Richard enters the interrogation room with one of the detectives.
“Good morning, Johanna,” he says.
“Good morning?”
I should have fired him years ago. But that’s the thing about agents – they’re often attorneys with all kinds of loopholes to keep you roped into your contract from now until kingdom come.
Once the detective is out of sight, the questions begin.
“What happened?”
“She overdosed.”
“Were you there when she did it?”
“No.”
“Simon?”
“Simon called me when he found her,” I said.
“Why didn’t he call an ambulance first?”
“I don’t know.”
Richard sighs.
“This doesn’t look good, Johanna.”
“I know it doesn’t, but it was suicide.”
“The evidence says otherwise,” he says gently.
“What evidence?”
“Signs of a struggle. The pill bottle was wiped clean – no fingerprints.”
I’m shaking harder now. Is it colder in here?
“You think Simon–?”
His brow wrinkles and he stares at a scratch in the table.
“Johanna, I don’t know what to think yet. You two were having an affair. Ariela found out. And now she’s dead. And the evidence tells me it wasn’t an accident.”
I’m pacing now, rubbing my hands over my arms rapidly, and my mind races.
“Simon would never hurt her. He didn’t do this.”
“Was anyone with you when you got Simon’s call?”
I stop.
“No.”
“Can anyone verify that you were home when she overdosed?”
“There are cameras everywhere, Richard. My garage, their garage.”
“Okay.”
He pauses, studying my face.
“Johanna, were you involved in this? Did you–?”
The warmth of anger rushes over my body.
“No, I love Ariela like a sister,” I yell. “She is – was my best friend, one of the few people I knew I could rely on.”
“But she couldn’t rely on you, could she?”
As Richard leaves the room, I think about all of the ways Ariela used me. It isn’t completely fair to say that I could rely on her – unless I had been relying on her to screw me over every chance she got. Simon was the only revenge I ever wanted – or needed – to take.
⤜ ⤜ ⤜
“I’m so glad you’re feeling better, J,” Ariela said, patting my thigh like I was her pet.
We faced each other in the backseat of a limousine that was taking us to a private birthday party: a “friend of a friend” of Ariela’s, who had connections she wanted.
Twelve hours earlier, I’d woken up with what I thought was food poisoning. My call time for a shoot I’d been looking forward to for months was only an hour away and I wanted to die. Ariela quickly called Richard and offered to fill in for me. I was too busy throwing up to care when she left my apartment to make the call time.
“We’re never going back to Rusan’s for sushi ever again,” she assured me.
Ariela gushed all about the photographer and the shoot. For my benefit she added: “I could never really be a sufficient replacement for you, of course.”
“I’m sure they all love you,” I said with a weak smile.
Ariela beamed.
“Hopefully,” she said. “But anyway, I’m really glad you’re feeling well enough to come party with me.”
“I still have a little bit of a headache,” I admitted, wincing at each bright light we passed.
She fumbled around in the gold clutch on the seat beside her.
“Here,” she said, slipping a pinkish-white pill into my hand. “This will help.”
I swallowed the pill with a few sips from a small bottle of water she offered me from the cooler. I should have asked her what I was taking, but that was when I still trusted Ariela.
Almost as soon as we arrived at the mansion, my vision became blurry. Colors began to swim. I heard names, saw faces, had conversations with complete strangers, but at some point, I blacked out.
The next morning, I awoke in an unfamiliar room, in an empty bed, completely naked. I was sore and covered in bruises, but I had no memory of what (or who) had happened to me. – © 2015-2021 Portia July
To Be Continued…
Portia July 