Chapter 17: You Have One Week

Sam's POV

His fingers pressed tighter on my neck. Blood shot up fast to my brain, pumping harder and harder into it. My skull was about to explode.

For a man pushing sixty, he was strong—too strong. I pushed against his arm, struggling against his fingers, which kept sucking harder into my skin. But I couldn't seem to get him off.

My nostrils hung in the air, my mouth wide open as I fought for air for my lungs. But I couldn't get any to go in, because his fingers were crushing my windpipe. The air accumulated in my mouth, rushing fast into my head, filling up my brain, my skull hurting even harder.

My eyes were bulging right out of their sockets as if about to pop out, but he didn't care. He didn't. He rode me into the room, still squeezing life out of me. I fought and clawed against his fingers and his arm, but I couldn't seem to get him off, nor did I even get to slacken his grip on my neck.

“You took Cecilia from me. You killed my daughter. You piece of worthless garbage.” He kept yelling continuously, calling me all sorts of vile names as he slowly stole my life from me.

I wriggled and writhed around his arm, holding and hanging on desperately to the will to live. But it takes more than that to live. It takes not being strangled to death by someone so powerful that you can't fight against.

Slowly, I felt myself begin to relax against his fingers, the will to live slowly being ripped from me, just as he took my life. I was probably an inch from death when I felt myself flying in the air, being flung carelessly like I was the piece of garbage he’d called me. I crashed and bounced on the bed. Pain screamed through the whole of me, especially my head. Every inch of my head was a conduit of pain. I crouched like a ball on the large bed, holding my neck right, coughing and gasping, fighting desperately for air.

No matter how hard I fought, I couldn't get enough, not enough to quench my burning lungs. I crumbled to a ball, my knees almost kissing my chin. I rubbed my fingers around my neck, trying to soothe the ache in them, soothe the soreness, and soothe the pain that claimed every inch of my neck, both in and out. I panted, gasped, and coughed. I was breathing, but still it felt like I was dying.

“Sit up,” Governor Rosewood’s voice cut sharp at the air.

I sat up immediately, knowing I would be faster to my grave if I didn't. I crushed myself into a ball, resting on the bed’s wooden rest, while I rubbed blood back to my neck slowly, panting. My eyes were misted with blood and tears, my fingers trembling on my knees.

His eyes drilled straight into me. His men carried an armchair from the other end of the room and dropped it just by the bed. He sank into it with an ultimate air of authority and power, flexing his arms over the cushioned arms of the chair.

He sat up after, leaning on his elbow. “Why did you kill my daughter, Detective Cross? What did she do to you and your boyfriend?”

“I didn't kill her. Neither did Rowan Drake. It was someone else.” I stuttered in a strangled voice, and I reached fast for the flashdrive in my pant pockets. I was just getting it out when I noticed a presence by the bed beside me. A shadow fell on me and the area of the bed I was in, blocking off a little of the lights, which stung my eyes as I looked up.

Then it came—a thick hand slamming hard against the side of my head, sweeping my face to the right. Pain jarred harder through my head. My whole skull vibrated as if being electrocuted. The flashdrive flew from my fingers, flying off into the room.

My eyes watered, a misty veil covering my vision, and I groaned in pain, just as I turned my head to find the bodyguard that had come to get me from the precinct standing just beside me—obviously the one who slapped me.

“Think twice before you answer my question again.” Governor Rosewood said. Not then did I drag my tear-blanketed eyes to him again. I rubbed my fingers on my cheek, trying desperately to soothe a pain that burned harder the more I tried to quench it. My whole head kept ringing like an alarm clock forgotten on repeat.

“Why did you and your boyfriend kill my daughter, Cecilia? What did she ever do to you, Detective Cross?” He demanded.

“Can you please just hear me out, Governor Rosewood? I can prove to you that this isn't as you think.” I forced through a painful throat, my voice and words slurred.

My eyes jumped from him to his bodyguard beside me, and I shifted on the bed should the bodyguard get touchy again. Another slap like that, and the ICU would be calling me for a year-long vacation. Twice more and I'd be vacationing six feet under for the rest of my life.

Governor Rosewood scoffed. “I should hear you out,” he repeated, making a sad chuckle. He fingered his white beard, and he reclined onto his seat.

He shot up from his seat again, as if propelled by a sudden force. “Did you and your boyfriend listen to her when you sliced her off with your knife?” He yelled.

I would have loved to, but now wasn't the time to argue about Rowan being my boyfriend or not. “We didn't, Governor Rosewood.” I pleaded, “I didn't, and he didn't, and I can prove it with that flash drive.” I pointed at the flashdrive on the floor.

His eyes drifted to find it, and he scoffed, eyeing it as if he wasn't really seeing it—as if nothing lay on that side of the floor but space and air.

“It seems you are not willing to talk yet.” He said, carrying his eye back to me. My heart skipped a beat again, my breath hot and raspy, as he nudged his white-bearded jaw up to his bodyguard.

