"One of them fellas is not what he says he is..." John "The Hangman" Ruth, The Hateful Eight 

Ruslan Gudkova's stance stiffened, jaw locking as he took in Griffin's words. None of us said anything, and a tense silence quickly overtook us. The officer looked one-hundred percent shocked, Griffin looked determined, eyes narrowed, and I felt stunned. Shocked. Why the hell had Griffin taken me with him for this?

"Can we come in?" Griffin asked, shoving his hands in his pockets, head cocked to the side, "I can ask you the questions from out here, but I would prefer not to."

Ruslan looked from Griffin to me, the same expression of shock on his face. I didn't blame him - I didn't know what to say, either. I wanted to grab Griffin by his neck and drag him back to the car, to ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing. But instead I just stood there, too shocked to make a move.

"You want to ask me questions about your mother's case?" Ruslan asked, a slight hint of an accent highlighting his words.

A tense smile broke out on Griffin's face, "Exactly," he confirmed, nodding his head, "Just a few questions and then I promise I'll be out."

Ruslan slowly unlocked the screen door and pulled it open, stepping back to let Griffin walk in. I paused outside the house, my legs feeling suddenly able to work. I couldn't bring myself to walk into the house, not with knowing what Griffin was going to start. Griffin was going to accuse this man of possibly murdering his mom - I knew it - and that thought made me sick to my stomach. 

"Emmy," Griffin said, turning around and holding out his hand. Griffin wiggled his fingers gently and walked forward, lacing our fingers together, "It's okay."

I let Griffin pull me into Ruslan Gudkova's house. I let Griffin keep his fingers laced with mine as he gently tugged me along, eyeing every photograph on the walls and occasionally turning his head to look at me. I just kept my eyes straight ahead - I felt detached from my body. I couldn't understand why I was just going along with all of this.

Ruslan led us to the living room at the back of his house, awkwardly holding out his arm and pointing to the couch. Griffin and I dropped down as Ruslan sat down on the chair opposite of us, clasping his hands together, an uncomfortable expression on his face. His blue eyes were trained on the floor, hands clasped underneath his chin as he refused to meet our gazes.

Griffin cleared his throat and unlaced his fingers through mine, instead running them through his messy hair, "My mom was Natalie Cutkosky. She was murdered ten years ago - "

"I remember your mother's case, Griffin," Ruslan said, finally looking up at us. Ruslan dropped his hands from his chin and frowned, leaning forward, "Just ask whatever questions you have. I've got somewhere to be."

Griffin sat up a little higher, too, almost like he was trying to make himself even with the taller and more muscular guy on the other side of us, "All right. Maybe this is just me, but I find it a little strange how quickly you showed up to the house. It's got to be a record time, right? Way above the average arrival time."

I sat back in the couch, cheeks flamed in embarrassment. Griffin had just done it - cleverly accused Ruslan of having something to do with the murder. And while Griffin may have talked in circles, it was very obvious that Ruslan understood just what Griffin was trying to say. The officer's jaw clenched, the uncomfortable look on his face shifting to one of annoyance.

"I'll pass this off because you're just a kid, but patrol officers are stationed at certain districts and neighborhoods. I was in your neighborhood. Now if your only questions are going to be beating around the bush to try and insinuate something, you can leave."

Something flashed in Griffin's eyes - for a quick second, he looked almost pleased with the answer Ruslan had given him. Instead, Griffin just nodded and relaxed his posture, slouching down a bit and stretching out his legs. 

In psychology, we did a module on body language. It was interesting - it wasn't always one-hundred percent full-proof, but it gave you an idea of why people did certain ticks, like playing with their hair. One section had been about the way people sit and stretch out their legs. When someone stretched out their legs and splayed them out, it was because they were trying to give off an open, relaxed, and comfortable feeling. Griffin was doing the exact position showed in my textbook of relaxation, but his face showed the complete opposite.

Griffin's mouth was moving, but I found myself focused more on him. It didn't take a genius to know that Griffin was, by nature, a fidgety person. He was always twiddling his thumbs or cracking his knuckles, but now he looked like a model figure for relaxation. It all looked too practiced to me.

"I wasn't doubting your innocence. Just questioning," Griffin said, tugging on the edge of his shirt to straighten out. He furrowed his eyebrows and dropped his hands, "Was there anything strange about my mother's case?"

Ruslan's lips drew into a tight line and he paused, eyes locked on the wall above his head. There was a pregnant pause in the room, during which Griffin kept his hands locked and looked forward and I looked between Ruslan and Griffin, a million thoughts going through my mind.

"You're asking me to disclose information about a closed case to you, Mr. Cutkosky."

