The last time Emily was inside a police station, Mark, her brother had physically assaulted his friend with an empty beer bottle for calling his then girlfriend, Nelly, an ugly whore. Emily had recreated the drunken scene inside her head again and again, partly because that was shortly before his death and also due to the reason that it was one of the few memories that had stuck with her two years after he had passed away.

Sometimes, she would force a smile and try to remind herself the memories that they shared when she was young and they were happy but none came to mind. It was always the ugly drunken ones and the ones they fought so bad she wished he was dead.

Now standing in front of the station, she daydreamed about going in and being told that Mark was never released and she instead bailed out a different guy, an imposter. She would walk home with him and the news about their parents would straighten him up into a proper adult. Then they would acquire a nice cozy cottage somewhere in the deep forest, right next to a stream and live happily until old age where they would die in front of the fireplace holding hands.

"Emily!'' She turned to Officer Burns. He gave his notepad to one of his juniors and walked away from the black and white police car. "I wasn't expecting you this early.'' He stated and stretched out his hairy hand. Emily took it and gave it a slight squeeze.

"Well I was on a run so.'' Officer Burns took a moment to seize her up. She was wearing a pair of black and red track suit pants, a black crop top and a faded grey hoodie. On her feet were blue weed print socks she had stolen from Jordan and a pair of black Nike slides that were a size too big for her. Her afro indicated that she had just rolled out of bed and so did the white crusts at the corner of her eyes from the white eyeliner she used every other day.

The lingering look he gave Emily around her waistline like every other person did made her roll her eyes. She pulled on one of her waist beads from inside her hoodie pockets.

"Okay this way.'' Emily followed Officer Burns across the parking lot and into the building where she was to give her statement as the only witness.

"So,'' a middle aged lady who introduced herself as a detective began placing a recorder on the interview table. Emily looked at the gadget then back at her. A lot of people had died in the past in the same town; students, drunkards, unfortunate victims of armed robbery... Emily could not comprehend the sudden effort they were putting over a homeless man, who apparently was also hooked to heroin. "Right from the start... So what really happened.''

Emily noticed Officer Burns crossing his arms. He was standing in the corner of the dull room next to a water dispenser. The item would easily pass for police room decor, seeing how deprived of water it looked.

"I was coming from church then I saw this guy...''

"The killer?''

"Yeah." Emily cleared her throat. "He was towering over this other guy–"

"The victim?''

Emily cursed under her breath. The scowl that took shape on the lady told she wasn't low enough and her ears had caught on the words.

"Yes, the victim.'' Emily let her hands lift and fall back to the table in despair.

"Then what?"

"I ran?'' Emily raised a brow. That was what she was supposed to do, she thought.

"I'm gonna need you to be more expressive with your words, okay?''

"Well of course I ran, as fast as I could. What was I supposed to do?''

"Did you try calling the emergency helpline?''

"Does that even work?'' Officer Burns threw Emily a look of disapproval. "Well he was already dead anyway.''

"You possibly can't be sure of that, can you?"

Emily fell silent.

"Did you get a look at the perpetrator's face at least?''

"Not really.'' Then looking up at her, she licked her lips and rephrased. "I did see his face, briefly.''

"That's good.'' The lady detective nodded. During the course of the hours that followed, Emily answered the same same questions, insisted on the same thing till her head hurt. It didn't help that she was still hangover and playing erotic scenes from last night inside her brain. Officer Burns walked in and out of the room at random times, this time with a coffee, the next with a newspaper. On the last try, the lady detective sighed and reached for the recorder.

"I'll send in a sketch artist in a few minutes.'' Emily nodded. "Just so you know there will be more questioning sessions so rack your brain for whatever you missed just now.''

After she had left and Officer Burns had closed the door behind her, Emily jumped on the opportunity to express her dislike for the lady.

"I just thought it was her face," she went on, "she's a real bitch in and out.'' Emily slapped the table with the impact of her last statement. The whole process was infuriating.

"You do know how serious this is, right?'' Emily rolled her eyes. "The mayor's new campaign is keeping the town safe and solving this case adds a nice, shiny ring for the folks to see.''

"Like I care.''

"Emily...'' Officer Burns sighed. "Just cooperate, okay? Nothing is going to happen to you, I promised your aunt.'' Emily rolled her eyes at the statement and slid lower into her seat.

Police chatter around her together with the old fan spinning dangerously loose above them helped her drown whatever Officer Burns was explaining for the meantime. When the lady detective arrived with a new girl, Officer Burns excused himself and left.

"No matter how miniature the detail, she'll get it.'' The detective urged Emily. Turning to the sketch artist, she gave the lady two rough pats on her back. ''She's that good.'' The detective left a few minutes later after being summoned by her secretary.

