Chapter 49 Alive In The Dark
Becca’s POV
The cell had smelled like bleach and despair.
I’d stopped trying to tell which one was stronger.
The fluorescent light above that lighted this dim room kept on flickering like a ghost in horror movies.
The ceiling of the cell leaked with the water dripping onto the floor.
I’d lost track of time.
Maybe days. Maybe years. Grief ate time the way rust ate metal.
When the heavy door screeched open, my pulse spiked. Two uniformed officers stood there. One jerked his chin at me.
“Rebecca Wilton. Let’s go.”
My legs felt like wet paper as I stood. The cuffs bit into my wrists, the metal cold against skin rubbed raw.
“Where are we going?” I croaked, my throat scraped dry.
“The Interrogation Room.”
The word twisted in my stomach. I followed them down the narrow corridor that smelled faintly of old coffee and disinfectant.
Inside the interrogation room, the light was too bright, bouncing off the steel table like a blade.
Two detectives waited, a man with tired eyes and a woman with red hair pulled tight at the nape of her neck.
She was pretty in a precise, mathematical way, like someone had carved her features with a ruler.
“Ms. Wilton,” the man began, sitting across from me. “You know why you’re here.”
“I told you,” I whispered. “I didn’t kill him.”
He slid a file across the table. The folder snapped open.
I wished I could look away.
There were photos in the file. It slick with blood and flash glare. Asher’s face, or what was left of it, pale and still.
My breath left me like I’d been punched.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, voice rising. “No, that’s not, you’ve got it wrong.”
The woman’s tone was even, almost detached. “The forensic evidence places you at the scene. Your fingerprints. Your DNA is everywhere. The knife had your blood on it.”
“That’s not possible!” I shouted. “He was alive when I left. He…”
My words collapsed.
I could still feel the weight of his hand that night, his voice low and pleading.
I couldn’t breathe. I bent forward, elbows on the cold steel, clutching my hair.
The male detective exchanged a look with the redhead ond the kind of look people shared when they’d seen this all before. He muttered something and stood. “We’ll give her a minute.”
He left. The door shut behind him with a heavy click.
It was just me and the redhead now. Her gaze lingered on me for a beat too long before she slid something, barely noticeable under the edge of the table.
A small folded note.
She didn’t speak, just kept her eyes locked on mine, a flicker of something unspoken passing through them.
My fingers trembled as I reached for it. I opened it beneath the table, hiding it between my cuffed hands.
He’s alive. Stay quiet.
The words didn’t make sense at first. They rearranged themselves in my mind, over and over. He’s alive. Stay quiet.
My pulse thundered. I looked up and that was when I really saw her.
The red hair. The sharp line of her jaw. The faint, familiar glint in her eyes.
“Kira?” I whispered before I could stop myself.
Her expression didn’t change, but her jaw tightened just slightly.
“I’m sorry?” she said coolly, as if she didn’t know me.
But I knew her. Kira from the Cafe. My friend. The one who literally comforted me at my trying times. She drove to his place that night.
She stood abruptly, gathering the folder. “The interview is suspended. We’ll continue later.”
Before I could say another word, the door opened and she was gone.
They dragged me back to my cell. The walk felt longer this time, my mind spinning in jagged loops. He’s alive. Stay quiet.
Asher was alive?
It couldn’t be possible. I’d seen the photos. I’d drowned in grief for days.
And Kira, what the hell was she doing here, pretending to be part of the investigation?
The guard shoved me lightly between the shoulder blades. “Inside.”
The door clanked shut behind me. I sank onto the cot, clutching the note like it was oxygen. My hands shook so hard I nearly tore it.
He’s alive.
The words lit something fragile and dangerous inside me. Hope.
But also fear because if he was alive, someone had wanted me to believe he wasn’t. Someone had wanted me here.
And Kira… how did she slip in here and posing as a detective? Mmm…mmm
Hours blurred again. I traced the note’s creases until I noticed something the corner felt thicker, like two pieces of paper pressed together. My heart hammered as I peeled them apart.
There was a second message, faint as breath.
Tomorrow midnight. South wall. Be ready.
The air left my lungs.
She was planning something. A meeting? A breakout? Or something worse?
I sat at the bare floor of the cell, my gaze focused on the wall.
The other inmates were at the other side of the cell and I was there alone.
Probably because I wasn't fully convicted.
Slowly, hours passed and the sand hourglass almost ran out.
I found my way to the cold, torn mattress. I laid there trying to get some sleep.
Every sound; footsteps, the clank of keys, a distant cough; pressed against my nerves.
My heartbeat was a metronome gone wild.
“How I'm going to know it's midnight,’
I shouldn't go, I thought but then it's Kira.
When the clock above the corridor ticked past eleven-thirty, I stood.
My hands were still cuffed, but I’d learned to move quietly. I tore a thread from my blanket and tied the note to my wrist beneath my sleeve just in case.
At midnight, something shifted.
A faint whisper of air near the south wall. I pressed my ear to the cold concrete.
Then a click.
A small panel near the bottom corner moved. A rectangle, just big enough for a folded piece of paper, slid through.
I grabbed it, fingers trembling as I unfolded the new note.
Trust no one. Not even me.
The handwriting was Kira’s.
I dropped onto the cot, breath catching. My thoughts splintered.
If Kira was warning me not to trust her... what did that mean? Was she helping me or setting me up for something worse?
I shouldn't leave this cell.
And Asher, if he was really alive, where was he?
I closed my eyes and saw his face again — alive, furious, whispering things that had never made sense. Secrets he’d buried. Debts he’d owed.
The cell felt smaller, the air heavier.
Maybe he was the ghost that breathed
I heard footsteps coming, slow and steady.
Probably a guard