Do you think I'm faking, when I'm lying next to you?
Do you think that I am blind, there's nothing left for me to lose
Must be something on your mind
Something lost and left behind
Do you know I'm faking?
She stood in the middle of her living room, dressed in a torn beige satin slip, bare feet planted on the cold hardwood floor of her apartment. The adrenaline was almost too much for her to bear. It was an adrenaline rush, a sense of frightening excitement accompanied by a sort of cool calmness as she stood, frozen, her wavy brown hair tousled, disheveled and stuck to a cut on her lower lip. Her brown eyes were wide, simultaneously conveying emotions of shock, disbelief, and pure terror. Her shoulder ached; but, judging by the looks of the man lying in the middle of the floor, her aching shoulder was about to be the least of her worries.
She dropped the chrome .38 and slowly sank to the brown leather couch, trembling violently. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream until her lungs gave out, but at the moment, she was afraid to breathe. Her eyes were still fixated on the handsome young man sprawled out on the white carpet before her.
Her mind became frantic. Where had everything gone wrong? The blind date, the nightcap, the attack, the shooting. Everything had happened so fast, she barely had time to process it. Her eye was starting to bruise and sting, and her lip was sore. But, above all else, for the first time in many years, she was actually frightened.
She wasn't that kind of girl. The type to invite random men into her home. But ever since she had moved out to Orlando, she had been so lonely. That's when her cousin, Melina, had arranged the date for her.
Do you know I'm faking, when I'm lying next to you?
Do you know that I am blind to everything you ever do
Must be something on your mind
Something lost for me to find
Do you know I'm faking
The man said his name was Randy Orton. Twenty-eight year-old Aries who stood at six-foot-two to her five-seven, with a nice tan and brown hair that offset his bluish eyes. He had told her that he was in school, studying to become an attorney, and she had found herself attracted to him almost instantly. He was a charming man with a natural charisma and comforting smile. At the time she had felt no reason to distrust him. After all, he was aspiring to become one of the good guys, and good guys didn't do those sorts of things, right?
She shook her head; this was too much. With a deep breath, she shifted her gaze from the body on the floor to the torn red dress lay in shambles on the floor. Damn. She'd really loved that dress, too. She snapped her attention back to Randy, momentarily irritated with herself. She reasoned that the dead man on the floor took some kind of precedence over the dress...even if it was her favorite.
She needed a drink. Bad. She got off the couch and walked into the kitchen where she poured herself a shot of Sambucca, grimacing as the clear, black-licorice tasting fluid slid its way down her throat. Putting the shot glass down on the granite countertop, she froze. What should she do now? Call an ambulance? He was dead, she was sure of that. She panicked. It was self defense...wasn't it?
Gazing into the mirror abover her fireplace, she found herself thinking about the entire situation. Who knew that twenty-four year-old Eve Torres from Eugene, Oregon, would be standing in her living room with a man she shot sprawled out on the floor? She fought the urge to vomit. Making her way to the end table, she picked up the cordless phone and began to dial for the paramedics, when a violent pounding reverberated from the door.
She froze.
Then she told me she had a gun
It sounded like she'd used it once before
Then she told me she had a gun
It sounded like she'd used it once before
As the pounding continued, Eve quickly rushed into the bathroom and grabbed a robe to drape over herself. She hoped that if she just stayed silent that the person on the other side of the door would go away.
She heard the key jingle in the lock. Her eyes closed. There was only one person who had her house key. The door opened and she heard a loud female voice.
"Holy shit!"
From outside the bathroom door, she heard keys drop onto the glass coffee table and she could hear the voice of her cousin cry out, "Eve? Eve!"
Slowly, Eve pulled open the bathroom door a little more so that she could see her cousin. Melina Perez was a few years older than Eve, related through marriage, and one of the forefront reasons for Eve making the big move to Florida. She was working as a legal clerk at a small firm in downtown Orlando that specialized in probono law for the homeless. She was short, about five foot four, with black hair and huge brown eyes framed by long lashes. She was a fierce woman, one who wouldn't stand for much, and would probably make a great attorney when she finally made her way through the final years of law school.
"Jesus, Eve, what happened?" Melina inquired, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.
