𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖊
𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭
𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐎𝐡𝐢𝐨
Sheriff Drew places three images down on the metal table, each a different angle of the deceased body. The first is a full-body shot, showing the women’s undressed body laying down in the alley. The middle is a shot of the fingerprints on her neck and bruises on her face. The last one shows the way the blood leaked out from under her body.
“Do you know this woman?” She asks the man.
“No,” a drop of sweat travels down his neck to his back.
“Mr. Louis, where were you on June 21st at 1:43 am?”
“I had just gotten off of my shift at Bullets Bar.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this the alley behind the bar,” she points to the first photo.
“It is,” he nods.
“Did you go out the front or back?”
“The front ma’am.” She smirks. Turning around, she grabs a remote from a stand in the room. The t.v comes to life, displaying a video.
“This video was taken at 1:30 am, from a security camera on the small shop next door. 1:31 am a man wearing a black ACDC shirt with his initials on it comes out the back, where a woman is waiting. 1:32 they start kissing. 1:34 the guy tries to slips his hand up her dress. 1:36 he grabs her by the neck and moves out of frame. 1:38 the dress she was wearing is thrown in view along with her undergarments. 1:43 the body drops to the floor and the guy is nowhere around. It’s funny because you said you left out the front but isn’t the guy you. I mean aren’t your initials RML, Roger Michael Louis? And isn’t this also your girlfriend, but it couldn’t be, right? I mean you said you didn’t know her.” She finishes by turning around and crossing her arms.
“She was a one-night stand, but I don’t know her.” He explains, to a very unimpressed Sheriff.
“Then explain this,” she drops multiple pictures of the two. “Mr. Louis, she wasn’t a one-night stand, I mean unless you always post pictures with your one-night stands on your Instagram with #loveofmylife.”
“I’d like to call my lawyer.” He stands abruptly.
“No need for a lawyer,” she hits the next button on the remote, turning it to a different camera angle. Were it shows Mr. Louis viciously beating her and then stabbing her. “You know what the best part is? This.” She pauses the video to stop exactly when the man looks up. “Do you have a twin Mr. Louis?”
The door opens as another cop comes in with handcuffs. “Take him away, Jerry.”
“Will do. A person is asking for you in the waiting room, sheriff.”
“Name?”
“Don’t know, but he’s related to a shootout that happened tonight. Said it’s urgent.”
“I’ll go check it out, thanks,” Closing the door behind her, she heads in the direction of the waiting room. Who could it be she wonders? She grabs the coffee off her desk only to drop it when she sees who the person is.
“Skylar, we need to talk.”
𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟐, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟕
𝟓𝟏𝟕𝟖 𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐲, 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐚
“How are you today?” The receptionist asks, a lustful smile on her lips as she catches sight of the twins and Nate.
“Great, now,” Dylan smirks. I roll my eyes as I jab him in the stomach.
“We have an appointment with Dr. Bow at 11, can we head in?” Nate asks.
She looks at the computer, typing away, but still watching the boys. Gross. “You can head in now.”
“Come on boys,” Nate all but drags the twins to the room.
“I don’t understand why I’m here. I’m fine,” I comment. Ever since I’ve been jumpier and having not-so-nice dreams, they’ve pushed the idea of my going to see a therapist. News flash, I can’t be fixed.
“We’re here because we want what’s best for you and because it’s free.” He mutters the last part under his breath, but I still hear him.
“It’s only free because the guy owes you!” Nate shrugs.
“That’s beside the point, now go in,” he opens the door and shoves me inside. Bastard!
“You must be Skylar,” he speaks. Dr. Bowtoxic looks to be around 40, he has on black wire-rimmed glasses, salt and pepper hair, brown eyes, a grey shirt, that’s a little too small for his Santa belly, and black slacks.
“Who did you expect it to be, your slutty receptionist?”
“How are you doing today?” He totally skipped my question.
“Terrible.”
“Why is that?” He asks in a therapist’s voice. You know the voice that tells you ‘I’m here for you and I understand how you feel.’
“Because I’m here, with you,” I say in a monotone voice.
“Do you always use sarcastic nature instead of emotions?”
“No, I cried when that girl didn’t get hit by the bus.”
“Is violence your way to feel needed? You think to be useful you need to destroy or ruin something?” How is this guy a therapist? None and I mean absolutely none of that makes sense.
“You know what Doc, maybe. Maybe I use violence as an outlet.” I say in an ‘I need help voice’.
“Outlet for what?” Is the bitch stupid?
“How are you a therapist!? What else would I do with violence? Are you telling me you’ve never destroyed something when you’re angry?”
“Or is violence the only thing you know?”
“I know other things, like when the birds meet the b-”
“What about your brothers?“He cuts me off, fucking rude ass!
" What brothers?” I act as though I don’t know who he’s referring to.
“Liam and Trey, your brothers.” I keep a blank expression. This bitch needs to work harder to break me open. And correction that isn’t my brothers, they’re my half.
