Page 12 of Best Served Cold
“Yes,” Lee said, plainly.
Another swift answer. Another bid for the lazy truth.
The atmosphere in the room changed at that moment, as if another side of Morgan appeared that Lee could sense almost instinctually through her own newly found predatorial approach. And yet, her fierceness dulled when she stared directly into her girlfriend’s eyes and made the conclusion that there were now two predators in the room, as opposed to one. “Perhaps you do understand the repercussions, but perhaps I’m not ready for you to know this side of me. Is it not enough, for now, for you to know who Edward Beckett was and why I did what I did?”
Lee Holmes, regardless of the consequences, would not back down. Her own face shifted at that moment as her patience waned. “How the fuck would that be enough? This isn’t like not knowing what your favorite color is, Morgan. This is a catastrophe beyond any comprehension I’m capable of. I want to know who I’m sleeping next to!”
If she didn’t know now, perhaps she would never know. Perhaps she would be destined to spend every night in a sleepless nightmare, terrified of peeking behind the curtain of her relationship whilst simultaneously not being able to look away.
Morgan’s eyes shifted, and suddenly the predator Lee had sensed previously had quieted. She exhaled slowly, her throat bobbing ever so slightly with nerves that she swallowed down alongside her coffee. “We literally celebrated our anniversary last night, Lee. Perhaps I’m being naive, but everything just seemed so…normal. And yet, at the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that your body literally tenses now at my touch. You’re already on high alert around me since that night. If I tell youeverything, God only knows how you’d react around me. I don’t want to push you further away.”
Lee’s own mask fell too, revealing the scared gazelle underneath as a tear escaped through the corner of her eye. Despite her inner conflicts, desperate to reach out towards her, Morgan knew better than to wipe it away. “You know all of me, Morgan. You know how many sugars I like in my coffee. You know each and every freckle on my body. I thought I knew all of you, too, only to find out that there’s a part of you that frightens me.”
Morgan’s lips parted, as if unsure as to what to say next, desperate for her brain to catch up to her mouth and say the correct thing. “Fuck, Lee,” she said, the words coming out in an almost-whisper. “I never want you to be fright—”
A ringtone startled them both back to earth, their bodies jolting in unison whilst Morgan pulled her phone out of her pocket and stifled the noise with the press of a button. “Hey, Mom. Sorry, now isn’t really a good time, can I call you back?”
Lee watched as Morgan nodded whilst the room fell to a dull silence. “I see. I didn’t realize that’s why you were calling. We’ll be there within the hour. Speak soon.”
Morgan placed a cautious hand on Lee’s thigh, ready to retract it should the need arise. “Before I say anything, I don’t want you to freak out, okay? Nothing is going to happen. Not to you, not to me. Especially not to you.”
Just as Morgan had made it clear earlier, Lee’s body tensed ever so slightly at the touch. Now that she was aware of it, she told herself that perhaps she could prevent it from happening in future. She was fooling herself, she realized. The only way she could stop it was if she knew the inner workings of Morgan’s mind, the very thing that her girlfriend was blocking her from. “Stop stalling and tell me what’s happening, Morgan.”
Morgan pinched her nose with her other hand, an act she often committed herself to when she was overwhelmed, or anxious, and Lee found herself mimicking the anxiety back at her through a harsher gulp than she was accustomed to. “My mother wants us to come down to the station to answer some questions.”
Chapter Eleven
Lee had never felt the collar on one of her shirts before as it lay across her neck without extending a hand to touch it first. She had never compared her heartbeat to that of a marching band—her body on high alert. Always the gazelle, never the lion.
Now the headlights were approaching, and no matter how many times she peered left or right, the outcome was always the same. She could jump out of the way and be met by snakes, or alternatively, spiders. Spiders had a way of burrowing their way inside and hatching their eggs—hundreds of tiny moving parts.
Lee Holmes would sooner choose the snakes. Except, within these four walls, she didn’t have the luxury of choice.
