a/n: hi.
i do not own the walking dead or its characters. i will be updating this fic every week on tuesday if i can.
She had her arms swathed around her knees, her back to the wall, cold spills of tears running down her face.
Michonne shivered, staring downward, below the staircase where the form of Mike Walsh lay chillingly still. He was laid out on the tan carpet, which was soaked in dark red blood, blood that was gradually sinking into the wool.
His eyes were open, brown, and lifeless. Something sparked, a silver necklace. It lay a few feet away from his right hand, and a phone beside it, it was blinking, an animated tune playing its loop for the third time.
"I can't answer the phone right now." Michonne whispered to herself as she rocked against the wall. "I can't answer the phone right now. Something happened. I can't answer the-" She froze at the sound of police sirens.
Blue, red, and white lights blinked into the window and onto her face. Michonne gasped as she crawled to it and peeked through the blinds, a single King's County cruiser was parked in front of the Walsh residence.
"The police." She whispered. "Who called the-" She broke off, remembering the screams, the shouting, the thuds. It must've been because of the noise.
Michonne picked herself up and hurried up another flight of stairs, her eyes wide, her slippers sliding off her feet and falling down the stairs. Michonne found the open bathroom and entered the small room. She stepped into the tub.
She sat still as she heard the rough voices of the officers coming from the downstairs area, a few shouts as they most-likely discovered Mike's body and she shivered again. Rolling herself into a ball and shutting the noise out with a low hum.
It was a song she used to hum to Andre every night before she sent him to live with her parents and sisters due to an increase in Mike's temper. At this moment, she wanted to see her son and she wanted to hum to him again.
She'd probably been rocking herself for at least ten minutes before the shower curtain came flying open and a voice echoed through the bathroom.
"Get up, Miss. Raise your hands. Slowly." It was the gruff voice of a police officer.
Michonne blinked into the tub, her shadowed reflection staring back at her as she unwrapped her arms from her knees and raised her hands in the air while lifting herself into a standing position.
She faced upward to the white male cop whose gun and flashlight were directed in her face.
"Who are you? What's your name?"
"I-I live here." Michonne blinked away from the bright light. "My name is Michonne Tilley."
He tucked his flashlight in his belt and began lowering the weapon. But not a second later she saw his eyes widen and found herself once again staring down the barrel of his gun. "Is-is that blood?"
His eyes were trained to her throat, where Michonne looked down and saw the mess of blood that had collected into her collarbone and up her throat and chin. Also her hands were covered in it, her button-up and skirt completely matted with the dark red fluid.
Before she could answer, he roughly caught a grip on her arm and twisted her around so she couldn't see him as he patted her down.
"No weapons?" He breathed heavily as his hands tapped lightly at her thighs and legs down to her ankles.
She held her arms up as he dug into the back and front pockets of her jeans.
The cop began speaking again. "Can't tell whether this blood is yours or…"
"Or Mike's?" Michonne finished with raised brows.
The cop stopped touching on her and turned her back around, his gun in her face again, his other hand gripping her shoulder. "You killed that man downstairs?"
Michonne looked down, her bottom lip quivering. "I—"
She was once again spun around and away from him, but this time, she could hear the thick sounds of cuffs being locked around each of her wrists.
"I'm bringing you in, okay?" He helped her out of the tub. "We'll get your statement there."
As they went through the open bathroom door and entered the dark hall, another cop began mounting the steps. She was a female.
"Rick?" The woman tucked her gun into its holster and held up her flashlight.
She continued toward them, and as she stepped into the pool of moonlight that spilled in through the overhead window, Michonne couldn't help but acknowledge her beauty.
With a mop of dark red hair swept up into a messy braid and brown skin, Michonne found a gasp of recognition leaving her lips as she saw that the woman's hazel eyes were glistening with tears, her nose red, skin puffy.
