One Mistake
It happened like that, within a blink of an eye. All of a sudden Charlotte was sitting here, in an orange suit and metal cuffs tied around her wrists. Officer Rhodes clenched onto her arms as he guided her down the hallway. She moved along side him, her blonde dirty hair swaying in front of her exhausted eyes. She felt a knot in her stomach, with every step it grew bigger. They turned right down a hallway, and Officer Rhodes led her inside a room.
“Have a seat,” he said, “the detective will be in shortly to ask you some questions.” Officer Rhodes helped her into the seat and stepped out of the room.
Charlotte took a big deep breath, closing her eyes. “It’s all going to be okay,” she whispered, “it will be okay.” She opened her eyes, and saw an old wooden desk with papers and pens on it, cream colored walls with nothing on them, and the light from the ceiling kept flickering on and off. The silent room pleased Charlotte. She felt as if she was in her own little world.
There was a knock at the door. She quickly repositioned herself in the chair, making her back straight as she hung her head down. The handcuffs rubbed against her wrist, as a man walked in. He went to the front of the desk, staring down at Charlotte before he took a seat. He pulled out a file from the desk, and began to write something down. Charlotte did not dare move.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Can you not read, detective?” Charlotte replied, shifting her head up.
“I want to hear it from you,” the man said nodding at her.
“The name’s Charlotte Jones.”
“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it,” he wrote something down on the paper. Charlotte turned her head and stared out the window as the detective reviewed her file. The detective looked up from his piece of paper to find Charlotte smirking in the corner of her mouth.
He pointed at her smirk and said, “What’s so funny?” Before he finished asking the question the smirk was gone. He shook his head and placed the file on the desk. He intertwined his fingers placing them on the desk as he leaned forward. “Ms. Jones, I want you to know that this is a safe place, and you can tell me anything.” Charlotte pursed her lips and quietly said, “I don’t need counseling, detective.”
“Just call me Randy,” he said with a slight chuckle, leaning back in his chair.
“Well Randy, I do not need counseling.”
“And that is the whole reason why we are here, because you do not need any counseling. You haven’t done anything wrong, have you?”
Charlotte crossed her legs, held her head high, and pulled her shoulders back with confidence.

“That’s exactly right!”

“Then why are you here, Charlotte? Why are you wearing a bright orange suit and have handcuffs on your wrist?”
She took a deep breath, feeling her shoulders slump and her back growing smaller as she sunk deep into the chair.

“Let’s start with why you’re here,” Randy grabbed the folder and flipped through its pages. He was an older gentleman with short brown hair and glasses. He appeared to be in his late fifties and was developing a beer belly. He glared at Charlotte through his smooth glasses. Charlotte had the ideal face; her cheekbones lifted her skin to a new glow and her forehead was the right size to compliment her cute button nose. Her eyebrows were shaped in a certain curve, popping her big glossy eyeballs out. Charlotte was intensely staring at the hard cold floor, not listening to Randy.

“So, Charlotte, why are you here today?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” There was a pause. “Let me refresh your memory.” Randy pulled a picture from his file and held it up to Charlotte’s face. “Do you know who that person is?”

“Yes. It’s Ethan Samuels.”?
“Good, good. Now does this look familiar?” He showed her a picture of Ethan’s murdered body. Charlotte winced. She couldn’t stand to look at the picture for more then three seconds, she tried to turn away but the image was vivid in her head. “Does it look familiar, Charlotte?” There was a pause before Randy snapped, “Charlotte! Are you going to talk or not?” He watched her like a hawk seeking its prey. Charlotte continued to stare at the floor, her eyes focused on one tiny speck. Detective Randy stood up and let out a loud sigh. “You’re wasting my time Ms. Jones. I want you to know that you are not leaving this room until you start talking.”

“And say what, Randy!” Charlotte’s eyes meet his, and began to stare at him intensity. Randy’s brown eyes stared right through Charlotte’s pale white skin, almost as if he could see right through her. He took a step closer to her, and whispered, “I want you to tell me why you are here.”

“You know why I’m here,” she turned her head and looked out the window.

