He sat opposite me, his dark-rimmed police hat casting shadows on his eyes. The way they monotonously flicked back and forth, from me to his file, didn’t help my paranoia die down. ‘Detective Whitley’-or whatever he called himself, knew something.
“Delilah Blake, I learn you were very close to the victim,” The detective’s raspy voice pulled me back into reality.
“…And you were the last person to see Miss Flores before…” He coughed abruptly, trying his best to not let his drained disposition show.
“I would never have been able to… to kill her.” A sob racked my lungs as I dropped my head into my hands.
“I couldn’t hurt a fly…” The words struggled to form and I furiously wiped my tear-stained face. The detective’s eyes pierced through me as he observed my actions, adamantly digging for answers.
“We traced your DNA on the weapon used.”
I froze like a deer in the headlights.
I could feel my tremors that my body was giving off as I finally lifted my tear-stained face to look at him.
“Angelica’s enemy was the silence. She always described it as the darkness of the unknown, tearing her to shreds.”
The detective raised an eyebrow in confusion, but I continued, “It had a way of constraining her, forcing her to find my way back to solitude. She would always say that her soul ‘mirrored the broken moonlight softly illuminating the dark path ahead’.”
My voice became unsteady, breaking slightly as I confessed, “Things had changed so drastically. She attacked me, blamed me for all the wrong doings in her life. I didn’t know what to do.”
Detective Whitley nodded solemnly. He then shuffled the several sheets of paper in his hands before looking up again, “Someone else had been involved too. Who?”
“You mean Lillian?” I clasped my hand over my mouth, a slap of regret passing through me.
Lillian was innocent; I needed to protect her at all costs, but it was too late. My lungs rummaged for oxygen as I tried to control my emotions.
“She had given me the dagger, told me that if I didn’t do it she’d end me and my family. Lillian has always been like this: controlling and manipulative. She was jealous of Angelica.”
The detective shook his head tiredly, “So you lied about what you’d said earlier? About Angelica being mentally unstable?”
I didn’t respond but instead reached into my purse before handing him several envelopes and a picture. Silently, I lay my finger on the smiling brunette in the picture, her dark hair cascading down in ripples of mahogany.
The detective nodded silently as he hurriedly skimmed through the letters.
“You tampered with our investigation at first by deluding me, but you’ve now been a great help to me. I know it much has been hard to betray your friend Lillian, but Angelica would be so proud of you for doing the right thing.”
I refrained from letting a smirk creep onto my face. Reposed, I shut my eyes, letting myself relive the vivid memories that had ingrained themselves into my mind.
My eyes darted around the room before finally resting on the limp figure in front of me.
“Gelica,” I whispered, taking in her enervated appearance as she lay weakly at my feet. She was a mess, most likely drowning in an overflowing sea of unfinished questions.
Angelica’s pallid face was streaked with dirt as she gazed up at me, her doe-like eyes pleading as I knelt down next to her.
“You always said you preferred honest friends.” I trailed off, staring at her blonde hair matted with blood, “So, if I had to be honest with you right now, your hair is a quite a mess.”
Angelica’s eyebrows furrowed as she kept her eyes on me, blinking back tears as she
“It didn’t have to end this way…You meant a lot to me.”
My blade pierced her tender heart with just one simple nudge. Angelica writhed, muffled sobs escaping her rose petal lips as she desperately struggled for air to no avail.
An overwhelming sense of remorse bruised my heart, tearing it apart piece by piece, muscle by muscle, tissue by tissue. I knew I had done something bad.
Cradling my legs, I rocked back and forth, trying to make sense of the events that had unfolded. Here I was, reassuring myself that everything would be okay, while surrounded by a pool of my best friend’s blood. Things had turned out so differently to how I had planned. It wasn’t supposed to be some flowery goodbye. Angelica was meant to be met with torture, maybe even for a few days. Her death had been too quick, too simple- and I’d lost her in the process. Nothing had turned out right.
However, guilty as I was, I wasn’t sorry.