Take the Fall(6)

My face goes hot. “We shouldn’t have. Kirsten was drunk.”

“Was Gretchen?”

I shake my head. “She might’ve had a beer or two—that’s why I drove—but Gretchen wasn’t really a big drinker.”

Sheriff Wood looks at me. “So, what was the fight about?”

I bite my lip. “I actually don’t know.” Gretchen almost never let her little sister tag along when we went out. I was surprised she let Kirsten come that night, but it wasn’t a shock that they ended up fighting. Leaving Kirsten drunk at Brianne’s seemed harsh though, even for Gretchen. “She barely spoke once we were in the car.”

The sheriff raises his eyebrows. “Really? Not even to confide in her best friend?”

“She never liked to talk when she was mad.” I stare at the floor. There’s been chatter that Gretchen found Marcus and Kirsten hooking up, but it’s so hard to believe, I can’t bring myself to repeat it. “I—I heard a rumor the fight had something to do with Marcus.”

He makes a few notes, but this doesn’t seem to surprise him.

“Okay. Gretchen’s phone records show she called her house at 11:04 p.m. and someone there answered. Do you know if she spoke to anyone?”

I furrow my brow. “No, she didn’t call anyone from the car.”

“Are you sure about that, Sonia?”

“Yes. Like I said, she was upset. She hardly said a word the whole drive. She must’ve made the call after she was home . . . but why would she do that?”

He jots a bunch of stuff down and ignores my question. “You said before that you parked Gretchen’s car in front of her house and she went inside. What happened next?”

I look up, uncertain. We already went over this on Friday night. “Nothing right away. I ran into Haley Jacobs walking her dog. We talked a few minutes, then I started home through the park.”

“Did you have Gretchen’s keys with you then?”

“No, I gave them back to her.”

“Are you sure, Sonia?”

“Positive. Her parents were at a benefit that evening. She couldn’t have gotten into her house without them.”

Sheriff Wood’s face is stern. “Did you actually see Gretchen go inside her house?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see her come back out?”

I frown. “No.”

“Do you know if Gretchen was planning to go anywhere else after you dropped her off?”

I shake my head slowly. “No, she said something about taking a bath and going to bed.”

He flips the page of his notebook and I wonder when this will be over. When it will be my turn to ask questions. “So you started walking home on the main path through the park, straight down from Gretchen’s house, right?”

“Right. That’s the route we’ve always taken.”

“Did you stop anywhere along the way?”

“Not until I got to the bridge.” My voice wavers.

He leans forward on the edge of my desk chair. “Okay, I want you to think for a second. This is important. Did you see anything suspicious before you entered the park? Any strange cars around, people you didn’t recognize?”

I imagine someone sitting in a car, watching me walk down the trail, and shudder. There are so many important details I could have missed. “I wasn’t really paying attention to cars.”

“What about other people in the park?” His eyes are intense. “Think, Sonia. Was there anyone unusual you might’ve passed on the path? Anything out of the ordinary as you approached the bridge?”

“I—I don’t know. There might’ve been. It was dark.” The scratches in my skin burn, but his questions keep coming.

“There might’ve been, or there was?” His voice rises. “Because if you saw the—”

“Roger,” my mom warns.

He looks at her, then back at me and runs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry.”

I stare at my quaking hands. Then I imagine Gretchen being chased by the same shadowy figure as me—but not getting away. I take as deep a breath as my ribs will allow. I can do this. I’m doing this.

“No, it’s okay.” I pull a pillow into my lap and manage a nod. “I know this is important.”

The sheriff clears his throat and glances through his notes again. When he looks up he’s all protocol once more. “In your statement, you said you were grabbed from behind just before you reached the bridge. You struggled with your attacker, but you never saw a face.”

“Yes.” I fix my eyes on the space between us, where it feels safe.

“Could you tell if they were male or female?”

“Male.” I hesitate. “I think.”

The pen scratches across his notepad, sending a shiver up my spine. I do everything possible to avoid thinking about the next part. The moment hands clamped around my neck and dragged me toward the falls. When I felt the icy spray on my face and realized I was going to die. I close my eyes, fighting the sting of tears. But then the sheriff surprises me with a different question.

“Can you remember which way you ran? How long you were pursued after you got away?”

“I—I’m not sure.” I look at my lap, racking my memory for any useful detail. “It felt like I ran forever, I got so turned around. At some point I made it back to the bridge, and then the diner.” My voice quavers, but I force myself to go on. “I guess if I hadn’t . . .”