Where It Leads Us

Chapter Seventy-two

More so than I did the previous year, I realized that I was spiraling in and out of consciousness every now and then. It was the same as before; I blamed myself for what occurred and concluded that this was the solution and end of the matter.

On the other hand, it's an entirely different kind of withdrawal of spiral moments that is more deeply motivated by unfulfilled love. I reasoned that losing someone who shares the air I breathe and walks the same path as me is much more different from losing someone who is buried six feet underground with its flesh rotting to its core, whereas the years go by, it exposes its bones.

Who would have guessed that the person with whom my sister and I both fell in love is the same? I wonder whether Aaren simply found me attractive because he sees a resemblance to my sister in me.

I know that reality is soon kicking me back in as I was distracted from my thoughts by the whistling kettle in the kitchen, and it took me a while to notice that there were three police officers talking to Clarissa, and Christopher as they walk in and out of our home.

I observe Clarissa leave the living room and walk into the kitchen. Zania and I sat in silence on the couch in the living room as we made an effort to understand the situation at hand.

Earlier this morning, Clarissa demanded Christopher to summon the police so they could disperse the large group of reporters who had gathered outside our front yard due to false information being leaked about the progress of the case, and to keep an eye on the vicinity because she could see that I was distressed about the idea of the reporters following me.

I watch as the two of them exchange conversations; their mouths moving and not being able to comprehend a single word out of it.

Even though I make every effort to ignore the gathering cloud of recollections of a specific person, seeing Aaren's father in close proximity only serves to further bring my mind to him. In the depths of my soul and aching bones, the image of him pains me. In the tenderest places of my heart, it also misses him. Even while I struggle to muster the strength to at least understand what he has to say about everything, I know that sitting here with my conflicted emotions won't get me anywhere.

While two police officers take coffee mugs from the tray that Clarissa brought in from the kitchen, I watch and observe silently. Now that the reality is sinking in, Clarissa appears to be more distressed than I am, which makes me feel worse because I know that my state bothers her more.

"Do you think my mom likes Christopher?" Zania whispers beside me as if speaking in loud tones would get us caught and detained. I look at her, knowing that she's delivering a failed joke, but the look on her face and the way her eyes lighten up with the idea tells me that she's asking a genuine question.

I rolled my eyes, "Please tell me you're joking," I told her.

She looks at me, shrugging her shoulders, "What? I'm being serious. I just need your opinion if you think she does."

"After she got mad at him in the interrogation room and is close to killing him with her own bare hands, I don't think so," I told her, as she lets out a snicker.

After patting Clarissa on the shoulder and missing the first call since his phone had been buzzing for a few minutes, Christopher excuses himself to answer the call. Before they all went outside, the police officers were waiting, sipping their hot coffee as Clarissa throws a smile at them before heading towards us.

"What's for dinner?" Zania asks Clarissa in her normal tone of voice, plastering a smile on her face to try and get her mom to loosen up all that tension that her face is displaying.

"Chinese take-out. I'm too stressed to even think about what to cook for dinner right now," Clarissa says as she sat down on the single-leathered couch, throwing her head back on the headrest as she stares, seemingly defeated, at the ceiling.

I wonder if it's too late to tell Clarissa that I want all of this—the investigation of the murder case to reach its reasonable conclusion—to stop. I know having this case solved means so much to her as much as it means to me, but accepting defeat over its unresolved nature seems like the better course of action than letting the whole issue overwhelm us more with stress and frustration.

In contrast to watching people revive the case, hearing and articulating the same questions as before, and having to watch the case be publicized on every local news channel—perhaps letting it go unsolved was the best option to take from the start. The wound resurfaces, and it's like I'm watching my own wound being cut open, again.

The atmosphere of mixed emotions were interrupted as we hear the front door open, watching Christopher step inside the house along with the three police officers as they all made their way to the living room. He glances at me, and for a brief second, I wondered why he was looking at me with pity. He then turns to face Clarissa and says, "I'm sorry."

I hear the handcuffs swinging. Zania and I shared identical horrified looks, and Clarissa was also yelling angrily as she swiftly got up from the couch, the minute the cold, unexpected steel circled my wrists.

"I'm afraid you're under arrest for the murder of Cora and Jack Sanders."

Christopher refers to me as I hear him sighing as if whatever is happening right now seems to be unreal to him as well, "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."

He looks at me as I stood up from the couch, "Do you understand the rights I have just stated to you?"

"Yes."

The police began to escort me out of the house. They all followed closely after me as I began to cautiously withdraw in light of the situation. The second police officer unlocked the car door, and before I could feel them prodding and pushing me in, I turned to face Clarissa and Zania, relishing what may be my last chance to see them.

I enter, feeling the air smother me gradually. I watch from a distance as Clarissa yells at Christopher while pointing at me, questioning his sudden accusations of him framing me.

Christopher speaks, maybe in a calm manner to prevent the possibility of causing the situation to grow more tense if he were to stir it up by joining in with Clarissa's rage.

Zania and Clarissa are now both crying, and the more I study their faces, the more perplexed I become. I gaze at Clarissa as I see the tears stream down her cheeks and hear her yell, "Don't worry," through the window as she begins to sprint towards the car as two policemen start driving me away from her. "It's okay, honey. Everything will be okay."

***