“Do I, Charlotte?”
“I’m here because I’ve been accused of murder.” It was almost as if her mouth said the words instead of her, it rolled off her lips before she could stop.
“Charlotte, dear—”
“I’m not your dear.”
“Ms. Jones, what was your relationship with the victim who was murdered? How did you know him?
“You’re not much of a great detective,” Charlotte chuckled to herself. Randy had had it. He slammed his hand down on the desk hard, making Charlotte jump a little in her seat.
“I am leaving to get a cup of coffee, Ms. Jones, and when I return, I expect for this attitude of yours to be gone, because you must remember, Ms. Jones, I am the one who will decide your fate.” He walked to the door, and looked back at Charlotte. “Remember that, Charlotte. Remember that you have the orange suit and I have the badge.” He slammed the door on his way out and streamed down the hallway irritated.
“Everything all right, detective?” Officer Rhodes called. But Randy ignored him and stormed down the hallway. The building, an abandoned hospital the police had taken over, wasn’t far from the jail cells. He went to the kitchen area and poured himself a cup of coffee. Randy leaned on the kitchen counter taking a sip of his coffee. A newspaper on the counter had a headline that read, “Why Was Ethan Samuels Murdered?” Randy began to read, “Ethan Samuels, 33, was murdered on February 8th by a brutal bullet to the chest. It happened at Ethan’s apartment. When the medics arrived, it was already too late. The bullet hit Ethan in the chest at the correct angle, causing immediate death. Samuels’ neighbor, Charlotte Jones, 20, was taken into custody on February 9th and is being charged for the murder. Police have not figured out why Charlotte, a normal human would do something like this.” The newspaper always messed up the stories, the facts were always inaccurate, and Randy knew it. He giggled at how absurd the article was.
“Something funny, detective?” Randy looked up from the newspaper to find his boss standing in front of him.
“No, sir. Nothing funny here.”
“Then why are you here reading a newspaper instead of doing your job? What, do I pay you to sit around all day and drink coffee?
“No, sir.”
“Get back to work.”
“Yes, sir.” Randy placed his coffee mug down on the counter and turned the corner opening the door to Charlotte’s room. She still sat like a frozen stick staring at the floor. She didn’t look up when Randy came in. He sat down at the desk and cleared his throat.
“How did you know Ethan?”
“I was his neighbor,” Charlotte mumbled.
Randy began to tap the pencil on the desk. He scratched his head, not knowing what to do next. There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Randy shouted.
His boss entered the room, gave Randy a disappointed look, and began to pace back and forth behind Charlotte.

“Have you ever held a gun?” Detective George asked.

“Yes.”

“When? What type of gun?”


“I don’t know the type.”
George continued to pace and looked down at Charlotte.

“Did you do it?” George whispered.

“Do what?”

“Did you or did you not kill Ethan Samuels?” George’s voice raised a bit.
Silence. Charlotte did not even blink.

“Office Rhodes,” George called, “Come take Charlotte back to her jail cell.”
Rhodes entered the room and grabbed Charlotte’s arm pulling her to her feet. Charlotte continued to stare at the floor as she followed Rhodes out of the room. George closed the door behind them, leaving only Randy and George in the room. He turned around slowly, looking at the floor.

“Do you know why I gave you this job?” George asked.

“To give me an opportunity.”

“That’s exactly right, to give you an opportunity. And what did you do with that opportunity?”
Randy’s shoulder began to sink. He turned his head and looked out the window.

“Didn’t live up to my potential.”

“Right. Now, if you want to earn your position here you’re going to have to work harder and earn this sport.” George loosened his tie, and walked out the room leaving Randy. Randy watched as he left, he felt disappointed in himself.
Randy stood up and stormed out of the room. He checked his watch, eight thirty. He had forgotten to feed his dog and he felt his tummy grumbling. Yet, he was now motivated to figure out if Charlotte was innocent or guilty. He needed to prove himself worthy to be a detective. He grabbed his keys out of his pocket and went out of the building towards his green Toyota. He quickly stuffed the key into his car and turned it on. “Ok, Randy, time to prove yourself worthy!” His car moved as fast as possible down the street, he was speeding and passing every car until he came upon 2nd Street. He parked, jumped out of the car, and ran toward an apartment building. The air was cold and brisk, Randy moved swiftly through the street. He entered the building, and pressed the elevator button. It took what seemed an hour for the elevator to arrive. Randy quickly pressed floor 13, checking his watch again. “Gosh, I can’t screw this up. This is my last chance.” The elevator doors opened, and he ran out. Room 1315 was Charlie’s apartment. Randy knocked on it.
“Open up! Open up now!” He screamed.
The door opened, and Randy busted into the room with no introduction.

