Boss

By: Sienna Mynx

Prelude to Murder





Kassidy had never seen a man shot before. Alone in her misery, she suffered a cold ache through her body. It extended from the top of her head, to the bottoms of her bloody feet. Thankfully, being locked behind the door of an interrogation room stopped the people at the police station from staring. It wasn't the blizzard she survived, or the wet clothes stained in blood she wore that made her a sight. It was the empty hollow stare she gave the medics and police, as they whispered to each other that she might be in a state of shock. Kassidy wished for shock. If she suffered that type of mental paralysis, then she would be numb and possibly forgetful of the past seventy-two hours. Maybe God would be forgiving and erase the past four months from her mind. Or even further. Instead, the weight of her emotional and physical despair had left her aware. If it had not been for her vendetta, and her obsessions, all of this could have been avoided.

The door opened.

With clenched fists hidden in her lap, Kassidy watched two detectives step inside. Both men wore hard-boiled scowls on their faces. Neither seemed impressed with her suffering. Not once since she arrived in handcuffs, was she asked if she needed medical attention. And she did. The gashes and cuts to the bottoms of her feet kept weeping. She was glad to be seated. Each step made the floor sticky, or slippery.

The rest of her wasn’t better. She touched her hair. After several days of not combing the modern styled short pixie hair cut she wore, it was left curly and flat to her skull. The clothes she had on were his, and ill fitted. Her face had cuts, scratches, and bruises that had barely healed. She arrived at the police station with only socks on her feet. What was this room? Why did they leave her there to wait? Where was he? Was he okay? Kassidy’s hand trembled with nervous quivering as it went over her head in a weak attempt to collect herself, but it was awkward because her wrists remained locked together in iron bracelets.

“Am I under arrest?” she asked.

One of the detectives gave the other a sideways look. Ignoring the question, the tallest man between the two of them came forward and unlocked her cuffed wrists.

The other detective began to read her, her rights. She found that odd. If she weren't under arrest, why did he find it necessary? She had the right to remain silent. Anything she said could and would be held against her. She had the right to an attorney. If she couldn’t afford one, then one would be appointed to her. And on he went. She must be under arrest. They had found her guilty without knowing her real crime. Kassidy stared at the detectives and her eyes pooled with tears. I have to see him. I have to know if he is alive.

“Do you understand these rights as they were explained to you?” One of the detectives asked.

“No. Yes. I think so,” she replied.

“Good. Very good,” said the shorter detective who was skinny with no facial hair. He did, however, have a sleepy eye that made it look as if he were giving her a wink. “Your name is Angela Brown, right? Want some gum?” he asked like a stranger would to tempt a child.

She shook her head no to the offer.

“Answer me, is your name Angela?”

“No. I’m Kassandra Turner.”

“Your identification says...”

“I know what it says. I’m telling you it’s not my name. My name is Kassandra Turner.”

“So your identification is fake?” the other detective asked. The frown on her face deepened. For detectives they weren’t very smart.

“I’m Detective Grason, and this is my partner Detective Eric Carter.”

The introduction didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to her was Tarek. Did he survive? Was he arrested?

“We need help here Kassandra. You understand the trouble you’re in, don’t you?” Detective Carter asked. “And I’m not talking about the fake id.”

“I gave a statement. And they put handcuffs on me,” she replied.

“We’ve spoken to the officers who brought you in. There's a lot you didn’t tell them. Isn’t there?” Detective Carter asked.

“I'm,” she said, her voice was strained but meek. When the man didn't respond, she glanced up and looked at the one named Grason with the sleepy eye. “I'm innocent.”

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