I’ll invite them in, but we’re not going to sit down for a long chat. I stop in the middle of my living room. “What’s this about?” I ask. The cops look everything over, from the soft gray sofa to the recliner I got for my dad when he comes to visit. There are a couple of pictures here and there, one of my mother and I when I was just a babe. The TV is hung on the wall and under it a couple of plants that were gifts. Everything gets a look with quick glances from the cops, then both of them turn to me, standing up a little straighter.

“We’d like to ask you about your whereabouts on a few different dates,” the second cop says, his eyes on mine. Now he’s watching to see what I’ll do.

The first cop clears his throat, then flips to another page in his notebook. “On the night of⁠—”

He goes through a few different dates. A few different nights, really. I listen to his list, blank-faced. That’s the only thing the school ever taught me.

When he’s finished with his list, they look at me expectantly.

I shake my head. “What’s this about?”

“We’re investigating a series of murders in the area,” the second cop says.

My brow raises and I stand a little straighter, “Murders? What do you think I know about any murders?”

The first one looks at me. “We’re going through the list of children enrolled at a particular school the victims all worked at… it seems you attended Cedar Woods Academy?”

I let them see how hearing the name of that place makes me feel, which is sick. I lean back and grip the sofa and stare down a moment.

“You mean the fucked up school that got shut down? Yeah I went there, years and years ago but I don’t know anything about any of the faculty or any of the other students,” I lie and the temperature of my body heightens.

The second cop shuffles, one of his hands going to his belt. “I take it that means you have some resentment.”

“I would be concerned about anyone who doesn’t have resentment after they heard—fuck. Everyone heard what happened at that place. Who wouldn’t be angry?”

“Let’s go back to the list.” The first cop doesn’t look at his buddy. “Where were you two nights ago?”

I look at the second man instead.

“Are you asking everybody who went to that school, or⁠—”

“Only the former students who have criminal records right now,” the first cop says, cutting me off.

Fuck. This is all so fucked.

Just when I’m about to answer—I don’t even know what I’m going to say—there’s a loud knock at my door. I snap my mouth shut. More cops?