Then either I’m going with her or this meeting is already over.”
Farrow’s eyes intensified, tightening as his eyes shifted from Nick to me. My head nodded towards Nick. “What he said.” Hell no this man was getting me alone. I was already an emotional wreck, and given that state, I wasn’t sure if I could completely trust myself not to blurt out all the wrong things.
Reluctantly, and with a bitter tone, Farrow muttered, “Fine.” Already walking away, he added, “This way.”
I inhaled a deep, silent breath of relief, and Nick squeezed my hand as we followed Farrow to an interview room, which unfortunately, looked a lot like those interrogation rooms you saw on TV. This one even had one of those lovely two-way mirrors off to the side.
We took up the seats opposite the detective, who quickly had his file open, a notepad and pen ready to go and was already running his mouth before we even got comfortable. Or as comfortable as we were going to get in steel chairs with hard plastic backs.
“Alright, Claire–”
“Megan,” I quickly interrupted, and he already looked more annoyed with me. “I haven’t gone by Claire in a long time.”
He scribbled onto his notepad, replying, “Fine. Megan… First things first. Your parents have already informed us of a few things, but I’d like to hear everything directly from you. On October 30th, 2010, your Ford Focus was found on the side of Hillsdale Ave at approximately eight-fifteen in the morning. Do you remember anything that happened that day?”
“No,” I said quietly.
“Not the car that hit you, nor the people in the car? Nothing?”
“Nothing,” I parroted. He scribbled on his notepad, but since I had nothing to offer, I couldn’t imagine what he was writing.
“Since you managed to escape your captors, you must know in which city they were keeping you. Correct?”
“L.A. Somewhere in the hills but I don’t know enough about that area to clarify.”
He nodded his head as he wrote. Without looking up, he added, “Do you remember what the house looked like?”
“Other than the white stucco and bars it had on the windows? No. And there’s no point since it burned to the ground.”
That piqued his interest, and I suddenly wanted to smack myself for saying that. Breathe, Megan. They can’t prove you started it.
“Was that the same day you escaped?”
“Yes,” I replied. Underneath the table, Nick squeezed my hand and I released a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.
“When was this?” Farrow questioned further.
Unfortunately, that day was burned into my brain. “November 2nd, 2011.”
He scribbled quickly, then gathered his things and stood up. “I’ll need a few minutes. Can I get you anything?”
I shook my head and he was out the door without another word. I couldn’t help but gaze at the mirror, wondering if someone was listening, watching from the other side. Nick leaned over and whispered, “You’re doing great,” then kissed my forehead lightly. We sat in silence, keeping our promise to use minimal words so long as we were here, but Nick continued to stroke my hand to comfort me. I tried my damndest not to let my mind wander, but speaking of the kidnapping, the fire…it was difficult to keep the memories turned off.
When Detective Farrow returned, he had several sheets of paper on top of his folder. Settling down again, his eyes scanned the information, but I was certain he’d already gone over it before he came in. “There was one fire on the day you stated, where the home had stucco and bars, and was in the L.A. area. Is this it?” he inquired, sliding a copy of a picture of the house pre-fire.
I actually shivered, remembering being on the inside looking out, my hands desperately shaking against the iron bars in the living room, knowing I’d never bust free as the smoke slipped out above my head. Unable to find my voice, I nodded.
He shuffled through the pages. “The remains of a man were found in the house.” He slid another photo my way and I inhaled a sharp breath, jerking backwards like I’d been slapped. There was nothing but charred remains, but in my mind, I could still picture the dark, dirty blond hair and scowling brown eyes, his body far outweighing my own, with so many muscles I never had a fighting chance.
I turned my head away from everyone, not wanting to see it anymore, and closed my eyes. The paper was removed, but not by Farrow. Nick must’ve beaten him to the punch and swiped it for himself. My eyes pinched tighter, my heart burning at the thought of Nick seeing for himself, knowing that was the body of the man I left unconscious to burn. I just wanted to keel over and squeeze myself senseless. Talking about this was far more gut-wrenching than I thought it would be.
I heard the paper crumple beside me. Guess Farrow was going to have to reprint that page if he truly wanted it. A few seconds later, Nick’s hand found mine again, squeezing tighter than ever before.
“Where were you kept in the house?” Farrow continued, and my head began to inch sideways until I saw him again, still too afraid to go farther, to look Nick in the eye as well.
“I don’t know,” I replied, but I felt so dehydrated it came out as more of a whisper. I licked my lips and swallowed. “There were no windows and the door was always locked from the outside.”
“What about the night of the fire? How did you get out then?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. He looked up from the paper he was studying, his expression clearly not believing my answer. “I was kept drugged all the time. The nights even more so.” In fact, there was only about an hour a day where I actually felt somewhat normal, and I used that time to eat, shower and go to the bathroom. Except on the last few days, where I worked doubly hard to get that damn vent off the wall.
