Page 1 of Rigid

PROLOGUE

Handcuffed to the underside of a steel table and covered in a stranger’s blood wasn’t how I ever expected to spend a Saturday night, but it was the position I had somehow gotten myself into.

The events that got me there, however, were a blur.

A violent bloody blur that ended with one loud boom.

A single shot from a pistol released a bullet that tore through his flesh, pierced his skull, and killed him instantly.

I lifted my head from the cold surface of the table. My eyes aimlessly wandered around the empty room, struggling to adjust beyond the tears and confusion. I noticed cameras in the two corners of the ceiling across from me, and I was sure they were recording my every move.

The severity of what happened began to sink into my stomach like a heavy stone.

I lowered my head onto my one free arm, closed my eyes, and tried to remember exactly what happened. The scene played in my head like the trailer for a Hollywood movie, hitting only the highlights. Screaming. Blood. The sound of breaking bones. And then, a gunshot.

Bile rose in my throat. Upon reaching the back of my tongue, the vile substance caused my stomach to heave. Fearing I was going to vomit, I instinctively raised my hands to my mouth. Or, at least I tried. The metallic clank and a resistant jerk on my left hand stopped me short.

Once again, a reminder of what I had done.

The door unlocked, and then swung open. A man and a woman sauntered into the room.

“I’m Detective Jones,” the man said.

The woman sat down across from me. “You can call me Jacky.”

Jones methodically paced the floor behind her. Each time he passed the table, the smell of stale cigarette smoke followed him. The dark skin underneath his eyes combined with his gaunt cheeks and unkempt hair made it look like he hadn’t eaten or slept in a week.

He stopped pacing, turned to face me, and scratched his head feverishly with both hands. After a moment, he paused, and then met my gaze. His stare was intense, and his expression was one of disbelief.

My eyes fell to the table.

“Are you paying attention, Miss. West?”

I looked up. “Uh huh.”

I didn’t belong there. It shouldn’t have never happened, but it did. I was sure of it. I heard the boom, and I saw the blood. I shook my head, hoping to rid my mind of my spotty recollection of what had transpired.

He shook his head lightly and shot me a condescending look. “You look like shit.”

“I feel…I uhhm. I think I’m going to be sick,” I murmured.

“I’d feel sick, too. I mean, shit, you just killed a guy. Blew his fucking head all over La Quinta Ave. We picked up the pieces and put ‘em in a little plastic bag.” He cocked an eyebrow. “How’s that make you feel, being a murderer?”

My head began to spin. I struggled to recall exactly what happened, but could only resurrect the horrific portions that came in unwelcomed flashes of memory.

Jones clasped the end of the table in his hands, leaned down, and cleared his throat. “So, you pointed the gun at him, and then shouted for him to stop. You told the patrol officer on the scene that you gave that command. Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

“Uhhm…” I tried to swallow, but my dry throat prevented it. “I don’t. He was uhhm…”

“Stop or I’ll shoot. That’s what you said, right?”

“It was…”

“Stop or I’ll shoot. You said that. Stop or I’ll shoot. What were you prepared to do if he didn’t stop, Miss West?”

Tears rolled down my cheeks. “He was…”

He slapped the table with his hand. “Stop or I’ll shoot,” he shouted. “You said that, right?”