Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 30

Chapter 30: Interrogation

"Ms. d’Armand?"

I blink, the harsh fluorescent light burning my eyes. It’s a struggle to focus on the two men sitting across the table. One wears the crisp blue uniform of a police officer, the other the sleek black attire of the Supernatural Enforcement Division. Their faces swim in and out of focus, blurring into indistinct shapes.

"Y-yes?" My voice cracks, barely above a whisper. My throat feels raw, as if I’ve been screaming for hours. Have I? I can’t remember. I feel like screaming. At the world. At the insanity of everything.

Scott’s dead.

Dead-dead.

Like, really dead.

The cold metal of the chair seeps through my clothes, chilling me to the bone. I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. The fabric of my shirt crinkles, stiff with dried blood. Scott’s blood. My stomach lurches at the thought.

They processed me for evidence, even including a rape kit, at the hospital. I haven’t had a chance to change; the police asked me to come to the station immediately.

I’ve answered a thousand questions, but my answers are all the same.

I don’t know.

I don’t know what happened.

I don’t remember anything.

I can see the suspicion in their eyes, even as they treat me kindly. Pretend I’m not a suspect. Pretend to care about my feelings.

Not a single one of them believes me.

"We need to ask you a few more questions about what happened this morning."

This morning? Is it still morning? How long have I been here? The fluorescent lights offer no clue to the passage of time, their constant hum a maddening backdrop to my scattered thoughts.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"Can you walk us through the events leading up to Mr. Bower’s death?"

Mr. Bower. Scott. Dead. The words echo in my mind, refusing to connect into a coherent thought. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Take your time, Ms. d’Armand," the officer says, his tone gentler now. "We understand you’ve been through a traumatic experience."

Traumatic. That’s one word for it. I close my eyes, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the night.

But still, nothing’s there.

I sigh, giving the same answer I’ve given several times already today, frustrated with the gaping hole in my memory. "I sent Scott a text yesterday afternoon, telling him to come pick up his things after work. He replied that he would."

The officer nods, scribbling something in his notepad. "And why weren’t you at work yesterday, Ms. d’Armand?"

A bitter taste fills my mouth as I recall yesterday’s events. "There was... an incident with Scott at the office. He became physically aggressive, so I filed a complaint with HR."

"I see. Can you provide the name of the HR representative you spoke with?"

I wrack my brain, pushing past the fog of shock and exhaustion. "Sarah... Sarah Jennings, I think."

The officer makes another note. His partner leans forward, his voice gentle. "Can you tell us about last evening? What happened after you got home?"

I close my eyes, trying to conjure up memories that simply aren’t there. All I see is Scott’s face, pale and lifeless, eyes staring blankly at nothing. I shudder, rubbing at my eyes beneath my glasses, as if that can erase the image. "I’m sorry, I can’t remember anything."

The kinder officer nods, his expression softening. "That’s alright. Let’s focus on this morning. Can you walk us through how you discovered Mr. Bower’s body?"

I swallow hard, my throat dry and scratchy. "I woke up with a terrible headache. Everything was blurry—I wasn’t wearing my glasses. I ran to the bathroom, feeling sick. It wasn’t until after I’d thrown up that I noticed... the blood."

"You didn’t notice Mr. Bower in your bed when you woke up?"

I shake my head. "No, I can’t see well without my glasses. Everything’s just a blur of shapes and colors."

The first officer raises an eyebrow. "How poor is your vision exactly, Ms. d’Armand?"

"I can see what’s right in front of me, but anything beyond about five feet is just a blur. I can’t make out faces or details."

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