The man raised his hand again. But I wouldn't have it land on me. That was certain death or better—instant paralysis. I dodged his slap and flew from the bed to the floor towards the flashdrive.

I crashed roughly to the floor, but I didn't mind the additional course of pain shooting through me as I knelt down before Governor Rosewood, thrusting the flashdrive to him, while his men charged for me from all corners of the room.

I tried not to let my eyes wander to them as they came for me. “I can prove that I and Rowan Drake are not involved in the death of your daughter, Cecilia Rosewood. And I can do that with this drive. If I am unable to prove it, then you can do whatever you want to me. You can kill me, torture me, or anything. Just give me the chance to prove that Rowan Drake and I aren't the killers.” I pleaded, rambling out the words. Desperation clogged my voice.

The bodyguards’ hands latched on my shoulders, and they lifted me from the floor. One of them gripped my collar, dragging me to the bed.

I still held the flash towards Governor Rosewood, pleading with my eyes. His eyes narrowed on me, shifting a bit in their sockets, and he eventually yelled, “Stop.”

The bodyguard stopped then, dropping me. I staggered a little on my feet, my knees weak. But eventually I regained my balance.

“I don't need your permission to do whatever I want with you, Detective. I can kill you anytime and any way I want. I have a lot of people who can make it look like it never happened. The same goes for your boyfriend, after I get Captain James to release him to me. But seeing your desperation, I am deciding to give you a chance to prove yourself. So I will warn you: don't abuse it,” he said.

“I won’t,” I breathed, as I managed the words amidst the calmness flooding my chest now.

He nudged his head to his bodyguard. “Get her a laptop.” He said.

I collapsed on the bed, submitting to the relief consuming me as some of his men left the room to get a laptop. I sighed heavily, raising my head to stare at the ceiling. I indeed do owe my guardian angel some incentives—the bastard seemed to be really working extra hard.

“Don’t feel relieved yet, detective. You are not yet safe. You have not proved to me that truly you deserved to live after killing my daughter.” He said.

I said nothing. At least, for this moment, I wanted to enjoy the peace and calmness that filled me now.

The door opened with a rushed squeal, and I turned, shifting on the bed just as the bodyguards bounced back into the room.

One of them dropped an HP laptop on the bed and turned it around to me. I grabbed it fast, and with trembling fingers, I inserted the flash into the right port. I turned it around again, kneeling at the side of the bed, before Governor Rosewood’s armchair so he could see what I was doing.

The files loaded, and I began to explain to Governor Rosewood about all I have found out so far, while pointing at different areas of the screen at different times. I went on and on about Warden Karo and how fishy and mysterious Warden Karo was, with the stolen and fake ID and his covered face and all. I showed him the footage of Cecilia staggering drunkenly into the room and the pair of legs that showed up in the camera. Told him how it couldn't be Rowan because there was just less than two minutes difference between when Rowan disappeared from the CCTV footage of the lobby and when Cecilia staggered into her room to meet the person in there. I pointed out that she was scared and terrified when she received a call in the lobby and told him that, according to Rowan, it was a male voice who claimed to be in her room and fit the profile of the killer.

Lastly, I showed him the video of Warden Karo leaving the hotel room at 5 am. After the call with the manager about Warden Karo, I had looked it up among the footage I got from the manager, and I had saved it up. We both saw that Warden Karo had changed his clothes when stepping out, though he still had on his mask and face cap. Which means the clothes were probably stained in Cecilia's blood. We also saw the outline of two phones being held in both front pockets of his pants. Which also indicated that one of the phones might be Cecilia's. Then I showed him the footage of Rowan leaving by 5:30 and also me leaving at around 11:00 after Captain James called me.

By the time I was done explaining everything, I was so weak I collapsed against the frame of the bed, sitting on the floor.

Governor Rosewood slumped back into his armchair. “So you are saying this strange character, who goes by the alias Warden Karo, is the killer.” He asked, staring at the laptop screen and not at me. I was still too inconsequential for his eyes.

“All fingers point to him. So yes.” I answered, voice strained from still tortured lungs.

“And why should I believe you and your boyfriend are not attempting to manipulate the scene and push your crime onto another person?” He asked.

I turned to slant him a glance then. “If all I have shown you doesn't convince you that I am telling you the truth, then nothing I say will change that. So you can be the judge. Am I onto something or not, Governor?”

He tilted his head to the side, his brows squished tight while he kept staring at the laptop screen. He finally rose from the armchair, fingering his white beard. “You are still in charge of the case, detective. That way I keep a check on you and am able to track you down easily. You will also report all your findings to me directly, even before you report them to your superior, and you will do that daily. Lastly, for your sake as well as that of your boyfriend, you will find whoever this Warden Karo is before a week, just before I find him. I hope for your sake as well as his, you find him first before I do,” he said, and he stride out of the hotel room.