The officer handed my belongings to a clerk behind a station and placed them in a clear plastic bag. I was guided over to a row of chairs and forcibly sat.

"Am I being arrested?"

"That's not what I'm saying, son." An officer said as he signed a piece of paper fixed to a clipboard.

But it is. It's exactly what he's saying, or perhaps everything he's not willing to verbalize until he has to.

"So, can I leave whenever I want?"

"Not exactly, sit here and someone will be along for you shortly."

As soon as he'd left, Cindy said, "You can't tell, Nick. You must never tell."

I nodded, but her words were now background noise to my jumbled thoughts.

"You'll do great, Nick. Are you sure you're okay?"

I nodded. I was okay, wasn't I?

A muted black-and-white Humphrey Bogart roamed the alleyways of Casablanca on a television fixed to the wall. The plaque above it read 'The Heart of a Town Lies in its People'.

If only they knew the truth...

The doorway to interview room 2B swung open, and a man in his late-forties stuck his head out and surveyed the waiting room.

"Are you Mr. Brennan?" he asked.

In the moment it took for his eyes to narrow on me, I'm seven-years-old again, not seventeen. I've broken Mr. Thompson's window next door with a stray baseball, and now Mom wants me to apologize. Would he shout? Would he understand that accidents happen?

"Breathe, Nick," Cindy whispered. "You're holding your breath."

My lungs responded to her words, or the threat I would die if they didn't.

"That's me," I said.

"I'm Detective Kowolski, sorry to have kept you. Please come with me." A watchful expression flitted across his face as I approached and followed him into the interview room.

The detective returned to his desk and gestured to a chair. We were not alone. Detective Scott perched beside his colleague dressed in the same charcoal polyester suit he had worn the last time we had made an acquaintance.

Detective Kowolski set a tape-player down, he pressed the eject button and flipped over the audiotape. A single red light blinked. We were now recording.

He tapped the foam head of the microphone. "Police Interview one."

The detective dragged a chair across the office and eased into his seat, clearing his throat.

"Your parents are on their way. You've been read your Miranda rights, but you have elected to proceed with this interview without an attorney or guardian present, is that correct?"

"Yes," I confirmed.

"I'll get right to it then. When did you last see Cindy Ackerman?"

Cindy bowed her head, disguising the tear that rolled down her nose.

"Let me correct, Mr. Brennan, last time you saw the deceased alive?"

My breath hitched. My gaze rose from the floor and met him head-on because there could be no doubt about my next words.

"To my knowledge, it was Monday, April 13th, before the tornado hit." My leg bounced on the floor, stilling as it caught his attention.

Detective Scott failed to blink.

Cindy Ackerman had a secret that only I knew. Being dead wasn't it. Perhaps he now knew that too.

Detective Kowolski stopped scribbling and his pen suspended over his notepad. "Mr. Brennan, please carry on, in your own words, from the beginning..."

After relaying the last time I had seen Cindy alive, I paused, not offering more or less than they had asked for.

"Why don't I believe you, son?"

My mouth hung open. As far as they knew, that was the last time I saw her.

"What I-." Every cell in my body screamed.

"You sure about that?"

"What? Yes!" I realized with these words, I wouldn't believe me either. But I needed to say them, even if the only outcome was to absolve the guilt I felt about leaving her alone.

A darkness fell over his face, like clouds blotting out the sun. I didn't know why they were arresting me, but my hopes of it being a casual conversation died with his next action. Flicking through a brown Manila folder, he carelessly tossed a picture in front of me.

Cindy lay face down in the brush, her skin a mottled purple. They'd found her right where I had left her. Saltwater flooded my mouth. The detective glared at me, he already knew what I was just learning, the truth being, my hoodie was draped over her body.

He produced a clear zip-locked back and slung it without care onto the table; my hoodie. A lump formed in my throat, and to my horror, my eyes betrayed me by streaming with tears I couldn't stop.

"Where did you find that?" But I already knew where. I'd given it to Cindy as she lay dying. My hand instinctively reached for it, but he retracted.