“This man, Charles Malone, was found dead in his basement. I would imagine that was the only room in the entire house with a door that didn’t have any windows, and most likely where you were kept.”
The detective stared at me with cold, glassy eyes, but since there wasn’t an actual question in there, I kept my trap shut.
“Were you kept in the basement?” he pushed.
“I don’t know.” Bitterly, I added, “He didn’t exactly give me the house tour.”
“Why the hell does it even matter where she was kept?” Nick interrupted rudely. His words gave me the courage to finally his look his way, but his eyes were set hard on Farrow. “That ass**le raped her every damn night. Who the hell cares which room he did it in?”
“I’m required to ask because the death of this man was considered suspicious by the L.A. police department.” It was incredibly difficult to keep a calm face, because I knew what was coming. So did Nick, who continued to keep pressure on my hand, trying to give me the strength to hold on. “Due to the number of broken alcoholic bottles in the dining room, where the fire originated, they believe the fire was set intentionally.” Returning his hard stare on me, he asked firmly, “So I’m asking, did you start the fire?”
Guilt and fear had been building, my heart beating so fast I thought for sure he’d see the way my ribs pounded against my clothes. It took everything I had to say with a steady voice, “No.”
“No?”
I sighed with exasperation. With a hint of annoyance, I retorted, “You know, if you’re going to continue to ask me everything twice, this is going to take all damn day. I meant what I said the first time. It’s not going to change because you ask me a second time.”
I heard a soft murmur of approval come from Nick, and he took a moment to pat my hand beneath the table. Whether he was saying good job or calm down, I didn’t know.
“Here’s the thing,” Farrow replied, dropping his pen and crossing his arms. Shit. Now I’d done it. “You were most likely kept in the room the owner died in. The window in the dining room was broken, alcohol was used to spread the fire, and the firemen only removed one person from that house, a young woman fitting your description. You tell me that you were drugged and that you were always locked up, yet the fireman found you upstairs just outside the dining room. So you tell me what you would think if you were me.”
I had no problem with that. With a voice of confidence I didn’t know I had in me, I replied nonchalantly, “Sounds like maybe there were more than just the two of us in that house.” Instant smirk-be-gone. Farrow’s lips actually began to curve downward after hearing that suggestion. “That maybe he kept another girl like me who didn’t appreciate the way she was treated. I for one didn’t like being f**king raped on a nightly basis. Maybe she didn’t either. Maybe she was kept elsewhere in the house, managed to break free, set the f**king place on fire, but before she ran off, maybe she helped get my drugged ass to safety before slipping out. Obviously, since she would’ve been the one to start the fire, she would’ve wanted to slip away undetected by the firemen and police.
“As for the man, I haven’t got a f**king clue why he was where you found him. I was passed out on the floor upstairs. Want to know how I know that?” I ripped my hand from Nick’s grasp and shoved my right sleeve up to my elbow. Farrow flinched over my burn, but kept his face straight. “Because apparently, having your skin melt off your body is enough to wake your ass up no matter what drugs are in your system. So I’m sorry if my answers don’t satisfy your curiosity. But just so we’re clear, I’ll repeat myself. I was drugged all the time and I hardly remember anything that ever happened in that house.”
He watched me very carefully through my entire answer, but I was filled with so much confidence and anger now, I could actually feel the smoothness in my voice as it carried upwards in my throat. And my eyes didn’t falter.
“Then tell me. Did you ever see or hear another girl in the house?”
“No. I only ever saw another man.”
“And who was this man?”
“Hell if I know,” I blurted. Yeah, I was getting pretty damn annoyed. “It’s not like I was introduced. Everything was a blur. Even their faces.”
Detective Farrow gathered his things again and stood before us. “You seem to be getting agitated. I’ll–”
“Hell yes, I’m getting agitated,” I cried loudly. I was one second away from standing to cut off his escape route, but Nick not only reacquired my hand in a death grip but was pushing the weight of his arm down on my upper thigh to keep me grounded. “How do you think you’d be reacting if your ass got kidnapped, got raped every damn night for months on end, and then, just when you were beginning to put that f**king nightmare behind you, some weasly ass dickhead sat in front of you asking questions in a tone that suggested that you were the criminal here? Huh?”
For a moment, I actually had him stunned into silence. He cleared his throat, then finished, “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
The door closed behind him and I ripped my hand out from beneath Nick’s. I leaned over the table and stroked my brow bones outward profusely, trying to smooth out the pain behind my eyes. His hand lightly trailed up my back, where his fingers began to massage away some of the tension.
“I’m ready to go home now. I have no interest in helping this dickwad any further.”
“Okay,” he soothed.
We sat in silence for at least ten minutes, my mind and body slowly releasing the screaming tension. Everything ached.