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"Miss Silverman," Detective Waters seated himself across the table. "How are you feeling today?"
"Well, to put it frankly, detective, I'm a little stressed out."
"Yes, I saw your little episode at the playground. Mind telling me what that was about?"
"Let's see," Helena huffed, feeling a small amount of hatred towards the man who was trying to get into her head. "The man who was like a father to me was just found murdered, my high school sweetheart is in the psych ward, my best friend is getting married and nothing seems to be going her way, and through it all I have to keep a smile on my face because I don't want to worry her any more than she's already worried."
Detective Waters's eyebrows rose and he blew out some air, puffing his cheeks. "That's quite the list."
"It is, detective. Wouldn't you be a little stressed out, too?"
"I would," the man nodded. "Is that how well you knew Frank Chase? He was like a father to you?"
Helena stifled a sob and wiped at her eyes. "Yes, he was."
"And you once dated his son, Bradley, who is now in the psych ward?"
Helena nodded, trying to pull herself together. The small room was making her uneasy, as were the questions aimed at her.
"Where were you the night of the murder, Miss Silverman?" Detective Waters's gaze went to Helena's eyes, where they stayed, holding her tight.
"You've already asked me that, on the morning after the murder. I was at my friend's house. Emily Jenson. I stayed in her guest room."
"And can Miss Jenson account for this?"
"Yes," Helena felt a bubble of anxiety rising in her chest.
"She stayed in the room with you?"
"Of course not, she has her own room," Helena squinted her eyes at the older man sitting across from her. "What's this about, Detective Waters?"
"We have reason to believe that you may know a few things about this case, Miss Silverman," the detective tapped on the folder sitting in front of him.
"What is it that I would know, other than it was a tragic loss of a wonderful man's life?"
"Do you have anyone to account for you on the night of the murder?" Detective Waters crossed his arms, staring right into Helena's eyes. A shiver went down her spine as she realized that she was more than likely a suspect in Mr. Chase's murder!
"Emily saw me shortly before she went to bed--"
"But she wasn't with you the entire night." The detective cut her off.
"No, she wasn't."
"So how am I to know whether or not you slipped out of bed in the middle of the night and, let's say, took a little walk?"
"I did no such thing, detective," Helena's eyes were wide. "And if you're implying that I had anything to do with Frank Chase's murder, you're most definately wrong!"
"Am I?" Detective Waters's eyes glimmered as he opened up the file and slid it across the table to her. "Please take a look at this, Miss Silverman."
Helena looked down to the glossy photo of a man laying on an observation table. She frowned and realized that it was Mr. Chase. The sight of it made her gasp and tears blurred her vision, but not before she saw what was carved into the old man's abdomen.
Detective Waters opened his mouth to pressure her with another question, but he was cut off by a loud sob coming somewhere from deep within the young woman. She pushed the file away from her and gagged, turning her head, and she began to vomit on the cold cement floor.
"Dammit," he frowned and got up, grabbing a waste basket for Helena to throw up in. She was crying as she gagged and coughed, clearly upset with the image he had just shown to her. He went to the door of the interogation room and called out, "We need someone to clean up this mess!"
He went back to Helena, helping her up and into another chair closeby. She was light and shakey and very weak. He offered her a tissue and she took it, wiping her mouth.
"I... I... I didn't..." she stammered, sniffling as black mascara streaked down her porcelain pale cheeks.
Detective Waters grabbed up the file and closed it, tossing it to the other end of the table.
"I'm sorry to see you so upset, Miss Silverman," he admitted, sighing. "But under the circumstances you have to understand that you're --"
"A suspect," she finished his sentence. "I... I never could have... who would do something like that?" Her green eyes drowned in her tears as she looked up at the detective.
"That's what we're trying to figure out," he replied, motioning for the janitor to come in as he helped the woman up. "Let's go into another room."
Helena stood up on rubbery legs, letting the detective aid her in walking around the mess she had made and out the door into the hall. They walked a few feet down and found another empty interrogation room. The detective opened the door for her and she was about to step inside before she heard Emily's distraught voice above every other voice in the police station.