9
The lights in the police station kept flickering, adding to Kelly’s
unease.
I followed them to the station, and everyone seemed taken aback to see Kelly.
“It was hard to tell from the surveillance footage. Huh, it really was you,” Charlie remarked as he handed Kelly a water bottle. She sat shivering in her pajamas.
Mom had been silent until then, just staring at Kelly. “Right now, I’m not your aunt. Tell me, why were you at the crime scene that day?”
Mom’s intensity was enough to scare me, let alone Kelly.
Kelly sobbed quietly, repeatedly mumbling, “I don’t know.”
Mom stood, thrusting the tablet with the surveillance footage in Kelly’s face. “Yasmin is dead. She was the disfigured woman dumped in the trash, abused before her death.
Why were you there?”
Kelly bit her lip hard, her face a mix of hesitation and horror.
“Talk!” Mom shouted, losing her patience. The outburst reduced Kelly
to tears.
The interrogation room fell silent except for Kelly’s faint sobs, pulling at everyone’s heartstrings.
Mom kept her cold glare fixed on Kelly. “Talk. Why were you there? We found your fingerprints on Yasmin’s body!”
“Fingerprints? I don’t recall seeing Kelly that day,” I thought.
Watching my mom, I realized she might be bluffing just to make Kelly
confess.
“Mom would go to such lengths for me,” I thought to myself.
Under the relentless questioning, Kelly finally cracked, revealing her deep–seated resentment towards me.
