Take the Fall(5)

Serial Experiments—a comic book based on the UltaShock video game—lies on top of a couple textbooks by the bed. Right where I dropped it before we went to Brianne’s party Friday night. I pick it up, in desperate need of a distraction, but when I find where I left off, Gretchen’s voice dances through my head.

“Wait, tell me again why she wears pigtails?”

“I don’t know, because she’s badass.”

“They’re pink pigtails. I thought she was supposed to be a ninja or something.”

“An assassin—and that’s the whole point. She’s smart, and deadly with a crossbow. No one expects it.”

Gretchen dropped the comic into my lap, twisted my hair into thick pigtails, and laughed. “Bad. Ass.”

It’s well after dark and I’m half dozing when I’m startled by the clomp of shoes on the stairs. From the sound of it, more than one pair. My heart pounds with every creak of the floorboards as they tiptoe down the hall, stopping at the door of my room.

“She’s asleep, finally. Can’t you come back in the morning?” my mother asks.

“Why don’t you wake her. This won’t take long.” I recognize the sheriff’s voice in a whisper.

“You said they’re just routine questions.”

“They are, but I’ve got Carlton Meyer breathing down my neck, Marlene.”

The hall goes quiet and I hold my breath. I’m ninety-nine percent sure they’re hugging now. My mom and Sheriff Wood dated briefly when I was little, and though I was never sure why they broke up, it’s clear they still care for each other, if just as close friends. Eventually, my mom peeks her head into my room and I look up at her in the dim closet light.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

She crosses the tiny space to perch on the edge of my bed. My mom had me young. She’s only thirty-six, but right now she looks a lot older than that. Her thin brown hair is pulled away from her face and I can see every crease around her mouth and eyes in the light of my closet. She lifts my comic book off my chest, setting it carefully aside without losing the page.

“Roger’s here, sweetie. I know it’s late, but do you feel up to running through things with him again?” She doesn’t usually refer to him as “Roger” with me. I think she’s trying to make me more comfortable.

“No, of course it’s fine.” It takes effort to make this sound like I mean it. I barely remember what I said the first time he questioned me and I’m nervous about having to talk through it again. But Sheriff Wood’s the one person in town who might be able to figure out what happened to me and Gretchen, and I’m counting on him to be straight with me. I need to know what’s going on with the investigation or I’m going to lose it.

His uniform fills the room when he walks in, and my stomach churns, but I remind myself this is Roger, my mom’s old boyfriend, who used to give me chocolate bars and let me run the emergency lights on his car. He’s not even wearing his hat like usual. Like he was when he came rushing into the diner Friday night. I give my room a self-conscious once-over as he and my mom shuffle to make room for each other. There’re no dirty dishes lying around or underwear left out, but I still pull the covers closer around me. It’s probably impossible to feel entirely comfortable with a uniformed cop in your bedroom.

“Sonia, how are you feeling?”

I pull my knees up, but I’m not sure how to answer.

“I’m sorry, I know this is hard. It’s been a tough couple of days.” He nods at my desk chair. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

I shake my head. He perches on the edge of the purple chair and I think how Gretchen would spin lazily in it, pushing herself with one foot. I have to look away.

“I’m sorry it’s so late. I kept meaning to stop by earlier to at least see how you were doing.” He wrinkles his brow. “Your mom told you about Marcus Perez?”

I look at my mom leaning against the doorframe. She gives me an anxious nod. I swallow hard, wondering where this is going. “Yeah, she said you guys had to let him go. Does that mean he definitely didn’t do it?” My heart quickens. “Do you have another suspect?”

“It just means we’ve got to be extra vigilant to try and figure out exactly what happened the other night.” He clears his throat, but this is so vague, I want to yell. “Listen, I know we went over what happened to you Friday, but because we talked before we knew—before Gretchen was found—I wanted to go over the details again.”

I knot my fingers under the covers. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“Thanks, Sonia. I know this isn’t easy.” He pulls a notebook from his pocket and looks at my mom. “We’ll keep it as brief as possible.”

She nods, but she doesn’t leave.

“I have here that you drove Gretchen back to her house from a party at Brianne Prashad’s around eleven o’clock Friday night,” the sheriff says.

I nod.

“You were driving her car and you were the designated driver?”

I squirm, looking at my lap. It feels wrong to acknowledge my friends’ drinking to his face, but the sheriff isn’t stupid. “Yes. Our curfews weren’t until midnight, but she and Kirsten had a fight and Gretchen wanted to go home.”

“That’s right . . . Kirsten said you all arrived together, but you and Gretchen left without her.”