"Hi!'' The lady chirped. She had a warm smile, the kind that flowed across her face and made her eyes twinkle. On her forehead was a pair of bright blue sunglasses decorated with tiny white daisies. Emily could tell it was a DIY job. Nevertheless, it suited her sea blue orbs perfectly. "I'm Sandy.'' Emily nodded.

Emily went ahead to observe her form, taking notes of the green and white crochet cardigan over a black tank top, the tattoo that peeked over her cleavage, her flabby arms and poorly healed piercings. Then Emily realized that Sandy was waiting for her to introduce herself.

Pointing to her self, "Emily.'' Emily pursed her lips and forced a polite smile. "Emily Bukowski." Wasn't she supposed to know her name already? Or was it a psychological tactic on her part?

"Nice name." Sandy flipped a sketch book to a blank page. "You know of Charles Bukowski?''

"Is he a musician?''

"No.'' Sandy looked up from her stationery set in disapproval. "Never mind." Sandy arranged her pencils on the table and looked up, the awful sweet smile back on her face. "So let's begin.''

Emily found describing a perpetrator to be worse than answering silly detective questions. Sandy demanded so much yet she only had very little to offer.

Sandy wanted to know about the perpetrator's brows, their cheekbones; what position were they? Prominent or not? , their hair... It could be female or male don't put too much weight there. Tell me about his nasal cartilage instead.

"Back to the eyes.'' Sandy voiced, still hunched over to her sketch pad. Emily let out a long, tired sigh and glanced over to the large clock behind Sandy. The long arm pointed to eleven and the short was between five and six. If she had gotten out of Mr. Greene's house at around seven a.m., it indicated that she had been down the station for quite some time now. She shifted her focus to how many times she could count to a hundred before the long arm made a full rotation on the white background.

Emily didn't have time to look if the murderer's eyes were circular or hooded or slit and slender. She was scared for her life. The questions made her head hurt even more and brought back the voices.

"I don't feel too good.'' Emily whispered rubbing the back of her neck. Sandy looked up. Her blank expression was overtook by her signature smile. "My head hurts.'' It was more of a heavy feeling than a hurting feeling. Either way, it was all the same to Emily. She had also not eaten anything substantial since the previous night and the hunger pangs were growing and manifesting in the form of stomach flips and ugly noises.

"I understand such things can be very traumatic.'' Sandy waved her arms around the space she occupied to try and measure a theoretical trauma scale. To her, it looked almost full. "But you have to try if we are to solve this.''

"I've given everything I can.''

"I know, I know.'' Sandy sighed. "Five minute break?''

Six and a half times. That was how many times Emily proved she could count to a hundred under sixty seconds. It had done good to occupy her mind and the questions weren't as hard. The slithering voices were reduce to a dull rumble at the back of her head and she felt sane, well close to sane.

In the end, all Emily remembered was a summary of what the question had brought out of her: A middle aged person with full lips, smile lines, scattered eyebrows below a spanning forehead and a bulbous nose but in a not so alarming way. Despite Emily feeling the information to be inadequate, Sandy had applauded her memory and patience and concluded the session.

***

Mrs. Stuart picked Emily from the station in her old off white Corolla at around noon. When she arrived, Emily had to wait as she delivered a cute hotpot of whatever she had prepared for the stupid officer.

Emily scowled at him smiling and at her aunt blushing. She couldn't figure out if it was him he hated or the entire arrangement they had. All she knew was that the feeling rumbling deep inside her heart was something close to when she walked into a bathroom stall and found out it was filthy; utter disgust.

When her aunt finally joined her with the same stupid smile on her face, she asked Emily if she would like to eat out. Emily suggested a takeaway and asked to be dropped home inorder to get ready for an afternoon lecture.

"He told me they were soft on you.'' Mrs. Stuart began once Emily had grabbed her fries and chicken from a fast food joint.

Feeling the obligation to be nice out of getting free junk food, Emily nodded and forced a smile.

"You're just a kid after all.'' Mrs. Stuart sighed. "If at any point you feel it is becoming too much you just stop and call me, alright?"

"Yeah, okay.'' Emily popped another fry into her mouth. "Thanks.'' Emily's lips pulled into a tiny genuine smile. This was the first time in years she felt protected. From what, she didn't quite figure it out.

"Of course." Mrs. Stuart responded. "And don't go running off like that again.'' She gave Emily a stern look from the rearview mirro. Emily's teeth clenched. "Promise."

Emily sighed and stared outside the window. After a few seconds, she gave a response that would placate her aunt. "Promise."

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