The door opened quickly and violently, as if someone was breaking in, but Maddie knew otherwise. Brandon stumbled in, hiccupping as he went, closing the door behind him, fiddling with the keys in his hand before sighing angrily and waving at the door, as if the air would lock it for him. Drunkenly, he turned, swaying heavily, his arms swinging around him like vines around a tree. As their eyes met he stopped, in his drunken state assuming she hadn’t seen him. Her glare was fixed and arms folded. She was wearing what she did every night, a long grey nightie, one she had worn since their wedding, ‘easy access’ she had called it. But now her face wasn’t the same as that night, it was stern and furious with flared nostrils and wide eyes.
“Where have you been?” Maddie demanded, quoting almost every wife whose husband had come home inexplicably drunk.
“Out,” Brandon said quickly, trying his best to hide his slurs.
“Where?” she demanded again. He huffed at her.
“Out,” he repeated. This time, she huffed at him, taking a step closer. Now, Brandon could see the fury in her blue eyes and her withdrawn tongue as she held back her shouts.
“You better have a bloody good reason,” she seething, breathing heavily through her teeth. Brendon huffed at her again, pushing aside her anger clearly written across her face.
“Did you miss me?” he teased, still swaying, his arms dangerously close to the framed pictures on the table beside him. Maddie recoiled slightly, her anger slowly fading into sorrow, tears building in her eyes. She bit her lip and sucked in cool air before looking back at him.
“Yes, I did,” she said. Brandon jolted back slightly at the sincere, contained answer, swinging himself steady again. “Because while you were off galivanting around town with your friends, I was here, tucking our daughter into bed. And as I am doing that, my phone rings. I have to stop saying goodnight to her to answer it. It was from my father…” she hesitated, breathing in sharply again but her eyes never left his. “My mother died.” She finished. Even through his drunken vision, Brendon could see Maddie’s eyes well up again, more tears falling down her face. He brought a hand forward to pull her closer but she stepped back, lightly pushing his hand to the side and he let it fall, confusion spreading across his face. She took in another deep breath. “This is how it’s been since the beginning. You go out, get drunk, come home late and I'm already asleep and I find you passed out on the sofa. Thought it was funny and cute to begin with, but then it got boring and annoying. But then, you stopped, cleaned up your act, but, since last week, you’ve been sneaking out to drink, leaving me alone. And not only that, but alone with your infant daughter.” Once she had finished, Brendon had started to cry, the warm tears gently falling down his face, creating a river as they meandered down where the wrinkles of smiles used to form.
“Maddie, I,” he started.
“No,” she interjected, her voice stern again. “I have lost my mother, your daughter has lost her grandmother, a woman she will never remember. I lost someone and the only person I could talk to was our daughter, who was confused about why I was crying in the first place! I don’t want her Christmas ruined with the memory of her grandmother’s death! And you weren’t here for me, or for her. I don’t feel like I can rely on you anymore.” Brendon opened his mouth but she barged past him, heading for the stairs.
“Maddie, please I’m…” he tried, but she didn’t turn. As she reached the stairs she stopped, her back still to him.
“I'm taking Rachel to my brother’s tomorrow,” she said after a moment, her voice warbled with tears, holding back the urge to run to him. “We can talk more after that.” With no further words, and ignoring Brendon’s wails and desperate calls, Maddie walked up the stairs and to their bedroom, where she didn’t sleep.
Day 1
Closed Eyes
Closed Eyes
Deafening
Deafening
Closed Eyes
Day 15
E s t 2 0 2 0
Chapter 3: Suspicious Suspects
The interrogation goes on for longer than you had hoped. Many things are revealed to you, including the information that the victim and his wife had been having marital problems, including a small mention of domestic violence. The alibi for Ellie’s whereabouts falls fast when Wishwell joins you, confronting her with no evidence of her morning walk or her purchase of her morning sandwich.
​
“I didn’t kill him!” she cries.
“Then why are your prints at the scene!” Wishwell shouts back. Even you're startled by the revelation.
Ellie scrambles for a response. “Because I was the first on the scene.”
“And already close to the school.”
“It’s on my route.”
“Not according to your watch.” Wishwell slams two maps onto the table. A red line flowed across each, both with different patterns. You seize the opportunity.
“According to this, you were half a mile from where your route, Officer,” you say sternly. Elle looks up at you, tears streaming down her face.
“I didn’t kill Alfie!” she cries again. “I just wanted to scare him, that’s all!”
Silence falls over the room as she realises her mistake. She collapses into her hands, her sobs echoing.
Controlling your heart, you sit back down and try to place a sympathetic look on her face. “Ellie,” you say gently. “What happened?”
Gradually, she lifts her head and confesses. She had gone to see him about the bruises she had seen on her sister. While there, in a fit of rage, she threw what she could at him but left before she went further. It’s her guess that he hit his head on the way down.
Without saying a word, Wishwell picks the woman up by her arm and wraps handcuffs around her wrists, handing her off to an officer outside of the room. With her gone, he turns to you.
​
“Good job, Bell,” he says. “Get started on the paperwork and then go home. You deserve a rest.”
He vanishes before you can thank him, leaving you to replay the interrogation in your mind.