The Forgotten Girl

“Okay…” I feign confusion. “But why? I don’t know her.”

She stares at me for the longest time. “You should change first,” she mutters with disappointment in her tone, eyeing up my outfit with disdain. “You look disgusting.”

“I look fine for going out into the living room.” I tug the hem of the shirt down and start to step by her.

She snags me by the elbow. “Maddie, please change—”

“I said it’ll be fine,” I interrupt her, staring at her hand on my arm then lift my cold gaze to her. “Now let me go.”

With her eyes pooling with tears, she withdraws back and grudgingly steps aside and lets me through so I can go down the hallway. As I step into the living room, I discretely wipe the sweat off my damp hands as I spot the detective. He’s fiddling with one of my mom’s knick-knacks, a unicorn missing half it’s horn. There are actually a lot of knick-knacks in the living room, practically taking over the shelves, the tables, the windowsill. It overwhelmed me when I was first brought home from the hospital, feeling like I was being watched by the little glass figurines.

“Can I help you?” I ask, my guard up, an invisible wall around me. I am unreachable. Untouchable. You need to be Lily, if you want to get out of this. She’s much stronger.

Never.

My arrival must surprise him because he drops the figurine, but recovers it mid fall before it can hit the hardwood floor and shatter. “Dammit,” he curses under his breath, then carefully sets the unicorn down before he stands up from the chair and crosses the living room with his hand outstretched.

“I’m detective Elliot Bennerly, from the Grove Police Department,” he says, waiting for me to shake his hand.

It takes me a moment to shake it, not to gather the courage, but to debate whether it’s a good idea to touch him. Finally, though, I decide it’ll make me look suspicious if I don’t, so I gently connect my hand with his and shake it politely and a shiver goes down my spine.

Do I know him?

“I’m Maddie Asherford,” I say.

“It’s nice to meet you Maddie.” He pauses, his ice-blue eyes sweeping over me, either looking for evidence or checking me out. He looks familiar but I can’t figure out from where. Late twenties, smooth skin, short brown hair, and nice facial features covered with a little bit of scruff. The only thing he doesn’t have going for him is the suit, otherwise he could be a Ken doll too, although the brunette one. Even though he’s good looking, I don’t want him—or anyone else—looking at me so intently at the moment.

“Likewise.” I causally slip my hand out of his and lower it to my side, unable to endure the touch of him any longer.

I wait for him to say something but he just stares at me with a pucker at his brow. The longer it goes on, the greater the urge gets to pick up the unicorn he was messing around with and bash him over the head. Elimination. This whole process would be a hell of a lot easier if he was unconscious and I just ran from it all.

There you go. Now you’re getting it. Survival.

“So, my mother said you wanted to talk to me about something,” I say, ignoring Lily’s voice the best that I can.

“Oh yeah.” He rips his attention away from me, and then ruffles his hair with his hand before reaching for his jacket pocket. “I’ve came to ask you a few questions about Sydney Ralwington’s murder.”

“Okay…” Adrenaline is soaring through my body. Fear. Even Lily’s afraid. I can feel her in me. Squirming. Restless. Worried.

Just be me and you’ll be okay. Be Lily.

“It’s strictly protocol,” he explains, retrieving a miniature notepad out of his pocket and pen. “We’re just questioning all the people who knew Sydney.”

“I didn’t really know her very well.” I take a seat on the sofa and then motion for him to have a seat across from me.

He sinks into the chair, pen poised on the paper. “But if I’m correct, you worked with her.” He fans through the pages of his notebook then squints at the paper as he reads over something. “At the Devils & Angels Bar?”

I nod. “I’m a waitress there and so was Sydney.”

He glances up at me. “Are you a dancer like Sydney was?” he asks, his gaze flicking to my bouncing knee.

“Dancer. Bartender. Waitress.” I place my hand on my knee to hold it still, attempting to keep my nerves under control. “You name it. I do it.”

“Sounds like you can do just about anything.” I’m not sure if he’s flirting with me or accusing me of something, so I’m uncertain how to respond. Do I flirt back, bat my eyelashes, and show a little skin? Or is he hoping I’ll do that so he can understand me better?

Let me take over.

I shut my eyes and open them, I swear I almost feel Lily slide under my skin and take over my body. I almost allow her to—let her handle the situation that she created. But right at the last second, I shove her away, not ready to accept that I can fully be her if I want to.

“When it comes to the bar, I do.” I recline back in the sofa, my focus on Elliot, portraying that I’m steady, confident—innocent. That I’m not guilty. “In life though, not so much. I only do the things I want to.”

He gives me a cryptic look then jots down some notes. “Did you see Sydney at all the night of March 15th?”

I twirl a strand of my hair around my finger and for a moment I swear it turns blond. “Yeah, at the bar when we were opening up.”

“Was she with anyone? Or did she talk to anyone at all that seemed suspicious?” he asks. “A customer perhaps?

I shake my head. “ I barely saw her for like maybe ten minutes, so I’m not really a good person to ask.”

Then pen stops moving across the paper. “What about later that night? Did you see her at all after the bar closed up?”

“No, not that I can recollect,” I answer as innocently as I can.

He assesses me again, his dark eyes drinking every detail of me in, from my messy hair to my bare feet. “What about the next morning?”

I feel like I’ve been cornered, walked straight into a trap. Either I can answer truthfully and have to explain why I was at the bar afterhours or lie and tell him that I wasn’t. But so many people saw me yesterday morning. Including River and everyone else standing around the crime scene. “Yeah, I saw her the next morning.” I let a slow, uneven breath escape my lips.