The detective spoke whilst the spiders burrowed. “Thank you for taking the time off work at such short notice. Miss Holmes, please rest assured that this is just a formality. As a resident at Clearwater Close, you are being interviewed in relation to a missing person’s report. The person in question being a Mr Edward Beckett. He was last seen standing alone in the lobby of your apartment complex on the 4th of September, beforeproceeding to take the left elevator to the third floor. Your floor, Miss Holmes.”
The detective had a kind voice, a voice reserved for children’s books and documentaries, perhaps. His pleasant voice matched his equally kind exterior, sporting a graying beard against his dark skin as he placed a hand towards his face to scratch it. Just as Lee had felt the fabric of her collar against her neck without even touching it, she felt the saliva in her mouth as it traveled down her throat. When it was gone, her tongue was dry. “May I have some water?”
There wasn’t a river in a thousand miles that could quench her thirst at that moment, though she would gladly indulge in drinking an entire ocean if only to stall for time. She could hear the rattling of the snakes beside her ears now. How was it possible that Edward was alone, and not with her girlfriend as he made his way up to the apartment?
She remembered her first day at school at that moment, and the abandonment she felt upon her mother leaving. She remembered feeling too young to be there, and yet too old to experience the thoughts she felt at the same time, pondering the idea that she needed to know all of the answers to the universe before she had even stepped inside the gates. She felt like that now, in this room, completely abandoned and terrified of saying the wrong thing.
Lee Holmes was playing checkers with the detective, and yet, it appeared that he had elected to play chess. She wasn’t prepared for chess.
A gentle looking man with bags under his eyes entered the room and placed a ceramic mug with the station's logo upon the table. Lee indulged in its contents immediately, gulping it down in two swift movements. He stood firmly in place, his hands behind his back like a trained soldier whilst the detective pushed on.
“I understand that this is a lot to take in, Miss Holmes. May I call you Lee?” the detective asked, leaning forward in his chair as if to invade her space. Lee couldn’t help but compare the situation to her own actions in the kitchen just an hour before, cornering Morgan for the answers she craved. Before she could respond, he continued. “This is no small thing, and I’m not just talking about the fact that a man is missing. I’m talking about sitting here, in this room, under these lights. It’s a lot. The sooner we get your side of the story, the sooner we can get you out from under these lights. Out of that uncomfortable chair.”
It had yet to occur to Lee that the chair was in fact uncomfortable, too busy focusing on what the next few minutes of this conversation could look like. The possibility that the next thing that came out of her mouth could determine her entire life.
Morgan, too egotistical in her ways that she had gotten away with it, hadn’t weaved a story in relation to their midnight charity escapades for Lee that she was prepared to recite word for word to cover the both of them and their lack of involvement. Even if she had, would Lee even wish to tell it? Furthermore, what story was Morgan weaving in her own interrogation?Lee murdered him, officer. I was there.
Lee Holmes grasped the cup between her hands; her fingers wrapped so firmly around its cold exterior she feared it might break. That she might break. “Do you have a picture of this man that I might look at? I don’t know how much help I can be without one.”
The detective peered over towards the man with bags under his eyes, nodding him out of the room as if the pair of them had an unspoken understanding of one another. “I can do you one better,” he offered. “I can present the CCTV footage of Mr Beckett entering the elevator.”
Suddenly, it felt as if Lee was standing upon the tip of a needle, careful not to tip over the edge to the endless freefall below,whilst equally careful as not to be pricked by the unforgiving point of it. “Excellent,” she practically whispered, thwarting herself internally for drinking her water so fast, if only to allow herself a means of seeming occupied with something, anything, other than what was happening within the room.
After a few awkward moments of silence, a small black television set was brought in on an equally black table that housed a set of wheels, much like she had experienced at school when it was time to watch a video. Just like the snakes, she would much sooner take a children’s movie over what she was about to witness. It would seem almost comical, if not for where she currently found herself.