"It's Mike, Rick." She whispered, her head lowered. "He's-he's dead, he-" The cop looked up and finally took in Michonne in cuffs. "Michonne?" She pointed the light directly in Michonne's face, squinting in confusion.
"Alannah?" Michonne knew her shock was visible on her face as she looked directly at Mike's cousin.
The shock quickly went away from Alannah's visage, and she looked angrier more than anything as she stepped forward. "You killed Mike?"
Rick—the cop who had been leading her from the bathroom released a saddened sigh. "Alannah—we should wait until we get to the station to ask questions. Did you call for a bus?"
"Y-yeah, I did." Alannah tore her eyes away from Michonne.
"And he's definitely dead?"
"Absolutely." Alannah wiped away her tears as she turned toward the stairs.
"So you don't remember anything?"
Michonne shook her head, moving a lock of hair from her eyes and behind her ear. She gazed down at her hands at the tears that had plopped down onto them. "Nothing. It's like a fog in my head. All I can remember is being covered in blood, and finding my dead fiancé."
"There's more." Alannah looked away from her partner Rick, who she sat beside at the table in the interrogation room, looking incredibly riled up while Rick was incredibly calm. "There has to be more. You don't…" She released a frustrated breath. "You can't just murder someone and then forget. That's not how it works."
"But that is possible, Alannah." Rick propped his chin up against his hand as he spoke to her. "People can black out during—"
"This is bullshit, Michonne!" Alannah burst out of the table, kicking aside her chair, making Michonne jump. "I know you were never happy with Mike! Not really! I know you two fought all the time, I know you weren't the perfect couple that everyone made you out to be. Just tell me the truth. Tell me what you did."
Michonne looked up, eyes clogging with tears. She hated crying.
"I wish I could, Alannah, honestly. I'm-I'm not denying that I did it. I just don't remember doing it."
Alannah looked back at Michonne with a death stare, and began heading in her direction. But Rick quickly stood and blocked her path, stopping Alannah from doing anything further.
"You should go home." Rick told her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You need to process everything that's happened, call your family."
Alannah stared at him for a moment, before looking down and nodding. "I—y-you're right." She sighed, blinking her watery eyes causing a single tear to drip on the ground. "But I'm coming back first thing in the morning."
"And that's fine." Rick removed his hand and sighed. "But come back clear-headed."
She pursed her lips, nodding again as she turned away and left the room. Her angry aura fading along with her.
Rick sighed and turned to face Michonne, ready to speak again but the interrogation room had opened again.
A woman walked inside dressed in medical scrubs, carrying a white case that resembled a first aid kit. She sat that on the table. "I got a call from Alannah?"
"Yeah." Rick walked over to the wall and leaned his back against it. "Do your thing, Denise."
Denise, the chubby woman who wore her brunette hair in a pony-tail with her glasses propped up on her face, unclipped the case and pulled out a pair of gloves, which she shoved both her hands inside. She then grabbed a Q-tip from the case along with a small bottle for the thing.
She turned to Michonne. "Can you stand up, please?"
Michonne nodded, pushing her chair back and getting on both feet. Denise approached her and pressed her gloved fingers to her blood-stained chin, twisting it upward to get a better look.
"I heard the victim was Alannah's cousin." Denise spoke as she closely examined Michonne.
"That he was." Rick told the doctor. He had pulled out his phone and was swiping on it. "I'm not sure if they were really close, though."
Denise shook her head as if to say 'what a shame'. "Still family."
Rick grunted in agreement while Michonne watched their interactions.
"Looks like you've got a bad gash here." Denise angled Michonne's head to the side before turning to Rick. "I don't think the blood belongs to our victim. It might be completely her own."
Rick unhitched himself from the wall, sticking his phone inside the front pocket of his dress pants, puzzlement set in his knitted eyebrows.
"But that doesn't make any sense." Michonne said, feeling just as confused as the officer looked.
