Chapter 2: Sixine

"Ladies? Did you call us?" a young cop asks me quietly, just arrived on the scene.

I nod vaguely, still in shock.

"Yeah, that’s us," Neeve says, lost between two emotions.

At the same time, if we ask her the question now, I’m not even sure that she still knows where we live, so interpreting what we have just witnessed isn’t to be counted on! She takes a joint out of her pocket and gives me her most upset look. But she doesn’t have the strength to say anymore and falls gracelessly on the bench where Elinor is prostrate, unable to recover from what we have witnessed.

"Eli, the police are here. We’ll have to go with them."

"For what?" she asks me, raising her head from her knees, which she holds tightly between her arms.

Her makeup smudged; there’s no doubt she let her tears run wild, despite all our attempts to console her. How to blame her? Even her anxiety meds won’t be able to make her forget that a suicidal woman almost flattened us.

"Are you okay, ladies?" worries the policeman, inviting us to follow him to his vehicle. "Perhaps you would like to give evidence at a more reasonable time?"

"It will be fine, thank you. Tomorrow, I can’t."

It’s already not an easy task to talk about what we have witnessed. Might as well get it out of the way as soon as possible, it will be one less thing to do. Besides, it shouldn’t last too long, since there’s no doubt that this poor girl ended her life. Thinking back to her body crushed by the impact on the asphalt, acid reflux rises up my throat.

I gently push Elinor, who slides into the vehicle with the grace of a robot, and then Neeve seems a little tired. Once my girlfriends have boarded, I sit in the tiny place they leave me in the back seat and slam the door to signal to the driver that we are ready to leave.

The car barely starts when a guttural belch resounds in the passenger compartment, accompanied by pronounced gurgling. The kind of spontaneous noises that don’t bode well, especially when you’re in a confined space. Please don’t tell me Eli’s going to give back the barrel she drank!

We have not travelled more than a few meters when the dreaded tragedy occurs. As the car brakes at a red light, and before I’ve even had time to open the door, Elinor spills her stomach on the carpet, right in front of her miraculously spared glittery Louboutins.

"Are you OK?" asks the policeman, trying in vain to hide his disgust.

"We’re going to finish on foot, Officer. I think we need a little air, if you don’t mind."

He nods, disconcerted to see us hastily leave the cabin, while, forced to stay there, he opens the windows wide.

The air is cool this evening; however, a suffocating feeling of heaviness oppresses me. Perhaps it is the sad observation of not having been able to help this unfortunate woman that disturbs me. What else, if not that?

"Six, how are you?" Neeve asks me, sensing my discomfort. "Is it because of the woman?"

"I imagine."

The victim’s shattered face, wide-open eyes, and bloodied mouth appear like a filter in front of me, almost as real as when she fell.

"You know, you can’t help everyone!"

Thank you for reminding me of my weaknesses so gently, darling.

I glare at her. How stupid she can be sometimes!

Fortunately, I know her well and I know that behind this facade of indifference, she is as touched as I am. Or almost. As for Elinor, she wallows in a silence that says a lot about her psychological state. Our lives have already been a tad complicated lately, adding a tragic death isn’t going to make things any easier.

We enter the police station, arm in arm, unfailingly united, ready to face this ordeal.

"Follow me, it’s here."

A young woman, freshly graduated, seeing her starched uniform, leads us into a room usually intended for interrogations. Would there be a problem? Did I miss something?

"Please sit down. An officer will be coming to interview you in a few minutes. A coffee?"

Excellent idea. Maybe that’ll put our minds back together before we start.

"Yes. Three, black. Please."

The cop quickly moves away, closing the door behind her.

"But why did you ask for that? Coffee by itself, and black to boot." Elinor moans, her face now taking on a greyish tint.

"Don’t worry, there’s nothing more to mix in your stomach, you’ve vomited everything already. You’ll see, the coffee will perk you up. Life isn’t all about sugar-packed cocktails and little rainbow capsules, my little unicorn..."

"Eli’s right, you could have asked for something to snack on…" Neeve added, visibly hungry.

"You’re aware that we are neither at a hotel nor at a restaurant, at least?"

They don’t have time to protest when a tall guy, a little nervous, opens the door and holds out his hand to me, while little steaming cups are placed in front of us. And shit, it’s Sam Bass. Or more specifically, Sheriff Bass. He’s lived in Wolf Creek since he was born.

"Hello, I’m Sheriff Bass."

As if we didn’t know...

"It seems that you have witnessed the fall of a young woman, a little earlier in the evening?" he asks, with the detached look of someone who doesn’t care.

I take a hot sip to contain my annoyance. I’m tired, this night is endless and I want to go home... I still answer calmly, so much so that one could easily believe that we are talking about the weather.

"You know Neeve Foris and Elinor Mona," I said, pointing to my friends in turn and extending my hand to her. Sixine Shadwe.

He greets us softly, satisfied by this semblance of formalism, and is about to repeat his question when I cut him off. I want him to take us seriously, despite the atypical circumstances of this late testimony and Neeve’s dilated pupils, whom Sheriff Bass watches with suspicion. I tell him:

"We were walking home when she literally landed at our feet."

"You confirm this?" he asks, turning to the girls who, despite the coffee, haven’t completely regained their usual lucidity.

What exactly is he looking for? On the one hand, he seems to care so little that it makes you wonder if he has an ounce of respect for the victim. On the other, he seems to be looking for a reason to lock up my girlfriends. As if it mattered, right now, that Neeve and Elinor were stoned. A woman has just crashed like a pancake on the asphalt, shit!

"Sam, it hasn’t escaped your notice that we went out for the evening. Some of us are a little... tipsy..." I nod at Elinor, who is dozing, then Neeve, who is drowning in her cup, trying to hide her amusement at me, trying to contain my exasperation.

"That’s what I see."

And so? Is he going to ask his question or is he waiting for it to snow?

"What do you want to know, Sam?"

"What did you see, exactly?"

That’s to say what? Other than a woman flattened on the ground after doing the angel jump? Nothing special, actually...

"Nothing more than what I have just told you: this woman fell in front of us."

"I see. We’re going to start all over again..."