TESS

It’s a gloomy, rainy Sunday.

I wake up around noon frazzled as if I didn’t sleep a wink. Running a shaky hand over my face, I put my slippers on and shuffle to the kitchen.

I turn on the TV as I start to prepare my coffee, and sure enough, the noise of a debate fills my place.

People sit around the table in a studio, discussing the latest developments.

I glance at the TV as I take a sip of coffee.

Pictures of Jacqueline Monroe flash on the screen followed by Stephan Leon’s mug shot.

He’s been charged with second-degree murder.

A high profile attorney’s name has been already linked to his case. The analysts predict that he will try to exonerate his client on the grounds of insanity.

I tear the cup away from my lips as the lively debate intensifies around the table. People seem to be split on whether the piece of information that set the dramatic events in motion was real or not.

According to some, that’s a fabricated story that Stephan Leon relayed to the police. On the other hand, there’s a rumor that the police couldn’t find anything.

I feel like fainting.

I take a small, rushed breath just as the phone starts to ring. Startled, I pivot and flick my hand, spilling most of my coffee on my pajamas.

I slide my finger onto the phone.

“How are you?”

Anna’s voice is the best thing to hear right now. I mute the TV, set the mug on the table and soak up the blot with a paper towel.

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m still watching the news, although I shouldn't have,” I mumble.

“The story is grim.”

“Yeah...” I murmur.

“They say that the man had a jealousy fit, and that’s what led to the disaster. Apparently, she did reconcile with her husband. Horrible story...” she says.

I remain quiet.

“Are you working today?”

I look around, my brain a fog.

“I wish I could,” I say.

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you that if you want to come to my place you’re more than welcome. I’m alone till the end of the week. You can bring your stuff and work here instead of going to your mom’s. You’re going to be by yourself during the day... It’s really quiet. You know that.”

“Yes, I do. Sounds like a great idea… Just give me an hour or so to pack my things.”

“Sure. There’s no rush.”

I set the phone on the table, my gaze scanning the room as I take inventory of the stuff I need to pack. I also make a mental list of all the things I need to do.

The firm knock on the door catches me half-dressed. My pulse explodes in my neck.

“Give me one second.”

More rapping follows.

I throw a top and a sweater on me, slip a pair of pants on and run my hands through my hair.

Heart beating in my mouth, I peer through the peephole before I slide the door open.

A man and a woman wearing police badges run their eyes on me, giving me a swift once-over.

The man speaks first, stating their names.

Detective Short and Landon. Both Homicide.

The woman, detective Short, flicks her gaze at me.

“Do you have a moment?”

“Um, sure...” I say hesitantly as I step aside.

They walk in.

Striding behind them, I snatch the remote control from the coffee table and turn off the TV.

“Are you moving out?”

“Um, yes... I’m planning on doing that,” I say unable to keep my voice even.

I show them to the armchairs.

The woman and I take a seat. The man remains standing.

“Is there a reason you decide to leave your residence at this particular moment?” the woman asks.

She looks down as she writes something on her little notepad while the man grills my face with his stare.

I look at him instinctively, perhaps looking for a little support or sympathy. His eyes lock mine–– two pools of ice.

It takes me only seconds to figure out the path I need to follow in this story. It all becomes so clear to me.

There’s no point in dancing around it or letting them dragging me into this drama.

I’m already there.

“Yes, there’s a reason,” I say firmly. “A personal reason.”

I pause for a moment.

The woman cocks an eyebrow as she raises her eyes from the notepad.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Yes, sure,” I say, almost suffocating. “I was publicly humiliated in Sebastien Rockford’s house a couple of days ago.”

They both study me. I swing my gaze back and forth, from one to the other, without faltering.

“Can you describe the circumstances of your public humiliation?” the man asks.

A moment of silence slips by as I gather my thoughts.

“He and I used to be, um... friends. He ended our relationship rather abruptly and without any notice or explanation. Later on, I realized that he had reconciled with his wife. I confronted him in his home, last Friday evening.”

“What did you hope to accomplish?” the woman asks.

I sense a shred of female curiosity in her voice.

“Nothing. It was a cry for attention,” I say.

She scribbles down a few words.

“What was the nature of your relationship with Sebastien Rockford?” she asks without raising her eyes.

