Confessions of a Teenage Murder Victim

"Hi. My name is Annabelle Marie Davids. I'm 17 years old, born October 12th 1995, died January 18th 2013. Well, to be brutally honest, I was murdered." Annabelle was your average teenage girl. She had it all; the boyfriend, the parties, the looks and the popularity. Her parents even had the money. Her life was perfect. So why was she killed? With the help of ALIS, the After Life Investigative Squad, Annabelle slowly discovers the bitter and twisted hatred which led to one of her "friends" to murder her.

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8. Interview Preperation

I rinsed my face in the sink, washing away the sadness and fear I'd revealed. 

I'd always made it a habit never to show people whether I was upset or scared, so Sergeant Anderson was already getting under my skin; not even Michael had seen me cry.

I took a deep breath and buried my emotions, hiding them beneath a fake curtain of smiles. Something I'd had to do many times.

I strode out of the door, grinning falsely at the bright sky and flashing other awakening souls a smile and holding the folder in my hand. They stared at me with their sad expressions, and complete puzzlement at my false cheer.

The only person who smiled back at me was an old woman hobbling along on a zimmer frame. 

At first, I was hesitant to step upon the clouds that emerged in front of me, anticipating wherever I walked. I was nervous about falling straight through the cloud and landing somewhere on Earth, I mean, clouds are just water vapour apparently. Yet after tiptoeing across them and enduring the snickers of some more experienced souls, I quickly strode confidently across the clouds. 

I reached the door to ALIS, and stared up at the official plaque above the door. I guess I had to get used to visiting this place, yet walking through the maze of small office hubs was nerve racking; feeling the stares of the other officers stick to my skin like glue was unnerving to say the least. I took another deep breathe, and forced my face to stay emotionless, copying Sergeant Anderson's blank monotone face.

I pushed open the door and walked straight down the middle aisle, ignoring the looks I got from some, glares form others, and a couple of winks from some cocky officers. I'd obviously disrupted them a lot yesterday, as they seemed to be working harder, and rushed about more frantically.

I knocked on Sergeant Anderson's door, and entered when I heard him call out to me in his authoritative voice. 

'Enter.' I laughed as I pushed open the door.

'It's much more polite to say "come in" you know.' I told him, shutting the door and throwing the folder on his desk, before sitting down in the chair and crossing my legs. 

'Hmm.' He said, flicking through yet another folder.

'How many folders do you have here?' I asked, wondering.

'Does that matter?' He asked, closing the folder shut and placing it in a desk drawer.

'Did you look through the first interviewees?' He asked, folding his arms across his chest. Thankfully, he'd made no mention of earlier; maybe he wasn't so heartless.

'Just the first two. I can't read anything in there anyway. I can tell you, that all of the people in that folder are innocent.' He raised an eyebrow, doubtful of my announcement. 

'This is just a formality, to tell you when the interviews shall take place and any other details... such as your attire.' He raked his eyes up and down my body, analysing what I wore with cold and calculative eyes. I thought that the short red dress I'd bought only last week was perfect for the party, and the blood red strappy heels my Dad had bought me only the day before the party had been a surprise present to match my dress. Yet now, I could see how it didn't fit in here.

It was creased and ragged, with a few rips in it. 

'You can pick some clean clothing from the department upstairs. It doesn't really matter what you wear, as long as its something the suspects would have seen you in, or could picture you wearing. After all, this is their dream. The first interviews tonight will be with Lucas Morrison, Laura Langdon-Jones and Annie Craig. We cannot spend more than 15 minutes in each dream; as they fluctuate and change all of the time. To stay would disrupt the inner workings of their mind.' I nodded my understanding.

'This means that I will be asking all of the questions. I need to get as many details as possible without going over the time limit, and getting all of the required details. If you just sit in the background looking forlorn and sad with them, it will effect their conscience. We'd be more likely to get a confession.' 

'I want to talk to them though!' I said, standing abruptly.

'Don't you think it would be more likely for them to talk to me rather than you?'

'We'll see. I shall tell you if I wish for you to become involved. For now, Melody shall show you to the clothing department.' Sergeant Anderson reached over his desk and pressed a button on his desk phone. Almost immediately, a short ginger woman opened the door, a wide smile stretching across her freckled face.

'Melody, take Miss Davids up to the clothing department.' 

'Yes Sir!' She said, gesturing for me to follow her. I gave the Sergeant one last glare before turning and following the woman.

She chattered to me continuously as she led me through the office hubs towards a glass elevator. I stared out of the glass, watching as we rose above the bustling officers and lost souls, before we lost sight of them when getting to the next floor.

Melody smiled gently at me as she took me down the hallway and up to a blank unlabelled door.

She stopped me and looked me directly in the eyes.

'Please, don't mind Francis. She gets a little bit... fussy about clothes... and clothes in general. Also, she's a little bit... difficult to handle. I'm sorry.' I smiled gently at her, wondering who the hell this Francis guy was, when she quickly opened the door and shoved me inside.

'Good luck!' She called out, before slamming the door behind me. 

It was pitch black, and the only noise was the sound of Melody's footsteps rushing away down the hallway outside.

I fumbled along the wall beside the door, hoping to find a light switch.

Suddenly, a deep voice echoed through the darkness.

'So... you're looking for an outfit girlie? Well. You've come to the right place I suppose.' 

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