distant stars

I hadn’t wanted to go in. I knew virtually nothing anyway, and that bruise would lead to questions I didn’t and couldn’t answer. “Hello, Ms. Arden,” said a pretty, female voice, and I really hate to say that I might’ve jumped. “I’m Ophelia,” the woman continued, “and this is my brother, Xander.” I made myself nod, made myself pretend that I wanted to be here. My head was tilted so that my hair fell over the bruise. “Before we begin, can I get you anything? Water, coffee..?” I glanced up, making brief eye contact with her, my hair sliding away from the bruise. “I’m good, thanks,” I replied, pinning my gaze on a spot on the table in front of me. I knew the agents were surprised. Concerned. Probably thought I was in an abusive relationship or something. “Uh…okay,” Ophelia said. “What happened to your face?” her brother, who’s name I’d already forgotten, asked. “I…I fell, it’s not as bad as it looks,” I lied, face flushing. It was worse than it looked. Neither looked convinced. I didn’t blame them. I didn’t care. After all, I wasn’t here to talk about my injuries. “So,” Ophelia said, as if to dispel something. “You said you saw William Harris thirty minutes before he was found dead?” she continued. “Yes. I…I had a meeting with him.” I kept my voice flat and professional. I didn’t missed the shared glance the siblings shared, as if they hadn’t gotten anything else of interest today. “What was the meeting about?” the brother asked. “Just…just to finalize whether I was going with him to his new job over at Richard Hall or staying back at the Courthouse,” I replied. “You’re an actor?” Ophelia asked. I nodded, managing a small smile. “Yeah, I got into it…god, was it my freshman year? I was overworked as hell, but the director was happy for about the last time in her life.” I didn’t notice the way I twisted the black ring on my middle finger, the way tears collected in my eyes. “I just don’t know why anyone’d kill him. He was…he was just so damn friendly, you know? I didn’t have any major prior acting experience and he gave me a job on tech crew, just picked me up off the street and decided that I was his new kid. Didn’t even bother with an interview or anything. Hell, I didn’t even go to college. I just can’t believe anyone would want to kill him,” I gritted out, amping up the tears. I did know why someone would want to kill him. He was just collateral damage. I liked the man, sure, and he tried his best, but they thought he was in the way. I knew exactly who’d been responsible. But to tell these agents the truth was suicide and insane. So I went with the easy route of lying. “Do you…do you have any idea who might’ve done it? And I mean any idea, even the slightest hint?” Ophelia asked. I shook my head. “No, no ma’am. I don’t.” She seemed to take my word, which made me feel horrible. “Okay,” said Xander (I’d finally remembered his name), exhaling sharply. “We’re done here,” he added, standing. I forced myself to nod. Ophelia spared me a kind glance. “It’ll be alright,” she said, awkwardly patting my shoulder before she stood and followed her brother out. The familiar pain rocketed through my arm. A reminder of what had happened all those years ago, why I was in this situation in the first place. What they’d done and hadn’t finished. How I’d been left. And now what had happened to the man who’d promised to protect me.

They let me leave about twenty minutes later. I stopped at the bank to cash my latest paycheck, one I’d gone to get from Mr Harris the night he’d died. Nine hundred and seventy more dollars to aid in getting a new computer. The one I had was from high school, outdated at purchase, and I wanted something new. Reliable. Purchased out of freedom of choice instead of being the only option. I hadn’t been allowed to get a different, cheaper computer, and the school jacked up the prices. I’d looked at other computers with my brother. The same model laptop I’d bought for three thousand dollars was under three hundred retail. It thankfully didn’t take the teller long and soon I was unlocking the door to my apartment.

Flicking on the lights I sorted through the cash from my latest paycheck. The bigger bills and all the tens went into the shitty, overpriced box I’d purchased at the shitty, overpriced fair my freshman year of high school, which went back on the shelf. Once I was done I went into the kitchen and put on water to boil, pulling noodles and salt from the cabinet. When the water boiled I put the noodles in, set a twenty minute timer, and went to shower. I turned on the water and found myself studying my scars. A pale ridge ran from the back of my shoulder blade all the way to my knee. The small, scarred dot below my chest blended neatly with the moon phases that eclipsed it, making the full moon paler than the ones waning and waxing. My hands were lined with barely-there surgery scars from getting them reconstructed. Constant reminders, but yet I’d stopped noticing them. If only others didn’t notice too. The water was cold when I finally got in.

The pasta was long ready when I got out. I toweled my hair as I ate, hardly noticing that I put too much salt. I took out my computer, made an appointment to renew my concealed carry. It’d been out of date for a few weeks now, my handgun sitting idle in my nightstand drawer. I’d been putting off renewing it because of rehearsals, but now that Mr Harris was dead, his assistant, Cora, had indefinitely postponed our shows and I had plenty of free time. I chose to finish cleaning up my cooking mess in the morning. I was exhausted from the questioning and the late-night rehearsal I’d had yesterday. It had ended with my face being shoved into the corner of Mr Harris’s desk. The bruise still hadn’t faded. I wondered what the agents had thought of it. I hadn’t lied, after all, just withheld the whole ‘shoving’, and ‘desk’ details. I knew I should put ice on it, but I was too tired to care and went straight to bed, leaving my dishes for the morning.