ELAINE – PRESENT DAY

The few hours of sleep I've had back in Scranton aren't enough to prepare me for this conversation. I don't think anything could prepare me for it. I drag myself to the police station; tired, anxious and scared. The grey building stares at me ominously.

Detective Davis, the same guy who's questioned me before, waits at the entrance for me, and offers a small, comforting smile as I bow my head and walk in.

I find it strange how rugged and old the building is on the inside. It looks like no one's invested money in it for years; the tiles are cracked in places, the paint from the walls chipped, and the door handle on the wooden doors loose. A bunch of people awaits in the hallway. Their expressions mimic mine in terms of exhaustion.

They're probably here because of stolen stuff, a parking ticket, or something equally insignificant in the great scheme of things. What would they think if they knew what I'm doing here?

"Wait here for a moment." Detective Davis says and points at the plastic chairs. "We'll come and get you."

I nod, squeeze my bag and sit.

The smell of mould evaporates from the walls, mixing with the faint smell of sweat coming off the other people in the station. There's an old, shrivelled, grey man who keeps leaning against his walking stick. There's the middle-aged, obese lady who keeps wiping the sweat off her forehead and checking her watch every five seconds. And there's a business man, dressed in a suit, tapping his feet against the ground all the time.

Deep, frustrated sighs leave their lips and they switch their crossed legs every now and then. They'd probably rather be anywhere else.

And for a moment, I sympathize with the cops. Imagine being the person no one ever wants to see? The feeling must be terrible.

I only wait for five minutes before Detective Davis comes back for me. It's funny how frustrated and angry everyone seems once I stand up, almost as if they're envious of a seemingly special treatment I'm getting from the cops because I don't have to wait.

They'd change their minds if they knew why I'm here.

"Let's go to my office." Detective Davis leads me through the hallway.

His office is a small, paper-filled room, with a wooden table and an office chair. On the other side stands a regular, school chair. The cabinet against the wall is full of binders. A breath of fresh air comes from the open window, but the room still smells of mould.

Detective Campbell, the female detective who questioned me, is leaned against the radiator, her narrow gaze cuts through me and I shrivel in the small chair. Perhaps I should have an attorney present, but I'm afraid it will make me look suspicious.

"So, Elaine, do you know why you're here?" Detective Davis sits in his office chair.

My voice is a whisper, "I assume this is about Graham."

"Exactly." Detective Campbell cuts in, her voice sharp.

"A couple of things emerged after Graham's funeral, things we haven't considered before." Detective Davis tries to be gentle and comforting, but he looks tired.

I can't blame him, he's just doing his job.

"What kind of things?" I ask, feeling way too small.

"Things that make the suicide assumptions a bit suspicious." Detective Campbell answers.

My heartbeat quickens and my mouth turns dry, "I thought... I thought the case was closed."

I wonder whether Adora was right. She said Graham's parents hired private investigators to look into the matters. Perhaps they found out something the cops couldn't.

"So did we." Detective Davis sighs. "We know you're carrying Graham's baby, Elaine."

Here it is. My vision begins to blur and my heart thuds in my temples. This is not the good time to have a panic attack.

"Are the rumours true, Elaine?" Detective Campbell says my name with a hint of malice, like she wants to find a way to pin this on me.

Perhaps she does, or she's just exhausted and tired of her job. I can't find it in my heart to resent her. After all, Graham is dead and someone needs to find out what happened. But I can't help them. I can't give them what they want.

"Yes." My voice remains a whisper, barely audible. "I'm a few weeks pregnant."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Detective Davis asks.

"I didn't know." That's not entirely a lie. "I found out after you've questioned me. And then everyone said the case was closed and I didn't think... I didn't think it was important."

Detective Campbell chuckles, "Convenient."

"We understand." Detective Davis's gaze cuts through his partner. "But we have to know, is there anything else you're keeping from us? Is there somebody who wanted to hurt Graham?"

"Graham's parents are eager to find out what happened to their son." Detective Campbell cuts in. "We will get to the bottom of this. You might as well save yourself and us some trouble and tell us what you know."

It feels as if they've already decided I'm hiding something. If the situation was any different, I'd be offended. But they're not wrong, are they? They think Graham and I were seeing each other, they have no idea what he did to me.

A dilemma emerges in my head. On the one hand, I want to tell them the truth; everyone loved Graham, he was the life of every party, and I can't possibly name anyone who might want to harm him.

On the other hand, I want to tell them my truth. I want to tell them Graham wasn't the saint everyone made him out to be. I feel like I'm drowning in a deep, dark shadow. Graham is going to be remembered as the nice guy, as someone everyone loved, and my experience is going to disappear. No one will ever know what he did to me.

"I don't know if anyone wanted to harm him." I squeeze the hem of my hoodie. "I- I'm sorry."

"Elaine." Detective Davis lets out a sigh. "Let me assure you, no one is pointing fingers at you. We're just trying to figure out what happened. Is there anything about Graham we should know? Anything at all?"

I want to trust him. His eyes are big and brown and gentle, his smile seems genuine and I don't want to lie anymore. I want to tell them the truth.

Lies are bad for the soul; they eat you from the inside out until there's nothing but lies left. And the more you lie, the deeper down the rabbit hole you go, until there's no way out.

"I-" My voice cracks. "There's something you should know."

Detective Campbell pushes herself off the radiator, but Detective Davis lifts his hand, stopping her from speaking.

"You can tell us anything." He says.

"I'm scared." Tears begin to burn in my eyes.

"Of what?" Detective Davis leans forward. "Of us?"

The tension in the room grows, I can feel it gather around my temples and my chest. Breathing turns difficult.

"Can I get a glass of water? Please." I ask.

"Of course." Detective Davis nods towards his partner and the woman sighs and reluctantly leaves the room.

I've always thought it would be easier to share this with a woman, but she looks too judgemental and eager to blame me for everything, so I decide to open up to Detective Davis.

"What are you afraid of, Elaine?" His eyes search my face.

"Graham's parents." I squeeze my fingers. "I'm afraid they're going to think it's me."

Detective Davis stares into my eyes, into my soul, "Why would they think it's you?"

I take in a deep breath and a few tears roll down my cheeks, "Because Graham and I weren't together."

Detective Davis's eyes slightly widen with understanding and he leans against the backrest of his chair, "Alright. Can you tell me what happened then?"

And I do.

Like a broken dam, I spill everything. From the first night in the Druid, to the very last night at Graham's party. Every single gory detail slips from my lips so quickly I'm unable to stop myself and think it through. Detective Davis listens carefully to each word I say, he frowns and even curses a couple of times, and I'm grateful for his reaction.

When Detective Campbell returns with my water, she leans back against the radiator, and listens to my story silently. Her judgemental expression is gone and replaced by sympathy and understanding.

When I'm finally done, I'm exhausted.

"You say you've wanted to tell him you thought you were pregnant at the party?" Detective Davis gives me a tissue and I wipe my tears off. "Did you get the chance?"

Before I manage to answer, my phone buzzes and Josh's name lights up the screen. I'm in front of the police station. We need to talk. I won't take no for an answer.

A sob falls off my lips, "Sorry, it's my mom."

Detective Davis nods, "Did you find Graham at the party?"

I meet his gaze and muster the most genuine glance I can, "No. I searched for half the night, but once the crashers came, it was impossible to find anyone. I kept thinking he's going to show up, but he never did. I left the party at the same time as everyone else."

"Did you try searching for him on the rooftop?"

"Yes." I make sure to look both of them in the eye. "The door was locked."