Chapter 31 The Interrogation
“Don’t move, Red hair. I’m not finished watching you yet.”
Lila dropped the phone. The sound of it hitting the floor was the only thing in the world that felt real.
The police station smelled of burnt coffee and rain. Lila sat in a narrow room under harsh fluorescent lights, her fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve. The metal chair creaked every time she shifted.
Across from her, Detective Mara leafed through a thin folder, her folder. The pages whispered when he turned them.
“You were close to both Professors Beckett and Mercer, right?” she said finally, voice even.
Lila nodded. Her voice came out quiet but steady. “I’m a philosophy major. Beckett is my lecturer. Mercer,he helped me with photography a while back. Photography is my minor.”
Mara scribbled something, not looking up. “And how would you describe Beckett?”
Lila hesitated. The pen in Mara's hand tapped faintly against the paper.
“Strict,” she said at last. “Precise. He doesn’t like when people waste his time.”
“Cold?” Mara asked.
“Yes,” she said softly. “But not.” She stopped herself.
“Not dangerous?”
The room seemed to shrink around her.
She looked at the detective, at her blank expression that gave nothing away. “He had my sister’s phone the night she died,” she said finally. “Now they’ve found his office key at the lake, beside my roommate’s body.”
Her voice trembled, but she didn’t look away. “You tell me,” she added.
Mara leaned back in her chair, studying her. “You sound convinced.”
“I sound tired,” she muttered.
She made a small sound, not quite agreement, not quite sympathy. “Tired can still mean right.”
She didn’t answer.
For a long moment, the only sound was the ticking of the wall clock. Each second was sharp, heavy, and slicing through the silence.
Finally, she closed the notebook. “If you remember anything else, even the smallest thing, you call me directly.”
She slid a card across the table.
Lila picked it up without looking at it. The ink smudged slightly where her thumb pressed the paper still damp from the detective’s hands.
When Lila stepped outside, sunlight hit her eyes too sharply. It was late morning, and the city buzzed as if nothing had happened. Students walked by with coffee cups and earbuds, laughing about midterms, blind to the headlines that had turned her life into a headline of its own.
She pulled her coat tighter, started down the steps then stopped.
Mercer was waiting by the gate.
He looked strangely composed, like he’d been there a while. His hands were in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable.
“Rough morning?” he asked as she approached.
Lila blinked at him. “You knew they were questioning me.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Everyone knows everything here.”
She gave a short laugh that didn’t sound like her. “Yeah. Seems like it.”
They started walking down the sidewalk. The air smelled of wet leaves and exhaust. Students passed them without a glance, their world still intact, untouched.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Mercer said quietly, “They’ll look for someone to blame, Lila. That’s how it works. It doesn’t always mean they’re right.”
She looked at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think Beckett’s innocent?”
“I think people wear masks,” he said simply. “Some hide guilt. Some hide grief. Sometimes you can’t tell the difference.”
She frowned. “You sound like a philosopher.”
He smiled faintly. “Old habits.”
They reached the campus, where fallen leaves gathered around the benches in soft, orange piles. Students were clustered in small groups, whispering, and pointing toward the news vans parked near the main hall.
Lila stopped walking. Her legs suddenly felt too heavy to move.
“Whoever’s doing this,” Mercer said gently, “wants you afraid. Don’t give them what they want.”
His tone was low, steady, the kind that made people listen without meaning to.
She turned toward him. “Why do you care so much?”
He met her eyes and for a heartbeat, she saw something crack behind his calm expression. Something that looked almost like guilt.
“Because,” he said softly, “I couldn’t save the last one.”
The words landed like a blow.
Lila’s pulse quickened. “The last one?” she repeated, voice trembling.
Mercer didn’t look at her. His gaze was on the old oak trees lining the path. “Some things stay with you,” he murmured. “Some faces never leave.”
“Are you talking about Serena?” Lila asked. “Is it Ruby?”
Mercer didn’t answer.
The wind shifted then, a cold gust sweeping across the campus, scattering leaves around them.
He finally turned back to her, and his expression was calm again, sealed shut. “Go home, Lila,” he said gently. “Rest. Don’t walk alone at night.”
She wanted to say something to demand what he meant, who he was talking about but the words wouldn’t come.
He gave her a small, almost kind smile. “You remind me of her,” he said, then started to walk away.
She stood there long after he’d gone, her heart pounding, his words looping in her head.
The last one. Who was the last one?
The wind rustled through the trees, and for a second, she thought she heard it again, a faint hum, like the one Ruby used to make when she was nervous.
By the time Lila made it back to her dorm, the sky had turned gray. She dropped her bag on the bed and sat down heavily, her thoughts spinning.
Her phone buzzed. She looked at the screen, it's a message notification from an unknown number.
She hesitated before opening the message.
“Visiting the police, right? Still doesn't make you safe.”
Lila froze.
Her stomach turned cold.
She read the message again, her hands trembling so hard she nearly dropped the phone.
Her eyes darted toward the window, there was nothing. The hallway was quiet.
Her breath caught. Lila’s vision blurred. Her knees went weak.
She stared at the screen until it dimmed, then slowly lifted her gaze toward the cracked mirror above her desk.
A faint reflection behind her just for a second like someone standing near the door.
She spun around.
And saw nothing.
Her phone buzzed once more.