Rick crossed his arms over his chest. "Could very well be. But I want it all tested. The blood on her clothes, on her skin, in her jewelry. It could be the victim's and hers mixed in together." Rick looked tired as he eyed Michonne.
Michonne averted her gaze.
"Alright." Denise used her Q-tip to swipe some blood from the open gash in Michonne's throat, Michonne shivered and moaned quietly of pain. "Sorry."
Denise dug deeper into the kit and came away with a bandage roll, she used that to wrap completely around Michonne's head, lifting up a wealth of locks to completely do the deed. She cut and taped the bandage to an end and set the roll back in the kit.
"After we get all of your belongings bagged and sent to my lab, I'll have you sent to the Harry-Medium Hospital to get you more efficient help. Maybe get stitched up. Okay?"
Michonne nodded. "Okay."
Rick shut the heavy restroom door behind the two of them and set the bags on the ground along with an empty bin. "Each piece of clothing and jewelry should be bagged separately, don't wet anything. Set your bagged things in the bin when you're finished."
Michonne nodded again.
Rick stood there, watching her, before opening his mouth again. "Any day now, Ms. Tilley."
Michonne began removing each of her stud earrings as Rick picked up the smallest bag. She moved toward him to give him the earrings and their rubber sleeves when one of the studs fell through an opening in her grip.
The earring popped against the marble ground of the bathroom.
"Shit. Sorry."
Rick held his hand up as he handed her the bag he held. "It's fine, it won't alter the evidence."
She spilled the remaining earring and rubbers into the bag and snapped the bag shut as he got onto his knees to search for the lost jewelry.
She sighed as she twisted her engagement ring around her finger to slip it into another bag. Michonne set that into the bin along with the other jewelry bag.
As she thought she was finished with the jewelry, she remembered another one. Rick stood as he had found the stud earring and dumped it into the bag it was supposed to be in.
Michonne brought her hand into her cleavage.
"Woah." Rick's eyes widened. "Uh...what are you doing?" He watched her hands enter her own shirt.
Michonne furrowed her brows. "I thought you said all jewelry, officer."
Rick stayed confused for a moment, squinting at her. Then he made out the knob-shaped protuberance of the piercing through the material of her shirt.
He raised his eyebrows. "O-oh yeah, I did."
Michonne found herself snickering unbelievably for a moment as she twisted off one of the ballpoints to remove the piercing. Michonne pulled both from her shirt and cupped them in her one hand.
Rick remembered suddenly what they were doing and knelt for another bag. He held it out as she dropped the jewelry inside.
"That all?"
"Yeah."
Rick's eyes went down her form. "So…no other…" His eyes stopped just at her skirt. "…private ornaments?"
Michonne brushed a cord back on her head, shifting on her feet. "Uh, no. Never got one of those."
"Well, alright." Rick dropped the bag in the bin. "I'll be in the station while you get your clothes ready for Dr. Cloyd, and I'll be back with more clothes for you to wear to the hospital. I'll be quick, wouldn't want you bleeding out before you get professional aid."
Michonne nodded her head in approval as he picked up the bin and began heading for the door.
"Officer." she said low.
He turned. "What is it?"
"Do you believe I did it?"
Rick released a deep sigh. "Do you?"
Michonne could feel her doubt overpowering her certainty as she threw her hands up. "All evidence seems to be pointing in that direction, so…"
Rick fully turned to face her. "If you feel you didn't do it, just be honest. Believe me when I say no one wants anyone to be punished for something they didn't do."
Michonne pressed her lips together. "But I'd have had good reason, though."
"Huh?" He hadn't heard her.
Michonne quickly shook her head at him. "Nothing." She tugged at the neckline of her shirt. "Any day now, officer."
Rick nodded, a hint of amusement on his face, and shut the door behind him.
Michonne released a breath as she began unbuttoning her top, when she noticed the indentation her ring had left on her finger.
Wiggling her hand, she sighed.
"What did I do to you, Mike?" She whispered to herself as she pulled her top off.