Chapter 8 Yes, again
ADRIANA
“My…my sister?” I stammered and staggered back with eyes wide as saucers and full of horror.
He smirked and leaned into the chair, throwing his head to the side.
“See? We don't need any other proof, do we?" He chuckled.
My heart tightened, and rage welled up in me. She came all the way to Detroit to prove that I killed those people.
I had sworn to forget about her and her betrayal, but it seemed she was bent on making me her sworn enemy. She wanted to truly die by my hands.
“You believe this just because of a past action?" I scoffed loudly.
He shook his head.
“No, I believe it because of this," he pointed at the pictures.
I sighed, and my shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Where is she?" I asked.
“Gone," he replied, and I chuckled.
If she came here to make the situation I was in more complicated, then my brothers would also be aware of it.
“Do you admit to the charges, Miss Adriana Nox?" The officer asked, placing so much emphasis on my surname.
I raised my head and stared deep into his eyes. It felt like history was repeating itself.
It felt like I was in my brothers’ study, broken, hopeless, and just answering yes to the decision they made for me.
Now, I was in the same situation again, still broken and hopeless, still betrayed by Arlene.
“Miss Adriana Nox?" He called, and I returned to reality.
“Do you admit to the charges placed against you?" He asked again.
I slumped down into the chair, disheartened.
I looked up at him, my lips twitching into a smirk.
“She couldn't even say hello to me, what a bad sister Arlene is," I muttered.
The smile on the man's face faded, and he tilted his head to the side, amused.
“You really have a mental issue," he whispered and shook his head, worry and pity darting across his eyes.
"Your defendant might have to plead with the court to give you a fair sentence and send you to the asylum instead,” the man said, and I chuckled.
"Miss Adriana Nox,” he called.
My head dropped lazily to the side as I stared at him with a grim smile on my face.
"Do you admit to the charges?” He asked.
My lips parted, and I blurted out the same response I had given my brothers in their study.
"Yes, I admit to the charges. I killed ma'am Felicia and those men,” I muttered.
The man remained silent as he stared at me blankly.
"Why?” He asked after a long stretch of silence.
"Why should I tell you the reason I kill people? You don't deserve to know a thing about me, Mr officer,” I whispered.
The man sighed and shrugged.
“I will have it reported as a mental illness. Is that okay?" He asked.
I laughed and threw my head back.
“Is there any other valid reason I killed Ma'am Felicia? She was the only one who cared about me anyway, poor woman, poor woman," I chanted, swinging my head from one side to another.
The door pulled open, and some other officers marched in.
“She confessed and admitted to the charges. I think she has a mental disorder, but we'll keep her detained and under observation to be sure she isn't faking it to escape jail," the man said to them.
One of them nodded and nudged the youngest amongst them.
They grabbed my arm and led me out of the room.
We walked down a long corridor with their hands clenched around my arms so tightly that it felt as if they let go, I would disappear into thin air.
They led me into a prison room and shoved me in, then slammed the bars shut.
My knees hit the cold floor, and a groan escaped my lips.
I sat on my butt and caressed my bruised knee, cursing silently.
First was an exile, the second was imprisonment, and all of it began and ended with Arlene Nox or whatever her surname was, now.
“What is your crime?" A voice filled the dim room, and my head snapped up.
I scurried up to my feet when I realized that I wasn't the only one in the prison room. There were about five more women in the room, and all their eyes were fixed on me.
I sighed and dug my hand into my hair.
"Murder,” I blurted out.
Silence reigned in the space as the women exchanged glances with shock scribbled across their faces.
"You don't look like someone who can kill,” the woman who had spoken to me first spoke up again.
"Well… looks are deceiving," I muttered and narrowed my eyes.
“Who did you kill?" The woman asked again.
I sighed and dropped to the ground, feeling my heart clench at the question.
“The woman who took me in when no one else did," I muttered.
My head drooped as tears gathered in my eyes.
“She loved me and treated me like her own daughter, but I failed her in the end. I watched her take her last breath while holding a blade dripping with her blood. Am I not a monster?" I whispered in a quivering voice.
“You're worse than that, honey, worse than that,” one of them whispered.
“I killed my abusive husband. The bastard thought I would just sit still and receive the blows," the woman said.
I wiped the tears from my face and looked up at her.
“How did you end his life?" I asked.
“I watched him consume the poison in his food with a smile on my face," she replied.
“He deserves it," another woman said, and the rest agreed with her.
“Sometimes you shouldn't just sit still and take it all, you should bite back, even if you'll be known as a devil for the rest of your life."
My fist clenched as I listened to the women's conversation. They were right. I had been sitting still and taking Arlene's blows for over 25 years. It was time I bit back and became a monster for the rest of my life.
Spending the rest of my days in exile and locked away in prison for what I didn't do was the wrong decision to take. It was time to make it right.
I wouldn't say yes to them anymore. I would fight and drag Arlene down.
“I didn't do it," I whispered, and the women stopped talking.
“What did you say?" One of them asked.
I sprang up and gripped the bars, pulling them hard.
“Hey! Let me out, I didn't do it! I didn't!" I yelled.
“Sit still!" Someone growled from the corridor, but I didn't stop. I kept pulling the bars and yelling out my innocence at the top of my lungs.
One of the officers appeared and hit his baton on the bars, forcing me to withdraw.
"Sit still, you deranged murderer!” He spat, and anger coursed through me.
"Don't you dare call me that!” I growled, lurching for his hand.
One of the women grabbed me and pulled me down to the ground.
I growled loudly and tried to stand, but they pinned me hard to the ground.
"Be calm, girl, be calm!” they yelled at me, not letting go.
I kicked my legs in the air and screamed, but no matter how hard I tried, they wouldn't let me go.
After so much effort, I calmed down and began to whimper.
I barely had any strength left in me after that fight that I had put on.
The women let me go and retreated to their corners while watching me.
“I didn't do it. Arlene set me up, they set me up," I kept whimpering words until I fell into a deep sleep.
When I woke up again, someone’s large hands were shaking me roughly.
My eyes widened, and I jerked up, slapping the hands of the cop away.
“What do you want?” I snapped in anger and wiped the drool on my chin.
"Someone is here to see you!” The man spat, and my heart clenched.
"Who?”
"Stop asking questions and follow me?” the man snapped and began to shuffle out, leaving the door open for me.
"It's not visiting hour,” I heard one of the women whisper as I slipped out.
I wondered who had come at such an hour to see me. It was so late, and I doubted if it was someone from Detroit.
What if it were my brothers?
I sighed and shook my head. I hoped it wasn't them.
We walked down the corridor and into a room that had nothing in it aside from a chair and security cameras. The walls were grey, and a perforated glass partition was placed across one wall, separating the prisoner and the visitor.
"Sit!” The officer pointed at the chair. I slumped in and stared at the hooded visitor across the room.
"Who are you?” I asked.
The head raised, but the first thing that caught my eye was the mark on his neck. The same mark on Ma'am Felicia’s bed and the same mark that haunted me.
My eyes widened, and I gasped loudly, but as I parted my lips to speak, a pair of familiar dark eyes stared at me.
My heart dropped, and shivers rushed down my body as I stared at the ghostly face across mine.
“Salvador Vlad," I whispered in horror.