Monster by Abigail Livinghouse (chromebook ebook reader .txt) 📕

 "Mom? Dad?" Ana yelled again. Her parents had been at the hospital the whole time since she arrived. Maybe they were back from the cafeteria.

 "Is that you?" She asked.

 She waited a few seconds, but there was no answer. Ana fell back on her pillows, closing her eyes in exhaustion. Whoever that was, she just hoped she wouldn't hear from them again. 

She was released from the hospital the next day. Ana's CAT scan had come back with no brain damage, there was no internal bleeding, and her bones were in perfect shape. She left the hospital with a small bandage on the back of her head and that was it.

 Once Ana was outside, she was met with a flood of reporters and flashing cameras. She blinked in surprise and irritation, stumbling backward into the arms of her mother.

 Mrs. Walcott pushed and shoved her way through the crowd, her face drawn and emotionless. A few of the words the people blocking Ana and her parents were saying got through to her.

 "Ana! Ana! What do you have to say about the discovery of your friends' bodies?"

 "Ana Walcott! How do you plan to retaliate in the murder charge of McCain and Kelleher?"

 "Ana! Why can't you remember anything from the night your friends were killed?"

 "Ana!"

 "Ana!"

 "Ana!"

 After a while it was just a buzzing of nothing but her name, and Ana's head was throbbing with the intrusive and hurtful questions from these strangers.

 Once at their car, Ana was promptly shoved in the backseat with her mother accompanying her. Her father got in the driver's seat, starting up the vehicle. There were cop cars in front and behind them to escort them back to their house. The crowd was forced to thin out around them, and the police quickly got the Walcott's out of the overrun hospital parking lot.

 "What . . . was all of that?" Ana asked in terrified astonishment. Her mother shook her head.

 "Vultures that's what it was." Mr. Walcott said before his wife could.

 Ana's eyes widened. Her father wasn't a nasty man at all, and to hear such anger and hatred in his voice was a shock.

 "They're just trying to get something out of us for a story." Her mother explained in more detail. "Kind of like the paparazzi, only they're working for the news station and not a tabloid."

 She swallowed, her throat and mouth very dry. Some of the things those people were asking  her were bringing up the raw emotions she was trying so hard to repress in order not to burst into tears. It was nearly impossible to do so, and the reporters out there were only making things worse.

 Except the one reporter had said something that one of the detectives had mentioned as well. Something Ana had to press her parents about.

 "What did that one person mean when they mentioned a  murder charge?"

 Her mother pursed her lips, and there was silence in the front seat from her father. Ana knew she had hit something vital, and she wasn't about to let it go.

 "Mom it's me, you can tell me." She coaxed, but it did not seem like Mrs. Walcott was willing to divulge.

 "Sweetie we just want you to rest and not worry about things for a little while. As soon as we get you home I'll make you some hot chocolate in bed, okay?" She said warmly.

 Ana scowled in irritation. She felt as if she had a right to know these things. It wasn't that she particularly wanted to find out, but she needed to. Her two friends had just been murdered for Christ's sake, and everyone was keeping her in the dark?

Before Ana could be sent to bed like her parents wanted the police walked into the house behind them. Mrs. Walcott was less than pleased.

 "Can't you people leave us alone for a few minutes?" She snapped at Detective Morris.

 He stood and took her bad temperament in stoic silence before shaking his head. "I'm sorry ma'am, but we must talk to your daughter for a bit longer. We promise we'll be out of here soon."

 Even though Ana's mom didn't like it, Mrs. Walcott sighed and made her way into the kitchen. "I'll make some coffee."

 Detective Morris, leaving Gillian in the kitchen to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Walcott, lead Ana into the formal living room, sitting down on one of the floral couches. She took a seat in the chair across from him.

 He had his hands clasped together in front of him and he was calmly looking at her. Ana stared back. She was freezing cold, and her nerves were more than frayed. She wasn't sure how much more she could take before she would break down again, like when she had called her mother. Morris leaned back, crossing his legs.

