“Something ripped me from the depths of my sleep that night. Moments before I awoke to a racing heart, unable to catch my breath, a sinister stare had plagued my dreams. It was the overwhelming sense of voyerisom that suddenly jerked my body up from slumber. I remember taking three unsteady breaths, trying to calm the pounding in my chest. I remember feeling the cool sweat that had veiled the feverish skin of my forehead. I remember allowing my eyes to drift open, counting the stitches on my quilt, anything to regain the truth of reality. 

After I had reached one hundred stitches, I took another deep breath and reached out for the glass of water on my nightstand. Feeling the rush of cold down my throat finally steadied my heart and state of mind. I remember smiling to myself, thinking how ludicrous this sudden feeling of unease was. I remember sinking beneath the covers again. I remember curling my legs into my chest. I remember the scent of my laundry detergent. I remember the slow return of peace. 

I remember letting my eyes drift up to my window. I wanted to see the lights of Italy, the scenery, something. 

I remember…”  A sob suddenly raked through her body. She shamelessly gulped for air, choking nearly on the words that she so desperately wanted to scream. 

“Ma’am? Are you okay? Should we postpone the interrogation?”

“No, no, officer. I’m sorry I’m- I’m fine.” 

“Ma’am just please try to give us every detail you can remember. It will help us help you.”

She took a shaky breath, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. “I remember his face. He- he had blonde hair I think. He looked disheveled, like he had just come from a run or something. What scared me wasn’t the blood splattered on his face. His smile, that was just so crooked, out of place, all of his teeth gleaming from the moonlight, that’s not what scared me. What scared me was his eyes. They were vengeful, haunting- murderous even. They were the same eyes that were watching me in my dream. They were the same eyes that were watching me in my sleep. They weren't Thomas’s eyes sir. His face, that smile, I know that was Thomas, but those eyes. His eyes, they- they weren’t his.” 

“I’m not sure what you are suggesting ma’am. Colored contacts maybe?”

“No sir, I’m not implying a physical change. It was something in the way he looked. I remember my father always saying that the eye’s are the windows to the soul. This might be a stretch but, when I saw Thomas that night, it was like a switch had flipped, something had happened. Something in his soul had changed. It was Thomas, but not the Thomas we had always known.”

“Ma’am, you said you saw blood on his face.”

“Yes sir, I did.”

“Do you have any idea where that blood may have come from?” 

“No sir, I don’t.”

“Ma’am,” It was at that point that a look of pure sympathy crossed the officer’s face. He reached out for her hand and gripped it, running a comforting thumb over her knuckles. She looked back at him with confusion, but not pulling away. “Ma’am, you might have just given us reason to believe that Thomas is a suspect for the murder of…” The officer trailed off.

“Murder? The murder of who officer?”

“We found Richard Green’s body that night ma’am. Thomas is wanted for the murder of Richard Green.”