“We got to know each other in rather strange circumstances. His wife...”

I look down for a moment and swallow hard unable to remove the lump in my throat before I flick my eyes up.

They’re both looking at me.

“My husband was cheating with his wife.”

They furtively glance at each other before they shift their gazes back to me.

“That’s how Sebastien Rockford and I got acquainted and became friends after that.”

“There’s solid documentation that you were more than that.”

“Documentation?? What kind of documentation?”

They lock eyes for a moment before the woman swings her gaze at me.

“His wife hired a private investigator. A stack of photographs suggests that you two were more than friends. It may be the very reason they had reconciled,” the woman says.

My mouth drops open in surprise.

I smell a trap. The man stares at me as he gauges my reaction, confirming my suspicion.

As the seconds tick by, I’m perfectly aware that I need to say something... Anything. But no words come to my mouth. I have a hard time to absorb what she just said, and for a moment I forget where I am, and who these people are, and why they’re here.

I get angry. So much angrier than I was before. And I’m set to fall right into her trap.

She must glean a lot from my face as suggests her expression.

“Was Sebastien Rockford your lover, Miss Sandoval?” she asks, looking for a confirmation.

“Waters.”

She lifts her eyebrows.

“Soon to be Waters. I’m in the process of getting a divorce,” I mutter, keen to clarify it for them.

They remain silent. And unresponsive.

I turn a dull gaze to Detective Short.

Slowly, I shake my head in response to the woman’s question, still trying to make sense.

Sebastien broke up with me and reconciled with Jacqueline because of photographs that portrayed nothing but the truth?

It doesn’t make sense to me.

Yes, I know he wanted to keep it a secret, but throwing me under the bus because some photographs, sounds ridiculous.

I feel like crying, but I don’t have that luxury.

I feel like breaking something but then I’d probably get escorted out of this place by these two people, and I might end up spending time at the police station.

I make an effort to pull myself together.

“I wouldn’t say that, Detective Short,” I say, finding my voice. “There was no way we could’ve been lovers. We were never in love. The man never showed me love. And after a failed marriage, I guarantee you that I was nowhere near the place where I could’ve afforded to have deep feelings for another man.”

“And yet you crashed a private party to confront him.”

I draw my lips together and tip my chin up.

“Yes, I did all that, but it was nothing more than a lapse of judgment. Retribution for the fact that he didn’t care to tell me that we couldn’t see each other anymore which proves again that there was nothing serious between us.”

“Your husband seems to be of a different opinion.”

My hands cover in cold sweat.

“My husband? What does he have to do with anything?” The woman flicks an eyebrow up, tossing me a scrutinizing look. I push back my frustration and purse my lips again as I muse over the best response.

“My husband is probably not the best judge when it comes to my relationships. He simply assumed that I was obsessed with Sebastien Rockford when all he did was looking for a way to justify his actions.”

I turn silent the moment I realize that I gaffed.

“I never said that he hinted that you were obsessed,” the woman mutters.

“I assumed that’s what you implied.”

“Your relationship with Mr. Rockford seems to go way back and started in rather unusual circumstances,” the male detective interjects.

“If crossing paths in a public park is what you consider unusual, then yes,” I retort.

My answer doesn’t sit well with either of them, both arching their eyebrows.

Sweat trickles down my back.

Clearly, this doesn’t go well.

I imagine that bringing me to this point with this back and forth was probably the sole purpose of this interrogation.

I should stop digging myself into a hole, yet obviously, I can’t refrain myself.

“Mr. Rockford held my fascination for a very long time, and it all started before we actually met and exchanged words, but that’s–– I think, a common occurrence when it comes to a man of his stature. It had nothing to do with love or real feelings. Mr. Rockford and I were never in love,” I say without blinking.

Believing it.

It is the ugly truth after all.

“Have Mr. Rockford promised you anything, Miss Waters?” asks the man.

I toss him a questioning look.

“Romantically speaking?” he clarifies.

“No, not at all.”

“From your conversations, what was your impression regarding his relationship with his wife?”

I shrug and move my eyes away from him briefly.

“Are you married, Detective Maxwell?” I ask raising my gaze.

The man looks at me, surprised.

“If you were, you’d know that quite often, a marriage takes away the freedom of being yourself and kills romantic love instead of fostering it. He and I shared the same experience when it came to our spouses, but unlike me, he decided to reconcile with his wife.”

