I Would Kill For You

22. Memento Mori

❝ the life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living. ❞

cicero

I'd rather have had the detectives questioning me than being alone in a room with my thoughts.  Was I going to go to prison? Was Damian going to prison? And in the back of my mind, a constant reminder: Avery Halloway is dead...dead...dead...

The door opened out of a sudden, making me jump. It was Nichole, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Judging by her dejected expression, I thought this was it. I was going to be arrested. But instead, she beckoned me to exit the room.

"That's all for today, Rosabel. We're sorry for the discomfort we've caused you." she apologised.

I sighed in relief and got up, wiping my sweaty palms on the material of my jeans. I followed her through the hallway as she kept silent.

"You believe me, don't you?" I asked her with a weak voice.

She pursed her thin lips and shook her head slightly.

"It doesn't matter what or whom I believe. If you and Damian are innocent, there's nothing for you to worry about."

She led me through the long corridor and I kept my head down, avoiding the curious looks of other officers. We entered an open room and I saw my parents seated on an old couch, holding each other. There was no sight of Damian or his father. As soon as they laid eyes on me, they leapt to their feet and hugged me tightly. Tears emerged to the surface again, but I shut my eyes tightly and swallowed, to keep them from streaming down my cheeks.

"Where's Damian?" I asked them after I pulled back.

My mother caressed the back of my head lovingly.

"Home, my dear." she answered. My dad gave her an ambiguous glance, but he didn't say anything. "Let's go. We all need to rest."

When I got home, I went straight to my room. I lay on my bed with my cat by my side, staring at the ceiling.

I didn't get up for four days.

***

I hadn't spoken to Damian since that day. He didn't call me, didn't text me, didn't try to look for me, and neither did I. I rarely got up from bed; I separated myself completely from my friends or anyone else. I had to go to the police station one more time for further questioning, but to my utter relief, detective Carter wasn't there. I was interrogated by Nichole and another placid policeman, who didn't make any incriminating remarks about me or Damian.

But I knew that my isolated lifestyle was ephemeral. Because on Friday was the funeral, and I'd have to face reality again. I'd have to face dozens of people, but I'll never look at them the same. Because there was a possibility, however small, however big, that one of them was the killer of Monica Anderson and Avery Halloway. Tragedy had descended upon us once again, and I couldn't help but wonder:

Who's next?

I slipped into my black lace dress. I didn't look good; I was wan and bleary-eyed, as though I just got out of a coma. The fact that I had trouble sleeping must have laid its shadow on me as well. I tried to conceal the dark circles under my eyes as much as I could, and bring some colour to my cheeks with blush. Avery would've wanted me to look good at her funeral.

I smiled with melancholy at that thought.

***

Ellie and I held hands for most of the funeral. Sometimes she'd squeeze my hand painfully, without meaning to, but I didn't say anything to her. Paul was with Avery's parents, and somehow, he managed to maintain a stoic face throughout the whole ceremony, though his eyes were imbued with such affliction it tore me apart. Almost the whole academy was there: teachers, students, their parents. Devon, Liam and Hayden were right behind us, all dressed in suits and sorrowfully watching the ground. No one talked; the atmosphere was permeated by an oppressive state of grief and overwhelming heartache.