The Life She Stole by S W Vaughn

Author:S W Vaughn [Vaughn, S W]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-19T16:00:00+00:00

18

The fact that I’m not in handcuffs isn’t much of a consolation, and it doesn’t keep me from crying out of pure fear as I sit alone in a locked room at the police station. I’m sure that bawling my eyes out isn’t helping my case either, but that’s the reason I can’t help it. There shouldn’t be a case at all.

Now they think I had something to do with Teryn.

At the hospital, the detectives told me that I wasn’t being charged with anything, but that I had to come to the station with them and answer some questions. If I didn’t go voluntarily, they said they’d get a warrant and arrest me. And they wouldn’t let me take my own car. They’d put me in the back of a police car, refused to answer my questions or listen to me about Hannah, and then taken me to this room with a table, two chairs, and clock on the wall, and a camera in a corner of the ceiling. A female officer came in and confirmed my name, my address, and that I’d known Teryn Holmes, and then she took my purse and cell phone and left me here alone, locked in.

I’d been here for hours. The clock said it was almost one PM, and I was supposed to pick up Alyssa from school at quarter to three. What would happen if I wasn’t there? Would they have her stay there with the teacher? Put her on a bus and send her home to an empty, locked house? Call Social Services and take her away from her negligent mother?

By the time the door to the room opens a little after 1:30 and the female officer who talked to me before walks in, I’m frantic with worry. I try to swipe my face clean and look at her. “Excuse me. I’m sorry, but I really need to pick my daughter up from school soon,” I tell her, my voice foggy and pathetic. “Will I be able to do that? She gets out at 2:45.”

The officer glances at the clock and frowns. “Can she ride the bus home?”

“No. She’s only four, she’s in kindergarten,” I say. “There’s just me and her. She can’t be home alone.”

“It’s still going to be a few minutes before the detectives can talk to you, and I don’t know how long they’ll take,” the woman says. Her tone is businesslike, her stance rigid, but I hope I’m not imagining the slight warmth in her eyes. “Is there someone else you can call to pick her up?”

I struggle to keep my shattered hopes from showing. I don’t want to call someone, I want to get out of here, pick up my daughter, and put this nightmare behind me. But at least I don’t have to leave Alyssa stranded. “Yes, I can call someone,” I say in a small voice. “Can I use my phone?”

“Here, you can use mine.” The officer takes a cell phone from her belt, swipes at the screen a few times, and hands it to me.

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