“What happened that night, I want to know everything that happened!”
The man was confused, as he slowly shut the door and looked at Randy. Randy was standing near the window in his apartment and seemed uneasy.
“I said what happened! I want to know everything.”
“Sir, if you could please sit down.” Charlie offered him a chair.
“I’m not sitting until I know what happened,” Randy’s forehead began to sweat like a wild beast. Charlie took a seat on his couch and looked up at Randy.
“Sir, I’m not quite sure what you are talking about,” Charlie was confused.
Randy wiped the sweat from his forehead and sat down on the couch next to Charlie.

“I’m detective Randy, I’m trying to figure out if Charlotte Jones is guilty of the murder of Ethan Samuels. I know you were there with her, so tell me everything that happened on the night Ethan was murdered.”?Charlie looked at Randy, shocked, and a bit surprised. He rubbed his hands on his thighs, feeling himself tense up. He looked around.

“May I get you anything to drink, detective?” Charlie tried to make his voice sound confident.

“No.”

“Okay,” Charlie took a deep breath, “So that night, you want to know everything?”

“Down to the smallest detail,” Randy’s eyes widened wanting to seek the answer.

“Well, it started off when Charlotte and I were going out to dinner with our friend John. It was a celebration for completing a certain college assignment. We went to a T.G.I Friday’s and ordered some food. We probably had too much to drink; it was all a blur when we left the restaurant. I don’t remember where we went or what we did. We were underage drinkers with fake I.D’s, but somehow we figured our way back to Charlotte’s apartment. I think John passed out on her couch, and Charlotte and I began to fight over something. I don’t remember what, but she started screaming at me and kicked me out of the apartment. She said some nasty things, and at one point even threatened to kill me.” He paused, trying to remember. “I was walking down the stairs when I heard the gunshot. I quickly ran upstairs and saw Ethan’s apartment door opened. And there he was lying on the floor, dead.” Charlie felt himself begin to sweat. “Is it hot in here? I think it’s hot.” He stood up from the couch and went to the thermostat and turned it down.

“Who fired the gunshot? Who was it?” Randy asked, as he watched him.
Charlie didn’t answer, he leaned his head against the wall closing his eyes. Randy stood up from the couch and went over to Charlie. He placed a hand softly on Charlie’s shoulder.

“I know you are her twin sister, Charlie. I know this is hard for you. I know you don’t want to put her under the bus like this, but I need to know. I need to make sure that if she did it, she won’t put anyone else in danger.” Randy spoke slowly and calmly.

Charlie began to cry, tears streamed from his face. Randy squeezed his shoulder and began to rub his back gently.

“She fired the gun,” he whispered under the tears, “She thought it was me.” He broke down crying more. “Ethan had heard the screaming and came out of his apartment to check if everything was ok, and then boom, she fired.”
Randy got some tissues and handed them to Charlie. He felt sympathy for him, to have his twin sister drunk and wanting to kill him was probably traumatizing. Randy stepped away from Charlie.

“I appreciate your honestly, Charlie. Seriously I do. But you also understand that your sister is going to be charged with murder.”

“I understand.”
Randy left a crying hurt Charlie in his apartment as he quickly made his way to his car. He drove immediately to the jail cells. The time was now eleven o’clock and there was no time to lose. The guard let Randy into the building and led him to Charlotte’s jail cell. Charlotte was in her orange suit lying on her bed.

“Charlotte,” Randy whispered, “I know you can hear me.”
No answer.

“Charlotte, I know you are there. I know what happened that night. I know everything.”?
Charlotte sat up on her bed, looking back at Detective Randy.

“You know what?” Her voice was uneasy.

“I know that you got drunk with John and Charlie.”
Her face was frightened and she could feel her eyeballs become moistened. She held her arms with her hands, beginning to feel cold.

“I didn’t mean to drink,” she whispered, tears beginning to stream down her face. “I didn’t mean to treat Charlie that way.” She put her head in her hands, crying like a little girl.

“What happened happened, Charlotte. You can’t change that. One action can ruin your life.”
Charlotte sat in her cell; she gulped, wiping away her tears.

“I will make sure that Detective George finds out about this. As for you, you will be spending a lot of time in here, and maybe you can rethink your actions.”?
Randy turned around and began to walk away. Charlotte rose, grabbed her cell’s bars, and shouted, “Tell him that I love him! Tell my brother I love him, and I didn’t mean to do it! I didn’t mean to do it.” She fell to her knees, crying, but
Randy didn’t turn around or speak. He simply walked away as if he knew all along what had happened, and lost all of his sympathy for her. He left the murderer of Ethan Samuels crying on her knees, without another word. With a little smirk in the corner of his mouth, Detective Randy left, knowing he had proven himself worthy.