Split [ONC 2024]

8. Crystal

It isn't the first time that I'm at work on a Saturday. It is, however, the first time I'm there with absolutely no relation to my actual job.

I don't know what Detective Trevor said or did to grant me access to a murder scene, but I find myself in the doorway of Anika's office, staring as a bunch of forensics specialists are milling around the body.

"Do you recognize this person?" one of the men on the scene asks.

I don't. She doesn't look like Anika anymore. Come to think about it, she doesn't look like much of a person at all. A few of my work friends and I used to joke that Anika was actually a snake wearing human skin. That seems plausible right now.

Her head and face have been bashed in so hard, there's little left intact, and the shape now resembles that of a snake's head. There is blood, bone and brain matter all over her pristine grey carpeting. Next to what's left of her skull, that godawful crystal duck paper weight is chipped and covered in blood.

I always assumed that tacky thing was heavy. I guess I was right. Heavy enough to crack a skull, to bash a face in, to leave anyone completely unrecognizable. It goes to show you that we never know how many potential weapons we handle throughout the day. If I look carefully, I can spot tiny crystal shards among the bloody pulp that used to be Anika's face. They catch the light of the morning sun and shine.

"Mrs. Romney?"

I turn from the body to the man questioning me. "Yes?'

"The victim. Do you recognize her?"

I glance at the body again. Anika was inspired to wear red that day. Her dress merely looks wet, not stained.

"I recognize her dress," I say. "This is what my boss, Anika Bower, was wearing yesterday." I'm very careful with my words. I won't assume anything.

"We understand that the two of you had a fight yesterday."

It's not a question. I know where this is leading. This is how suspects are usually identified. I'm obviously in trouble, but I can't seem to be bothered by it. This is surreal. From the way on of her high heels has somehow fallen off and landed next to the floor-to-ceilling walls, to the cup of mango slices on her des, a plastic fork still piercing one of the fruit. Maybe I'm in shock. There's no other explanation as to why I'm so unaffected by all this.

Sure, I never liked Anika. If I look deep down inside, I'm not sorry that she's dead. I'm not even shocked or sorry about how she died. But it's still a crime scene, still a dead body, still seeing actual brains spread on the carpet.

"Mrs. Romney?"

These people expect answers, so I nod. "If you could call her yelling at me a fight. The only difference is that, this time, I grabbed my purse and left."

The man notes this down. "Did you quit?"

"No."

"Did she fire you?"

I huff. "She doesn't have the power to fire me."

"So you just walked out after she yelled at you?"

"Yes. And I just told that if she doesn't like my work ethic, she can try to get me fired." I shrug. "I knew she wouldn't, we're understaffed."

"I see..." The man sounds even more suspicious so I glance around for Detective Trevor. 

Instead of analyzing the body, he's glancing at the ceiling, checking the corners. I know what he's looking for, but it feels absurd to find that here. Anika was hateful enough not to need murderous shadows to get her. Plus, this time, there's an actual murder weapon.