The severity of the entire situation suddenly hit Eve like a bucket of ice water and she cracked. She began to cry and Melina instantly – from instinct alone – gave her cousin a hug. She soothingly stroked her cousin's hair as Eve's entire body racked violently with sobs. "Come on," Melina cooed, leading her cousin into the bedroom. The last thing Eve needed to see was the body laid out on the floor. Then Melina went into the kitchen and fixed both herself and her cousin a drink. It was going to be a long night.
Eve could hear Melina murmuring under her breath in Spanish in the kitchen, before she finally returned with two glasses in hand. Eve took a glass, shakily taking a few small sips. She grimaced from the taste, but at that moment, Eve knew she needed the liquor to keep herself calm. The glass was moving with each small twitching movement of her hands.
Melina was speechless, Eve could read that on her cousin's face. And Melina probably hated the fact that she was speechless. But Eve understood; after all, what does one say to somebody who has just shot another human being? She could tell that Melina was curious, but Eve didn't feel like answering questions. She continued to drink, her sobs causing her sips to come out in small gulps.
Guess you know I'm faking, when I tell you I love you
Guess you know that I am blind, to everything you say and do
Must be something on my mind
There's nothing left for me to hide
Do you know I'm faking?
Finally, Melina felt the need to break the silence and ask the important question. "Eve, have you called the police?"
Eve shook her head, and was interrupted with more pounding on the door. "Open up!" The voice was loud, male. Eve stared at Melina, wide-eyed in fear. Melina stroked her cousin's hair and assured her to stay calm as she stood and answered the door.
Melina was gone for what seemed like a while. She could hear her cousin's voice change from the soft comforting voice that had partially soothed Eve into the feisty, stubborn tone that had made her one of the most feared women at her firm. She could hear her snap, "Yeah, that's him on the floor. She's in the bedroom and go easy on her for Christ sakes!"
The bedroom door suddenly opened all the way and that's when the head detective walked in. He was a tall one. At least six-foot-ten, with a sharp nose and lips that were curled into a snarl. His eyes were a piercing green, his long hair back in a low ponytail. A large khaki trenchcoat was draped over his enormous frame as he stood before her, glaring, hand on what she assumed was either his baton or handcuffs. Judging by the looks of him, she assumed the baton.
She had only met him for a span of ten seconds at least, and in her fear, she found herself hating him instantly. She was almost certain that she knew what he was thinking; that he had seen her type before. That she was nothing more than some disgruntled female, angry at the world, at all the men who had wronged her during her life and how, in her heartbroken state, she had decided to seek vengeance with her own deadly hand. Eve also figured that he thought that she was Randy's trophy wife, and he was the young, hot-shot attorney on the fast track to success, who probably had another woman on the side that Eve refused to put up with. Throw in the epic fight, cliched struggle and the gun going off, and there was a full-blown case of murder. Eve found herself smiling sarcastically at her thoughts as he glowered at her wordlessly, attempting to intimidate her. He was effective; she found herself trembling more and more under his gaze.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other officers and crime scene investigators occupying her living room, gathering evidence of the violence that had erupted in such a small apartment. With her lip throbbing and her eye stinging, she could sense the detective before her contemplating ways to blow apart a spousal abuse defense. She could sense the disgust and contempt he felt for her resonating from his body.
"What happened?" he grumbled. Eve stared up at him, eyes wide. She was afraid and she refused to hide it. She knew her look would be familiar to him. He probably figured that she would crack under his pressure in no time. She didn't answer him; she remained silent, her gaze locked with is. It wasn't a gaze of defiance; there was something different behind her eyes..something he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Protocol says you have to come down to the station," he told her matter-of-factly. "Statement, booking. You're under arrest, Miss..."
"Torres," Melina piped up from behind them. He wheeled around to face her as Melina glared back at him defiantly. Eve sat on the bed, absolutely stricken. Melina shifted her gaze from the towering detective to her cousin. "I'll meet you at the station," Melina replied, "Don't say a word until I get there with Santino." Santino Marella was a partner at her legal firm. Eve nodded and stood as she was handcuffed by the detective and led out of the room and towards the hallway of her apartment, where the police car was stationed outside.