 "Alright Ana, now I know you don't want to be here talking to me. Frankly, I don't want to be here talking with you either. I would much rather have Lisa and Kristen alive and with us today and no case going on. But unfortunately, that's not reality. And here we are. So, you might as well cooperate." He said straightforward. She wasn't surprised, in fact she was glad someone was finally talking directly to her about what was going on. That's what she had been wanting.

 "I understand Detective." She responded in a composed manner. There was no change in his demeanor, but at least he now knew that she was willing to cooperate.

 "Good. Now, I want you to tell me everything you remember from that night. Every possible detail you can give me." The detective pulled out a pad and pencil, at the ready for any information Ana could provide. The only problem was . . . there was barely anything she could give.

 "I remember going home from school and getting changed. Texting Lisa, Kristen, and Ally. We were planning on going out. I remember Ally bailed, she said she had too much homework to do. We were glad . . . we didn't really want her to go in the first place." Ana recalled from the other night. That was it . . . her memory stopped there. She had no idea why. She wondered if she had been hit on the head, or fallen down the stairs. Or maybe she was still in shock, and she was blocking what happened out . . .  Well whatever Ana's subconscious was doing, it would be helpful if it would knock it the hell off.

 "You and I both know there's more to it than that Ana." Detective Morris said in a cold tone. He wasn't visibly angry or upset, he was a detective. It was his job to hide his emotions. However he was making it obvious he didn't believe what she said.

 "Why don't you tell me what else happened." He asked. Ana shook her head.

 "There's nothing else I remember. I'm sorry." She admitted, feeling herself back on the verge of tears.

 Detective Morris leaned forward, no longer in his relaxed position on the couch. His eyes were stern, his jaw set.

 "I don't think you realize the severity of the situation-"

 "My friends are dead how dare you say that!" Ana shouted in tearful anger. She wiped her eyes, frustrated that she was crying in front of him like this and not caring at the same time. How could he say she didn't understand the severity of the situation? Lisa and Kristen had been murdered, and he thought she didn't understand the situation?! You bastard, she quietly thought.

 "No Ana, you don't understand." Detective Morris continued solemnly. "Many people believe you murdered your two friends."

 Ana's heart dropped into her stomach. Her blood ran completely cold. Now she understood what the reporter had meant when they yelled at her about a murder charge . . .

 "I- How could anyone think that? I loved those two girls!" Ana whispered in horror, the tears pouring down her face. She sobbed, her nose running as well. "I loved them." She repeated in almost a silent murmur.

 The detective remained emotionless. He cocked his head a bit though, raising his eyebrows. "Did you? Or did you murder Lisa and Kristen?"

 Her jaw dropped in mortified shock. How in the hell could he be asking her this?

 "I loved them!" She said again, her tears falling in despair. "I loved them like they were my sisters. I could've never murdered them."

 Detective Morris shrugged. "Maybe you're telling the truth and you really can't remember what happened, and that you didn't kill Miss McCain and Miss Kelleher. Or, maybe you're just a very good actress."

 "I didn't murder them!" Ana screamed. "I loved them!"

 The detective stood, tucking away his pad and pencil. He was obviously done with her and her sobs. He didn't believe her . . .

 "I didn't kill them! I swear to god, I loved them! They were my best friends!" Ana cried, but she knew he wouldn't believe her. He was set on believing she was lying. But she wasn't, she was telling the god's honest truth. She just couldn't fucking remember.

 "Please", she begged as the detective watched her cry. "I didn't kill them." Ana murmured.

 Detective Morris just shrugged again. "Thank you for your time Ana."

 Just like that, he left the room, left her to cry and sob alone. 

Ana bolted up the stairs in order to avoid seeing her parents or either of the detectives. She locked herself in her room and curled up on her bed, holding a pillow over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

 She didn't kill Lisa and Kristen . . . She could've