"I'll like to ask you a variety of questions. You don't mind answering, do you?" Says the detective, his tone obviously not gentle or polite.
How should I explain it?
After the police officers arrived at the convenience store, chased the crowd away, and observed the scene, I was soon taken to the office, because I was the last person there.
Someone had been murdered, and I was the last person there.
Naturally, this uncanny development did not paint me in a good light.
The detective pulled out a chair and sat opposite me. An extremely handsome man with sharp eyes that could read the minds of others and make them fearful. If I had to guess, he was probably within his early thirties and his great height was likely above six feet.
This fellow was certainly mean-looking but perhaps such a person was best suited for catching alcoholics, thieves, part-time thieves, and hooligans.
He placed a recorder on the table and pressed it once.
"I am Dante Weiss, the officer in charge of this questioning session. State your name, age, and occupation."
"My name is Morgan Hale, sir. Twenty-one years old. I work as one of the cashiers at the CornerPoint Convenience Store, mostly evening shifts."
"You were on the last night shift?"
"Yes."
"What time did you arrive?"
"In the morning, around 7:45 a.m., sir."
"You work evening shifts, yet you arrived in the morning?"
"Ah, yes. I was helping my coworker, Kevin Miles, with his shift. He had an urgent matter, so I covered for him."
"Hm." He paused, then looked at me again. "And what happened after that?"
"I did my job. At least, I think I did."
"You think you did?"
"Yes, sir."
"Explain."
I frowned, trying to pull something solid from the fog.
"I checked the register logs. Counted the cash. Restocked the shelves that were running low. Coffee pods. Bottled water. Snacks. And sold some items to paying customers"
"And after that?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know, or you don't remember?"
"I don't remember."
There was a big difference between the two phrasing. His eyes stayed on me without blinking.
"What time did Kevin Miles leave?"
"A few minutes after I arrived. We actually talked for a bit before he ultimately left the store."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"No."
The detective nodded once and made a note.
"After Kevin left, you were alone in the store?"
"Yes."
"For how long exactly?"
I hesitated. "Until closing."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"At what time did you leave the store?"
"I… don't know the exact time. Sometime after closing. Maybe ten fifteen? Ten thirty?"
"You're guessing."
"Yes."
His gaze sharpened, like he was peeling me apart layer by layer.
"Do you remember locking the store?"
"No."
"Turning off the lights?"
"No."
"Setting the alarm?"
"No."
The pen resumed its slow scratching.
"If I'm understanding what you're saying, you returned to your apartment without remembering anything before that, or how you got there?"
"That's the part that scares me the most, honestly."
Dante narrowed his eyes.
As expected, he was skeptical. I mean, who wouldn't be?
Even I wouldn't believe me right now.
"..."
Detective Weiss continued staring at me without a word.
I couldn't exactly fill the gap, and the air in the room slowly grew heavier, more awkward with each passing second.
Was this some kind of psychological tactic?
Come to think of it, how long had I been sitting here?
Finally, Dante leaned back in his chair and asked:
"Mr. Hale, do you drink?"
The question caught me off guard. I blinked a couple of times. "Huh? No, officer. I mean, occasionally, but I was completely sober yesterday."
"What about smoking?"
Ew.
"I don't do that either."
"Drugs?"
"No, sir."
Were you expecting me to say yes?
"Any medical conditions? Seizures? Sleepwalking?"
"None."
"Any enemies?"
I almost laughed, but it came out wrong. "Officer, I work as a cashier. I barely have any friends as it is. Why would I have enemies? I doubt I'm interesting enough to become a target."
He studied my face for a long moment.
Eventually, he seemed to reach a conclusion of his own and let out a quiet sigh.
"It seems like you really don't remember."
You believe me? His words caught me off guard, and for a moment I was at a loss for words.
Dante met my gaze directly, his sharp eyes no longer probing.
"People who lie usually overcompensate and add details they think sound convincing. You're not doing that. Your words, no matter how strange they sound, are completely genuine."
My throat felt dry.
"Do not misunderstand. That doesn't necessarily mean you're innocent," he added immediately, as if cutting off any fragile hope before it could take root. "It just means I don't think you're intentionally withholding information."
That distinction did nothing to calm my nerves.
Dante folded his hands together on the table.
"Memory loss like what you're describing isn't common, but it's not unheard of either. Extreme stress, trauma, dissociative episodes. Sometimes the mind blanks things out for things that can't be scientifically explained."
"Are you saying I blacked out?" I asked.
"I'm saying it's a possibility. One of several. There are cameras in the store, Security footage from the inside and outside. We're reviewing it now, along with your timeline, Kevin Miles' statement. After everything is analyzed and examined, we'll reach a conclusion."
"And the victim?"
His expression darkened a little.
"We're still identifying her. There was no ID on her person. And there's no match in the system yet."
"How did she die?"
"For now, you don't need to know the details. What you do need to know is this. Until we sort this out, you are not under arrest, but you are a person of interest. Which means you cannot leave town. If you do so without informing the department, you'll become a fugitive. Additionally, if anything comes back to you, no matter how small or strange it seems, you contact me immediately. Understood?"
He slid a card across the table.
I stared at the card, then nodded.
"Yes, sir."
Satisfied, Dante stood up, signaling the end of the interview.
"We'll be in touch, Mr. Reed."
Just as he reached the door, he paused and glanced back at me.
"Ah. I almost forgot."
There's more?
"Refrain from going back to that convenience store."
"Because of the ongoing investigation, right?"
"It seems you already understand. But there's another reason as well. If you were to return, the possibility of the killer targeting you would be high. If I can help it, I'd rather not deal with two murder cases. It's quite the headache."
He opened the door, then added over his shoulder, "So do me a favor."
"Stay safe, alright?"
The door clicked shut behind him.
And for the first time since I woke up, the thought hit me with full force.
What if the reason I could not remember was because my mind was protecting me from something I did?