Griffin blinked, "My mom's case, yes."

The look on Griffin's face was one of such pure desperation and innocence that I felt my own heartstrings pull. Griffin was staring at Ruslan with such desperation - this was the face of a boy who was struggling to understand his mother's murder. This was the face of a boy who just needed to know something - anything - to help him sleep at night. This was the only part of Griffin that didn't look practiced.

"The information doesn't have to be anything crazy," Griffin said, a hint of desperation slipping into his tone, "I'm not asking to look at police files. This whole case makes no sense and I need help understanding it."

"I can't really help you with that. I don't even understand that case," Griffin opened his mouth to protest, but Ruslan continued, "I'm telling you this because it's about your mother. Everything about the case was weird. The hinges were broken from inside, there weren't any traces of DNA in the room or on your mom, and there weren't signs of a struggle. Very rarely are there cases when the victim doesn't struggle or scream."

Griffin's mouth was hanging open, words sitting on the tip of his tongue. It looked like something had just shifted inside him. Griffin's eyes were wide, the blue color suddenly a lot darker and colder than usual. His Adam's apple was bobbing as he furiously swallowed, hands shaking gently by his sides. I didn't understand what had him so suddenly terrified looking.

"She didn't scream or attack," Griffin repeated, eyes locked directly on Ruslan, "because she wanted it to happen?"

Oh my God. My thoughts raced even faster than before and I felt my heart start to race faster. When I had originally read that there weren't traces of a struggle, I assumed it was because Natalie Cutkosky had gotten overpowered too quickly. Never once did it cross my mind that Griffin's mother had let it happen to her.

"No, not exactly," Ruslan said, chewing on his bottom lip. Griffin stood up from the couch and abruptly dropped back down, tugging his fingers through his hair in the process, "More so because she didn't want to hurt them. In cases like this, it's usually because the victim knows their attacker."

For the first time since we had walked into Ruslan's house, I opened my mouth, "She knew her attacker?"

Griffin stood up suddenly, stumbling slightly, eyes wide in horror. I stood up quickly, following Griffin as he stumbled his way through the house, making a beeline for the door. Ruslan called after us and followed us, but Griffin pushed the screen-door open and stepped outside, instantly walking over to the front lawn and bent over, emptying the contents of his stomach. 

I paused by the front door, watching as Griffin bent over and coughed, hands on his knees. I didn't know what to say - or what to do. Griffin had dragged me with him while he went to interrogate an officer, only to find out that his mom had - supposedly - known her attacker. I went from wanting to be as far from Griffin as possible to wanting nothing more than to comfort him and say it would be okay.

"I think it's probably best if you take him home," Ruslan said, pushing open the door and letting it rest on his hip.

I nodded slowly, hands shaking lightly by my sides as I started walking over to Griffin, "Thank you for your help," I said hesitantly. I wasn't sure if what Ruslan had just done really helped or hurt Griffin.

"One more thing," Ruslan called, and I turned, quirking an eyebrow in his direction, "Tell Griffin to stay away from his mom's case, yeah?"

I didn't say anything to that. I crossed over the cement path and walked over to the grass where Griffin was standing, eyes locked on the horizon. We didn't say anything; I held out my hand and, without question, Griffin tugged his keys out of his pocket and dropped them into my hand. I put my hand on the small of Griffin's back and began leading him towards his car, trying to ignore the tears that welled up in his eyes.

The drive was quiet. Griffin didn't say anything the whole time we drove back. He just stared out the windshield and blinked back tears, occasionally letting out quiet, strangled sobs.

Griffin didn't say anything when I pulled into his parking space in front of our apartment complex. He just pulled his keys out of the ignition and slammed the door shut behind him, not waiting for me to get out.

When I got up to my apartment, I was surprised to see Griffin standing in front of his apartment, his back towards me. I paused at the top step, remembering  the words Ruslan had said to me before leaving his house. I got the feeling that things with Griffin were going to change fast and hard, so I spoke quickly. 

"Ruslan said you should stay - "

"Away from my mom's case?" Griffin asked, finally turning to look at me. His dark blond hair was tussled, blue eyes hard and narrowed as he looked at me. Griffin cocked his head to the side, "That's what he said, I'm assuming?"

"You aren't though," I said, already knowing I was right before the words even left my mouth. What Ruslan just had told us - what just happened - it was only going to push Griffin even more, "You aren't going to leave her case alone."

"No," Griffin breathed out deeply, "No, I'm not."

</ sorry this took so long and that it's not that great! i'm dealing with studying for my SATs, applying to jobs so i can finaaaallllyyyy buy my car, and trying to maintain a social life with grades lol. so thank you for your patience :)

remember to let me know your thoughts!