Then she told me she had a gun
Sounded like she'd used it once before
Then she told me she had a gun
It sounded like she'd used it once before
Almost everybody on her floor had their eyes to the peepholes or stood outside in the hallway, leaned against the doorframes, watching as the tall detective ushered the new girl down the hallway, towards the elevator, where she would be taken outside to the awaiting police car. She could feel the burn of embarassment make its way up her neck towards her cheeks as he pushed the elevator button and waited for the doors to slide open. When the door opened with a high-pitched ding, he roughly pushed her into the elevator and hit the button to take them down to the first floor.
The silence between the duo was awkward, tense, and she kept her eyes straight ahead in an attempt to avoid contact with him. She was terrified of the entire situation, but at the same time, felt an odd sense of relief by the cool metal chafing against her wrists.
When the doors slid open, he gave her another hard push and they were out in the lobby of the building. He held the glass doors open for her and she walked out, the detective close behind. He led her to the awaiting car, where his partner stood, leaned against the driver's side door, facing the two. "This her, Mark?"
"Yeah," he murmured gruffly.
"Pretty little thing, ain't she?" he replied. Her eyes narrowed as Mark murmured something inaudible. Pulling the door open, she sat down in the backseat. He made sure her robe was fully inside the vehicle before he slammed the door shut.
She could feel a slight chill wash over her as the man identified only as Mark got into the passengers seat. The silence was deafening as the trio made the long drive towards the police station.
We have to succumb to the feelings we can never face
I need you, I breathe you
I can't go through this all again
We have to succumb to the feelings we can never face
I need you, I breathe you
I can't go through this
Eve sat inside the interrogation room, her shoulder hunched, eyes staring at the steel table before her. She wasn't any less terrified than she was on the silent ride to the station. The room wasn't just physically cold – although it was that – but mentally, the tension in the room made her tremble as she sat alone at the table, Mark staring into the two way mirror at the edge of the room.
When Eve slowly brought her eyes up, she found herself staring back at Mark, who was leaned across the table, his stern eyes magnified behind thick glasses. She could see it in his eyes; he lived for the look of terror she possessed. She could also tell that he was frustrated. When he had attempted to question her earlier, she had announced she was going to use her legal right to an attorney to the fullest extent. She almost relished the look of disgust on his face as he had spent the last forty-five minutes pacing a tench in the interrogation room, refusing to let her out of his sight.
The door finally opened, and Santino Marella, a young man of thirty-four, entered the room, briefcase clutched in his right hand, his black coat draped over the left. "Sorry to keep you boys waiting," he replied, his tone light and sarcastic all at once. This was not Santino's first rendezvous with Detective Mark Calaway, but he felt certain that it was going to be the first encounter where he came out on top in the battle of wits they seemed to be engaged in.
Santino sat down next to Eve. She was relieved that Melina had sent somebody to help. Mark reached over and turned on a tape recorder. "State your name for the record," Mark began.
"Eve Torres. T-O-R-R-E-S."
"...And your last name for the record," he finished. He knew that with a cousin in law enforcement, she would know the procedures fairly well. "So, Eve, how long ago did you move out here?"
"About three months," she answered, her tone shaky. "I...Melina and I decided that there could be more opportunities for me if I were to move up here."
"And where did you move here from?"
"Eugene, Oregon."
"Nice little place," Calaway commented. "Drove through there years ago. Road trip to California." He sat down at the table to get eye level with Eve, who was starting to ease up a little bit. "How'd you meet the vic?"
"Melina," she answered quietly. "They worked together. She thought he was an all-around nice guy and told me that we'd make a great pair." The last part she said almost bitterly as she winced at the pain in her lower lip. It was the subtext, however, that Mark easily picked up on.
"So what happened on your date?" he asked her, "Did you just decided that his life was worthless?"
"In a courtroom, a jury would crucify you for that remark," Santino bit back. He looked over at Eve, who was scowling at the veteran detective. "You can ignore that," he told her, "You don't have to answer."
"The hell she doesn't," Mark snapped back. "She killed somebody, and unless she talks, her ass is going up the creek." He could see a glimmer of fear and hatred in her eyes. He knew then, in that instant, that she was not such an innocent victim.
