— You don’t even ask for names? Larson asked.
— First names, sure, Marissa said, unfazed.
— Gotta know who I’m praying for, she explained.
— Praying to who, exactly? he probed.
Marissa’s green eyes sparkled with defiance. She leaned closer, her bangles clinking softly. Her voice carried a mystic edge, almost theatrical. The room felt charged with her energy.
— The universe, Deputy, she said dramatically.
— No name, no connection, Marissa said.
— Sounds like you lost that connection with Ellen, Larson said.
— Her prayers didn’t work, he added pointedly.
Marissa’s smile faded, her confidence shaken. Larson’s words hit like a cold splash of water. She straightened, her voice firm but defensive. The tension was palpable now.
— What happened to Ellen? Marissa demanded.
— She collapsed after your session, Larson said.
— Severe kidney pain, then unconscious, he continued.
— She’s in the hospital, critical condition, he finished.
Marissa’s jaw tightened, her heart pounding. She leaned forward, her voice rising in protest. Larson’s gaze was unrelenting, his notepad ready. The accusation felt like a trap.
— You think I caused that? Marissa snapped.
— Maybe she ate something bad later, she said.
— Or took a pill, Marissa added, grasping.
— I don’t touch serious cases, she insisted.
Larson scribbled, his face unreadable. He looked up, his tone steady but firm. Marissa’s frustration boiled over, her hands gesturing wildly. She wasn’t backing down.
— Did you tell her to see a doctor? Larson asked.
— Absolutely, Marissa nodded vigorously.
— I gave her diuretic tea and a prayer, she said.
— That’s it, nothing more, she stressed.
Larson’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced. Marissa’s explanation sounded thin, even to her. The deputy’s voice grew sharper, cutting through her defense. She felt the walls closing in.
— Her condition crashed after your tea, Larson said.
— That’s not a coincidence, he added.
— I’m careful, Marissa said, her voice firm.
— I don’t play doctor, she repeated.
Larson stood, motioning toward the door. Marissa’s stomach dropped, but she held her head high. The situation was out of her control now. She grabbed her purse, her movements tense.
— You’re coming with us, Ms. Walters, Larson said.
— I’ve got a client in thirty minutes! Marissa protested.
— They’ll survive, Larson said dryly.
— Unlike some of your clients, he added coldly.
Marissa’s eyes flashed with anger at the jab. She slung her purse over her shoulder, muttering under her breath. Larson opened the door, his expression unchanging. The morning had taken a dark turn.
— That’s harsh, Marissa said, stepping outside.
— Truth hurts, Larson replied, following her.
— Let’s move, he said, pointing to his cruiser.
— This isn’t over, Marissa whispered to herself.
At the Willow Creek Sheriff’s Station, Marissa was booked. Ellen Nichols’ family was furious, demanding justice. The sheriff saw an opportunity to make a point. Marissa’s fate was in his hands.
— Put her in the tank, the sheriff said, chuckling.
— The tough crowd will break her, he told his deputy.
— Let’s see how she handles them, he added.
— Get her talking, he instructed.
The cell door clanged open, revealing a group of intimidating women. A tall, muscular woman with a buzz cut pointed at Marissa. Her grin was more challenge than welcome. The air crackled with tension.
— Well, look who’s here! the woman said.
— Fancy lady in our tank! she mocked.
— Your tank? Marissa raised an eyebrow.
— Didn’t know I needed an invite, she shot back.
The woman, nicknamed Tank, broke into a gravelly song about foster care. Halfway through, she clutched her throat, silenced. Marissa watched, her face carefully neutral. The other women froze, staring.
Five minutes later, Tank’s voice returned. She gaped at Marissa, her tough facade shaken. Whispers spread among the group. Marissa stayed calm, her smirk barely hidden.
— You a witch or something? Tank gasped.
— Did you do that to me? she demanded.
— No clue what you’re talking about, Marissa said.
— Just standing here, she added, shrugging.
An older woman with gold teeth nodded approvingly. Her tattooed knuckles gleamed under the dim cell light. She studied Marissa with keen interest. The mood shifted slightly.