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Rose Harris

Chapter One
No, thats not how it was! yelled a teenage girl from the kitchen. Pots and pans were being thrown from every direction. Right, so that car from last night didnt have you and a whole bunch of your drunk friends in it. You said you were going to drop off a pair of shoes at Taylers and be right back! I thought I could trust you! I thought you had changed. A woman had burst into tears while burying her head into the island in the center of the kitchen. The pots and pans are the only noise in the room as they slowly clank to a stop. The teenage girl storms out. When she is about to enter her car she hears a loud shriek. The girl runs inside thinking her Mother has fallen and broken her foot or something. The teenager puts the phone to her ear and says, Yes, my name is Lillian Anderson. Through sobs and clenched fists she says, My Mother has been killed.

Two minutes and forty seven seconds later the neighborhood is blaring with sirens. A large man comes up to Lilly, who is sitting on the porch steps distraught. Flashing his badge the man says, Detective Caputo, Forensics unit. Would you mind telling me your name and your account of what happened here today in accordance to the death of Martha Anderson? The detective had a stolid look on his face. It was easy to see that he did not want to be here. Lilly didnt want to be here either, but for two totally different reasons of course. But they both knew this would be a long day.

Chapter Two Lilly

I know I have to tell this man what happened here today. Truth is, I don't know what happened here today. The only thing that I know is that my Mother is dead and my last words to her were a lie. My last memory of her will be us fighting because I made a huge mistake. If I hadn't of gotten into that fight I could have prevented it.

I could have prevented my Mother's death.

This layer of guilt has suddenly swallowed me whole. There must have been a long silence because Detective Caputo cleared his throat and said, "Look, you need to tell me or I can guarantee you will be tried in the court of law." I really do not like this man. How could he possibly think that I killed my Mother? I know we were fighting, but that is no real motive to kill her. He has to know that...right? He walked into the house and motioned for me to follow him. I reluctantly followed the detective into the kitchen out of curiosity. What could he possibly have to show me? Did he just want to show me the outline made of my mother on the kitchen floor? I seem to hate him now. Is it really possible to hate somebody after just a minute? Detective Caputo guides me towards the pots and pans in an array on the floor. "Can you explain this to me?" He suspects me! He hasn't even heard my side of the story. No, it's not a story, it's a fact. The detective doesn't know that though. Suddenly I break down. My face is drenched in tears now. Detective Caputo grunts and walks back outside, putting his phone to his ear. Who is he calling? What is he saying? So many questions flood my mind. Detective Caputo walks back into the house towards me. "Lillian Anderson, you are under arrest for the murder of Martha Anderson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a

court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the state." I am being escorted to a police car and stated the Miranda Rights. My neighbors are watching as if the is a giant purple elephant with horns of fire in my front yard. Tonight I will be sleeping in a cot with somebody who really is a psychopath. It's strangely cold outside for summer, and the warmth of the police car comforts me a bit. We begin the long ride to the jail. Who else will be there? Will they hurt me? Any fear that had left has returned to haunt me. The handcuffs were removed when I showed cooperation, but that doesn't mean anything. It's like a black tar weighing me down every chance it gets. The man behind the wheel knocks on the glass and pulls it to create an opening. "You wanna talk?" The officer says with a slight country accent. He looked in his late twenties with dirty blonde hair hanging just above his eyes and a smile on his tan face. Finally a nice face. All I want to say is that I'm innocent, but everybody says that. It won't help my case. So intelligent me spits out, "I'm hungry." Wow! Did I really just say that? The officer behind the wheel chuckled and reached into the glove compartment. "Here, take this." The officer hands me a butterfingers bar. I love these things more than life itself! "Thank you so much!" I say before taking my second bite. He replied with a laugh, "My daughter loves these things. Though, personally, I think they taste like poo in a bag." How could anybody not love these things? It's a bag of heaven on earth! It's a few moments before I remember where I am. We get to a stop when we reach the police station. The driver turns back to me and says, "Don't beat yourself up about it. If you didn't do it they'll know. If I can tell by the way you sit and speak, so will they. Let's go." He exits the car and opens my door. I am guided through the door and put in a square tile room. This is not comforting at all. What is this an insane asylum? I try to just rest and calm down, but I can't. The cuffs are put back on my hands. Somebody with small, yet loud feet enters the room. I open my eyes to see a tall woman in heels as tall as the empire state building. Her brown pants are way too tight for a working environment. I do like her shirt though. It is a v-neck with a picture of the picture of the Rome Coliseum with the words Some things can crumble, but they still stand tall. I have always wanted to go to Rome, or

anywhere in Italy for that matter. The woman sits down while fingering a long strand of her black hair. Oh God, she has a file. That file has my name on it. The lady clears her throat and says, "Please answer my following questions according to your truthful knowledge."
Your name: Lillian Elizabeth Anderson Age: Sixteen Height: 5"6 Eye color: Blue Hair color: Brown "Please describe the relationship between you and your Mother."

I don't want to answer these questions, but I know I have to or I'll rot away in a prison cell.
"My Mother and I got along perfectly fine. never violent." We had our fights but

The woman writes on her paper.

"Did you ever threaten your Mother?"

"No...well not to kill her. away."

A long time ago I would threaten to run

She scribbles some more down before putting her clipboard on the desk. She looks at me with serious, yet tender eyes.

"Did your Mother have any enemies, or simply just people that didn't like her?"

"Not that I know of.

The only person I can think of that disliked my

Mother is our neighbor Mrs. Kingston, but that was because we always had a better garden than the bitter old woman. a stroke last year." She's dead now from

I don't even know why I mentioned her. Maybe I thought it would sound better than no. The lady stood up and said she would return shortly. After she departed I realized that she knows everything about me and I don't even know her name. I guess that's how these things work. A good twenty five minutes pass by before the mysterious lady enters the room again. This time she is with the man in the police car. He gives me a feeling of comfort. "He's going to bring you back to your house so you can pack your necessary things. We called and you are going to be living with your Aunt Kendra Dealen in Palm Springs, California. " The mysterious woman said before swiftly exiting the room. I quickly realize that I don't know the drivers name either.