The Last of Us

Twenty-Six

Ben drives me to the police station a few minutes later.

I feel jumpy. My knee won't stop bouncing, and I can see Ben side-eyeing me every few seconds as if he's concerned by my behaviour.

I usually feel so controlled around him and other people in general. I don't like to seem as though I'm on edge, teetering over the cliff and ready to fall.

That's exactly how I feel right now. I think my entire life—or at least everything I've built these past few years—is vanishing.

How can I preach about safety and reaching out to others for help when I haven't been able to protect a group of girls that I'm closely working with?

I feel like a fraud. Sophie is dead because I didn't work fast enough. I should have told the cops everything, even if I thought I could do this by myself.

I'd been self-sufficient for so long that it seemed normal to try and solve a puzzle alone. But that's where I'd been wrong.

I tell others to find solace in close relationships, yet I'd isolated myself from the help I needed. I'm a hypocrite.

"You'll break your knee if you move it any faster," Ben jokes, despite the worry in his tone.

"I don't know where to go from here. I tell Chaplin about Danni, and then what? I sit around the house doing nothing?"

"If you want to, we could look further into why Sophie may have been the next victim."

I nod, staring at my lap. "I'm going to start by going to her funeral tomorrow. See if anyone sticks out to me."

"You think the killer could be there?"

I think back to the conversation I'd had at the last support group and how it had been a plausible idea.

"Potentially. I don't have any other leads anyway. The emails haven't been helpful lately, just a whole lot of gloating."

"They're getting cocky," Ben nods. "Think they're gonna get away with it."

"Yeah. Too bad that won't last."

Despite everything, I have hope that the killer isn't going to remain anonymous forever. They'll slip up somewhere. It's just a matter of time.

My mind flashes back to when I was found in Randall's basement. The way I'd been so dehydrated and malnourished that I couldn't be sure whether I was hallucinating or not.

When the paramedic picked me up, I remember
flopping like a dead fish in his arms as he tried to talk to me. I remember my head against his chest as we walked up the stairs.

For a moment, my eyes landed on Jason sitting in handcuffs on the floor of his entryway. He'd looked me dead in the eye and stayed utterly stoic. He didn't show remorse or even fear that he'd been caught. He just looked like nothing had happened.

I couldn't wait to look exactly like that when the killer was caught. Show no remorse for the sick prick that they are.

"We're here," Ben says quietly.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, turning towards him. "Do you think I'm being stupid? For telling him about Danni?"

I'd been going back and forth all morning, wondering if I was grasping at straws. But I know what I saw in her backpack wasn't right; I just needed to understand how and why she had any of it.

"I'll wait here if you want. I don't have work for a couple of hours, anyway."

I nod, thanking him. "Maybe you could look further into who might have been weird with Talia at work. I just let that go since everything else has happened, but maybe it could help us."

He looks at me for a moment, seemingly thinking about what he will say next.

"There's something I should tell you about—"

Chaplin is knocking on the passenger window before Ben finishes speaking.

Chaplin has always been an eager cop. I remember how he'd shoot rapid-fire questions at me right after I'd been released from the hospital. I hadn't been in the best mindset then, but later on, I came to admire how tirelessly he would work to help me put Randall away.

He's opening the passenger door for me, ushering me inside the police station before I can utter another word to Ben.

————————————————————————

The chair feels cold against my skin as I sit in front of Chaplin in the interview again. I've been here too many times lately that I can remember the exact positioning of the smallest items in the room. 

The camera always points precisely to the opposite corner, close to the ceiling. The recording camera's red dot blinks every three seconds exactly.

My eyes land on Chaplin as he waits patiently for me to begin. I wonder how long I've been staring at nothing.

"I have a lead. I think," I clear my throat.

"There is a girl in my support group, Danni Sullivan. Danielle."

"Okay," he nods, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head.

"Lately, she's been questioning me a lot. It's strange. It feels like she's turning on me."

"Questioning you about?"

"Things to do with the murders like whether I'm lying about certain things, why I'm the only one who has police protection, if I was at the crime scene when Ed died. Just questions that she shouldn't even know to think about."

Chaplin nods, leaning forward to take a few notes on his pad. I've never been able to read them properly. It all looks like a bunch of scribbles to me.

"Then, last week, I questioned her on how she knew I had police protection or why she thought I'd been at the crime scene, and she shut down. She knew she'd said too much."

"You think she's been watching you?"

I clear my throat, feeling my knee begin to jiggle again. I imagine Ben's kind eyes on me, wanting me to relax, and I stop.

"Yes, maybe. I'm not too sure. It could be something else, though."

"Like?"

I wait for a few beats, trying to work out how to phrase this without sounding insane.

"I feel like—how does she have all these questions if she isn't involved somehow? How does she know so much?"

"You think she knows who the killer is?"

I'm quiet for a minute, biting my lip.

"You think she is the killer?"

"I know how it sounds. I—I can't understand any of this. She also had all these pictures of the crime scene in her bag. That's not normal. The general public can't just have those."

"Do you have any of these pictures?"

I shake my head. "She ran out quickly when she dropped them in front of me. I only saw glimpses of all of them."

"What kind of photos are we talking about here?"

"Photos of the body, other things in the room too. She also had notes, but I didn't have time to read them."

Chaplin makes a sound under his breath, and I can't quite decipher it.

"I'll make sure to look into it, Harlow. I can't promise anything will come of it."

"Okay," I say, feeling defeated.

I can see just from the look on his face that he isn't taking my word seriously, despite wanting me to come to him for answers so many times.

"Is that all you had to tell me?"

I nod, beginning to rise from my seat.

"I'll be in touch then, alright? If I get any updates about Randall, too, you'll be the first to know."

"Thank you."

Chaplin leads me out into the foyer before saying goodbye.

I can't help but feel that I just wasted precious time speaking to someone that didn't believe a single word coming out of my mouth.