"Here's what I think happened," he spat, standing to his feet in irritation and adrenaline. "I think you led him along. Strung him along like some sort of puppet."
"That's..." Eve attempted, but found herself cut off.
"Shut up; I'm not finished," he snarled. "You invite him back for a nightcap, maybe give him a few kisses here and there. Things get a little heated, and you freeze up. He gets irritated, tries to get a little more action, and you shoot him. So here's my question, Princess..." The word "princess" dripped with venom, "where'd you get the gun?"
"You don't have to answer that," Santino barked. Eve rolled her eyes; she was sensing that Santino was something of a passive attorney.
"It was his," she snapped back at the detective. Santino motioned for her to be silent, but she ignored him. "He told me he got mugged going home one night, so he keeps it on him in case of emergency!"
"Because every man carries a gun on a date," Mark snarled back sarcastically. She glared up at him, her chin quivering. He knew that look, too. His daughter over the years had perfected it, and it no longer bore any sort of effect on him. "So what happened? How far off am I, Eve?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm and he could sense her temper flaring. "Am I on the same page as you were when you killed him?"
"You're not even in the same library," she retorted. Santino attempted to calm her down with a soothing hand, but she slapped it away. "You don't know what the hell happened! Yes, I invited him in for a drink. Christ, I thought it was the right thing to do!
"And I'll admit it; it was nice when he started kissing me. But I didn't lead him on – far from it. That's why my lip hurts and my eye stings. So you can get this 'disgruntled female' bullshit out of your mind right now. I acted in self-defense. It wasn't murder; it was a public service!"
Santino leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. With each passing second, he could feel Eve's temper get the better of her. And, with a man like Mark Calaway, her temper would come back and bite her in the ass..and fast.
There was a knock on the door, and a tall, lanky man entered the room, holding a manila envelope. He was a young blonde kid with the name Kendrick splashed across his nametag. He whispered something to Mark, who grunted in approval. He turned his attention to Santino and Eve. "May I have a few minutes?"
"Sure," Santino murmured, his tone mirroring defeat. With that, Mark stood and left the room with the young officer. Santino turned to Eve. "Well, you really helped your defense."
"He's just trying to rattle my cage," Eve snapped. "He's trying to make me feel like I did something wrong." She ran a hand over her hair. "If I didn't fire at that son of a bitch, God only knows what would have happened..." she trailed off and shuddered at the thought.
The door opened again several minutes later, and Mark walked in with a cat-that-just-ate-the-canary smile on his face. "You sure you want to defend this thing?" he asked Santino incredulously, smirking at Eve. Santino gazed at the detective, mystified.
"What are you talking about?" Santino inquired.
Mark dropped the envelope to the table top and it slid over to Santino, a photo of Eve falling to the ground. It was an old photo of Eve, where she had short red hair.
Her heart stopped.
"So, Eve, anything you want to tell us? Maybe about your departure from Eugene?"
Santino incredulously read over the details of Eve's past and his eyes slowly shifted to her. Melina had failed to mention the information laid out before him. He wondered if she even knew. He couldn't be sure; nobody ever really knows somebody.
Acording to the paper, Eve Torres wasn't really the innocent girl she made herself out to be. He knew that Melina definitely had to know about that. If they were as close-knit as Melina claimed, then she would know her cousin lived a double life She was wanted in Eugene, Oregon, for questioning in the murder of a police officer she had been dating named Adam Copeland. Before that, in Sacramento, California, charges against her were dropped in connnection with a murdered shop owner named Paul London she had been romantically involved with.
Santino gasped in surprise as he read the papers. The woman was a regular black widow, no doubt about it. She claimed all their insurance policies and took off before anyone caught wise. As he stared at her with a new perspective, he could see something different in her eyes. Something a little bit more sinister. Her secret was out. She now suffered the relief of being out in the open, without fearing an impending capture. Like it was the end of the line.
She took a deep breath and straightened her spine, her brown eyes now blazing like wildfires. They burned into the eyes of Mark Calaway. He leaned in close, his face curled into a snarl.
"I suppose they were self-defense, too?"
Then she told me had a gun
Said she'd like to use it...on me now