They look down at their notes.

“Did either of them ask you to vacate this apartment?”

I ponder for a moment, surprised.

“No.”

“Did you know that this apartment and the entire building, in fact, is part of the Rockford Estate?”

I stifle my initial reaction and swiftly serve them a lie.

“No.”

“How did you get into this apartment?”

I move my eyes away from them, and glance around, looking for that leaflet.

“It was a booklet I found in the coffeehouse across the street.”

The man takes it from my hand and flips it a few times, somewhat dissatisfied with my answer.

The woman only glances at it before the man drops it on a side table.

“Where were you last night between eight and nine o’clock?” asks the woman.

My eyes start darting back and forth between them.

“Am I a suspect now?”

“Answer the question, Miss Waters,” the man says.

“I, um... I had dinner in a restaurant downtown, and then I walked back home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. I had plans with my sister, but she canceled them at the last moment. She does that all the time,” I say, trying to smile.

The woman pushes to her feet somewhat unexpectedly. She slides her little notepad into her pocket. The man follows her example.

“Where do you plan to move?” she asks, motioning to the boxes on the floor.

“To a friend’s house for the moment. And then, probably back to my old home.”

I expect them to turn around and head to the door when the woman takes a few steps toward the window. She looks up and down the street and then to the building across the street.

“Have Mr. Rockford ever sent you video clips or photographs?” she asks all of a sudden.

Waves of heat barrel through me.

“Video clips?”

She turns around.

“Was he sexting you?”

“Sexting? Um, no... Not really.”

She quirks an eyebrow.

“I mean we haven’t had the opportunity to explore that side of our relationship.”

Blood rushes to my face.

“Why is that important?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer.

Instead, she retrieves a business card from her pocket and leaves it on the table.

“If you remember anything else related to Mr. Rockford and his late wife, anything that you found odd or meant something to you, this is where you can reach us. ”

I look at her bewildered.

“I thought you had a suspect and he’s already in custody,” I blurt, doing myself a disservice.

She studies me for a moment before she speaks again.

“The premature death of Miss Monroe is more than unfortunate happenstance. It has multiple ramifications, and some of them are not surprisingly financial, her husband being the beneficiary of her estate.”

I stare at her, my mouth agape.

Her eyes linger on my face for another moment before she tips her head in a short goodbye and saunters to the door, followed by her partner.

The door closes behind them.

For a few long moments, I’m still pinned in the middle of the room, my mouth open. My mind swirling.

Someone else knocks on the door, and my heart flips.

What is wrong with these people?

I peer through the peephole, expecting to see the detectives again before I swing the door open.

A man dressed in a gray suit paired with a blue tie and a sleek briefcase gives me a short nod.

“Arnold Marlow,” he says, slipping me a business card into my hand. “From Marlow&Marlow.”

My eyebrows lift as I shoot him a questioning look.

“The law firm,” he says, gauging my reaction.

“Oh, yes...” I say, recollecting that I’ve seen the ads on TV.

“Do you have a moment?”

“Yeah, sure...” I say, taking a step back.

He enters my apartment but doesn’t move away from the door.

“How may I help you?”

A small smile curves his lips.

“I’m here to help you.”

My eyebrows lift in surprise.

“Help me?” I mutter incredulously.

“Two detectives just paid you a visit,” he says, unfazed.

“Yes, they did. Is there a problem?” I ask as I register a shred of angst in his voice.

“From now on, you will only answer questions, whether they come from the police or media if I’m in the room with you.”

“Who are you again?” I ask, flipping the card, hoping for additional information.

“I’m your lawyer.”

“I don’t understand,” I mutter.

“Two detectives just interrogated you, Miss Sandoval.”

“Waters.”

He nods.

“Miss Waters… Chances are they’ll be back, digging for more information. You shouldn’t engage in a conversation with them without consulting with me.”

I look at him, confused.

“I’m sorry... There’s no way I can afford you.”

He smiles again.

“You don’t need to. I’m representing you pro bono.”

I search his eyes.

“Did he send you?”

A faint smile flits through his eyes.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

“That’s a yes.”

“You are free to draw your own conclusions, Miss.”

With that, he tips his chin down and gives me a soft goodbye as he smoothly pulls away.