It occurred to Molly, as she took the chair opposite of the man in the uniform, she'd never actually been inside of the police station before. Her eyes skimmed the room as he greeted her — "Molly Davis, was it? How are you today?" — and settled into his seat behind the desk as if it was actually comfortable.
"So, Molly, who is it you’re here about?" She couldn't help the way her eyebrows scrunched together, wondering how her last name wasn't a dead giveaway the moment it came out of his mouth. Before she could answer, the man turned a page, seemingly connecting the dots right before her. "Andrew Davis, I presume?"
"Yes," she nodded, fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist.
"And what is your connection to Andrew?"
"He's my brother." Her voice came out hoarse, and she cleared her throat in hopes it would sound more confident. Less... guilty? Did she seem guilty? Surely no one here believed she had anything to do with this. "My older brother."
"When was the last time you spoke to Andrew?"
"The last time I spoke to Andy," she tried to recall, gently correcting his name. She couldn't remember the last time she'd called him anything but Andy, or annoying, or dumb — they were affectionate insults, but she now felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he knew that. "I... I don't remember, honestly. I've been busy, he's always busy. I guess it was probably just a text message or a short call... probably the week he... well, you know."
"Right." The man stared at her just long enough to make her feel like she'd said something wrong before giving a curt nod, scribbling something down on one of the papers. "And did you notice anything different about your brother in the weeks leading up to his disappearance?"
"Um... no."
"Was he hanging out with anyone new lately?"
"I... don't know." She wasn't sure what questions she expected, but it wasn't these. "I don't really know his friends anymore." The man nodded again, jotting that down, though she felt it was the most useless information she could have given him.
"Did he leave anything behind to suggest this was planned?"
Her fingertips, still rolling one of the beads from her bracelet between them, froze, the question feeling like a slap across her face. Did this man really think her brother would just abandon them, ditch them here?
"Sorry?"
"Any notes, maps, research papers; anything like that?"
"No. He would have told me." Would he? She swallowed thickly. "I mean, he would've known... how upset our mom would be. He would have at least... called her, or something."
He stared at her when he spoke again, over the lens of his glasses, with a look that made her squirm. Like she really was guilty of... something. Being a bad sister, maybe. Not knowing him as well as she should. "Did Andrew ever seem interested in leaving town?"
"No. I mean, I guess. I don't know." Stumbling over her words, she inhaled deeply before speaking again, trying to sound mature, but her guilt had turned to annoyance that was festering on anger. "I think we all want to leave sometimes. But Andy doesn't know anything else, you know? We grew up here, we were born here."
"So if he were able to leave town, where do you believe he would go?"
"He wouldn't. He wouldn't even know where to go. And he would at least, like, offer to take me with him so I'm not stuck here for the rest of my life without him and my dad in this tiny dead-end town."
Seeming to finally notice her frustration, or perhaps seeing the tears that sprang to her eyes, the man leaned back in his chair, studying her a moment longer before he stood up, offering her his hand. She didn't take it. "Well, Molly, thank you very much for your cooperation. You're free to go."
Without another word, she stood, still clutching her bracelet as she pushed through the door to the exit, face burning, not quite sure why she felt worse than she did when she came in.
