Sweat trickled between the creases of my clasped palms. Instinctively, I flipped over my phone for the twentieth time, hoping somehow my nervous antics would make time run faster. 3:20 p.m. When I had set foot into the musty Damsmarsh Police Station, the location the authorities had told me to come. I had considered not showing up, maybe even fleeing the state to my Aunt Laine, but I doubt she would take me in without telling mom. “Just stop it, you’re fine,” I told myself, knowing that it was far from the truth. I would definitely be charged because I didn’t step up to tell the cops before they did on Tuesday. Holding my head in my hands, I regretted everything that had happened, wishing that I had came to them earlier. Around me sat others, all unique looking, positioned under multiple bulletin boards with messy clutters of information. A girl, looking around my age, freshly out of college maybe, sat in front of me, with a messy blonde haircut, and stunning blue eyes. I stared at her, for what reason I didn’t know, until she slightly tilted her head in my direction, to which I responded with an abrupt glance at my phone again. 3:26. Suddenly an angry and rough voice yelled, “Will you shut it!” I then realized the rhythmic tapping my foot was making, loud against the metal floor. I mumbled an unsure apology as I picked up a slight giggle across from me. I looked up at the blonde girl, sharing a slight smile. Surprisingly, the stranger began to cry, not obnoxiously but more like a slow whisper. My eyes darted between her face with regret and the empty seat beside her. Finally, I grabbed the white purse by my side and forced myself into the plastic seat against her, almost hugging her as I began to ask introduce myself, “What’s your name? Mine’s Beatrice.” 

With a quivering, but upbeat voice, she answered, “Deyah.” We talked about sorts of things, making her stop tearing up until I felt compelled to ask about her crying. Hesitantly, I continued my brave act, something that wasn’t common for me and asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, why were you crying earlier?” She stared at me blankly, as if she had already forgotten how she had felt before. Steadily she began to speak, allowing me to learn more about her. “I was crying because, because-” she choked, “-my brother was killed.” I was taken aback by her word and sat in silence for a second before trying to pry more out of her without being too intrusive. “Do you know what happened to him?” I questioned further. She explained to me solemnly that she and her brother were homeless and couldn’t find an open shelter, so slept outside on Monday, only to be involved in a hit-in-run, in which her brother had died. Luckily for her, she was untouched. She also explained that she and her brother had been living homeless for a while after their parents had died a couple of years ago. I felt extremely bad for Deyah, knowing that anything I said wouldn’t shake off the feeling of despair. Suddenly a man’s voice, now coming from a corner grumpily said, “Deyah Williams.” She gathered herself and gave me a little wave as she was taken into another room. I stared once again at my phone, not sure how long it had been. 3:45. “Dang,”, I thought to myself, “It’s already been an hour.” While talking with Deyah, I had forgotten everything about why I was even there, caring more about her story, but with her gone, all the regrets and fears came back. I considered lying but knew I was horrible at it. I would just have to come clean. 

After some time, I saw the same blonde figure, now with fewer tears exit the corner room. “What did they say?” I asked, almost jumping at her. “They haven’t identified who the driver was, but they think they have someone who was in the car at the time who didn’t contact them before. They even said they were here now! They’ll call me back in a minute” A painful feeling churned in my stomach. Imagining that one of the people by me, looking so innocent and regular could have killed the woman’s brother. “That’s good at least,” I exclaimed, hoping that she would find justice for her brother.  Then the same stern voice called, “Beatrice Summers?” I grabbed my purse, waving to Deyah like she had done to me. In the interrogation room, an older man in uniform sat in front of me and asked, “Do you know why you’re here today?” This was it, I couldn’t lie. “Maybe,” I answered, nervously rubbing the back of my neck. I continued on, “I was drunk-driving and I believe I hit someone with my car and they were injured. The man, obviously shocked, but trying to hide it, paused before hissing, “Actually, you didn’t just give them injuries, Ma’am, they died.” He slid a photo of a man, seeming a little bit older than me, with the same blonde hair and blue eyes as the woman in the waiting. In fact, the man resembled her almost identically, with a slightly longer face and smaller eyes. “That’s him,” he sighed, knowing full well that what I had done was an accident. “In fact,” he continued, “You took him away from his only other family member, his sister, Deyah Williams.” The words rang in my ear as I couldn’t believe it. The woman, the one that I had bonded with before was the victim’s sister? “She’s asked to come and see you, so just one minute.” “No, she’s going to be so hurt.” I thought, wishing I had never decided to drive that day. I couldn’t bear the thought someone had died because of me and my stupidity. I didn’t even care about the jail time, more about what Deyah would say. Quiet footsteps came back to the room as I was met face to face with a blonde girl with blue eyes, crying as she realized who I was. She didn’t seem mad, only betrayed as she began to sob louder and louder, being ushered away. The officer gave me a white bodysuit to wear and I changed into it, knowing that I would be lucky to be in the comfort of my comfy bed again. The room was silent as I was handcuffed and lead outside and into a black police car where I looked back at the police station. I wished I could go back.