Last Bitten(5)

Twenty-four hours . . .

“What does it mean?” she murmured, finally falling asleep.



***



The loud knock at Nia’s room door was enough to send her flying out of bed. She slipped on a black t-shirt that lay on the clean-clothes pile that she never put away and found some faded black jeans to match. She skipped the G-string this time and wrapped a purple scarf around her neck.

She opened the door, “Andy, I’m tired. You’re too early, you’ll—”

“Andy? No Andy here. I’m Detective Rand and this is Detective Blithe. We need to ask you some questions.”

“Oh,” Nia backed up. “I don’t have much room in here.”

“Here is fine.” Detective Rand said. He was short, old, and bald, just as Detective Blithe wasn’t. They both had on wedding rings—round gut to go with—and wore long, tanned coats, brown slacks, and shoes to match.

“Small is an understatement,” said Blithe, stepping into the cramped living space.

The room was wretched: two beds, Nia’s purple, Hana’s pink; one worn desk dead center, with a single fogged window above it; and a closet behind the door that the two girls shared. They’d each decorated their halves in posters, trinkets, and the University logo—the rampant lion.

Rand tapped on the red, sleeping lava lamp. “May I sit? I had one of these in college.” He sat before she responded, on the one black computer chair; the arms had been picked at, leaving the foam padding bare. Blithe remained standing and leaned on the now-closed dorm door, scribbling things on his small notepad.

“Sure. Coffee?” Nia offered, as she was desperate for some herself. It wouldn’t help her nerves, but she didn’t care, just wanted the caffeine. They both declined, and she started the pot anyway from inside the closet floor. It sputtered away against the intensity that the men had brought into her abode. “Is something wrong?”

“An interesting question, isn’t it . . . considering that you really have no idea why we’re here,” Rand watched her with a blank expression, one she guessed he’d used a million times to intimidate, to get answers.

Avoiding his grey eyes, Nia focused on his wrinkled brow.

“Your roommate was found this morning, in an alley, downtown. She’s barely alive, in the hospital now.”

Nia gasped in shock, in terror, unable to utter a single word. I shouldn’t have left her. I should’ve looked harder . . . oh God.

The detectives watched her intently, as if they could read her internal dialogue.

She covered her face and hid under the hot tears as they came. She had no control over them. “I lost her in the crowd. I don’t know. We were dancing, having fun.”

“Using fake ID’s. Her brother copped to it. He’s blaming himself,” said Blithe.

“I don’t know what happened. I swear. We were dancing. She went off with this guy.”

“What guy?” Rand asked, inching closing to her in the rolling chair.

“It was dark, strobe lights. He was tall . . .” Nia ran her hand into her scalp trying to remember. All she could see was those green eyes, feel that kiss again, invading her soul with precise control.

“You need to remember. We only have so much time within the attack window. These hours are crucial to our investigation. Now, you are not a suspect . . . yet . . . but you need to tell us what you know. You only have your own skin to save here, and you must realize that what you say could help catch the culprit, help your friend,” said Rand.

She pulled on her hair, like she was pulling on the memories, trying to stimulate something. “The guy, he was blond, but not as bright as hers—a dirty blond. He was tall—”

“You said that,” said Blithe.

The coffee dinged done, and she went for her worn, red mascot mug, filled it, and returned to her bed. A few sips later, she was feeling something. But the taste of it was awful. Must be off, she thought.

“He was good-looking, not thin, built actually, like he lifted weights—a bodybuilder type.”

“Good, good,” said Blithe. “Keep going.”

Nia put the mug down as a sensation of nausea waved over her. “I don’t know. That’s it, I guess. I don’t feel very good.”

“That’s good for now. Here’s our card. Call us if you think of anything. And stay put. Don’t leave town for now.”

“I’m not a suspect,” she said. “Can you tell me what happened to her?”

“Stabbed. She was stabbed. We’re also going to be back in an hour to tape off this room.”

“What? But I live here. I have nowhere to go.”