"We located Cindy early this morning". The absence of what he didn't add was condemning.

They thought I had something to do with this.

"Now's the time to come clean. What happened to Cindy?"

My nails dug into my thighs. Unable to speak, I stilled my heart, counted to five, and tried again.

Then Detective Scott cut in. "Mr. Brennan, I have three words for you; blunt force trauma."

The detective's mouth continued to move. I heard nothing but the blood pumping in my ears. Now they'd discovered Cindy, it doomed the plan to fail. The lie alone wasn't enough.

"We know you were there when it happened." He jangled the bag for good measure. "Tell us what happened, maybe we can help you. You were with Cindy, weren't you?"

His voice became hypnotic, and my gaze lost focus.

"You need our help, Nick."

Every muscle wrestled with exhaustion, and I couldn't do this anymore. I had no more ace to play. The sparkle escaped from Cindy's eyes as my hope diminished; like broken toys, the light inside extinguished and I wondered if either of us worked anymore.

"We can't help you if you don't talk."

Dejectedly, I nodded once, and he said, "Who hit Cindy? We know you don't drive, son. Who are you covering for?"

"Please try, Nick," Cindy whispered. "The plan can still work. No one else needs to get hurt. Just tell them what I told you."

Her eyes said I was her only hope; hope her family could survive her passing, hope that this mess hasn't been in vain and above all, hope in me. That I was better than Zachary, Daniel, and all the other boys who touched her life in ways she didn't want.

Everyone was entitled to keep secrets. This was hers. This was the last of them.

I cleared my throat. "Tanker, like Zachary."

"You saw this happen? Son?"

"Yes, I saw it happen. Plates were out of state, maybe Nevada." The shock of his questions were nothing now compared to the sudden ease of my answers.

"What else?"

"That's it," I said, my voice barely audible.

"Ah shit!" Officer Kowolski threw down his pen. "I've been telling them we need street lights on every junction."

"Why have you not come to us before with this?"

"I didn't know what to do. I was scared, I still am."

Detective Scott scribbled something down onto a pad and flipped over a new sheet. "So, how did you come to be at the library with Mr. Garry? Who started the fire?"

My attention snapped back to Detective Scott. His words hung in the air like an invisible noose around my neck, waiting for me to trip up.

"The entire soccer team has been soliciting nudes of juniors. The proof will be in Zachary Evans's charger. I'd gone to find proof at school. He must have figured it out and come to confront me. Daniel started the fire."

"Why would he do something like that?"

"Are you kidding? They hinge the identity of this town on the success of its High-school sports teams. It's the only entity bigger than God here. He'd lose everything he had left. Which, to be fair, isn't much."

"Apple doesn't fall far..." Officer Kowolski tutted. "Mr. Garry Senior was no sort of father to that boy."

The door creaked open and Mr. Porter stood in its light. In this moment, I wanted him to place a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Have Nick's Parents been informed of his detention?

They nodded in unison.

"So he's aware of Miranda rights?" Mr. Porter looked over the others as he came to stand behind me, a firm hand clasped on my shoulder letting me know, I'm not in this alone.

"What's this about, Porter? The kid's not in trouble, not anymore at least."

Mr. Porter glared at me with a look in his eyes I'll never forget. I read in-between the lines.

"Actually, shouldn't my parents be here? I'm a minor. What are 'Miranda rights' anyway?"

They stopped short and traded glances. "We thought you were read your rights? You elected to proceed without a guardian present?"

"You can only waive Miranda knowingly," Mr. Porter said. "Plus, we've just elicited a full verbal testimony from one Daniel Garry on charges of indecent pictures and arson. He's confessed."

But how did they know? My eyes shot straight to Cindy as she mouthed "Simon and Emma." She was right, it had to be them. I should have known Emma wouldn't have done a single thing I asked for, but on this occasion, she'd come through.

Detective Scott's mouth opened and abruptly shut again. Cindy smirked from the far corner of the room. She was a fucking genius.

"I think we're done here. We've got what we need. You can release him."

Ineffable joy spread across Cindy's face, the first I'd ever seen.