Chapter 1: In the Wrong Place, With the Wrong Knife   

Dana’s POV

“I swear… I didn’t do it! I just walked into the room now!” I said aloud, trying to regain balance in my voice.

“Put the weapon down.”

“I said, put the f**king weapon down!”

I look at my right hand.  

The room reeked of it—copper and iron, thick and metallic, mixing with the stale scent of spilled wine and the sour tang of overturned takeout on the carpet. The overhead light buzzed faintly, casting a cold, yellow glare over everything. 

Jade lay crumpled on the floor by the coffee table, her silk blouse torn at the shoulder and soaked dark with blood. Her skin was pale, almost waxy under the harsh light, lips parted like she’d tried to say something and never finished. 

Her eyes were half-lidded, glassy, staring at nothing. A smear of red trailed from her fingers across the hardwood, ending at the knife I was holding.  

Knife.  

Blood—wet and tacky—coated my fingers and ran in a thin line down my wrist, still warm against my skin.  

Jade’s on the floor. 

“New York Police Department, raise your hands where I can see them!”

“Ms. Dana Sosa, you are under arrest for attempted murder” the policeman said while signaling me to place my hands at the back.

“You have the right to remain silent” he says.

He grabs my wrist, turns me and snaps the cuffs sharply on my wrist.  

He pats me down, takes my phone from my back pocket, and drops it in an evidence bag. He seals it, before handing it over to his partner. 

This wasn’t the plan.

Twenty minutes ago, mateo called. Mateo Tovar. The man I hadn't heard from in 3 months. The man who ended us with one photo and never called to hear my side. He said Jade was scared, that she'd asked for both of us.

So why….

Why am I surrounded by the New York City Police department?  

Why was I holding a knife dripping blood?

I just can't reason straight now. I don't know if it's because of the siren sound of the ambulance that two paramedics alighted from and placed Jade in a gurney… or the flashes of light from the camera of the news reporters.

A reporter shoves a mic toward the cop holding my arm. “Officer, is it true the suspect is Mateo Tovar’s ex?”

I feel like crying and laughing like… this feels like a dream, one minute you were called to talk things out and the next you are on handcuffs. 

“Okay... This is a joke, right?” I said, trying to fight the tears that want to escape my eyelids.

As I passed through the hallway of the building led by the police department, I couldn't help but look into the faces of Jade's neighbors. They looked as shocked as me.

They put me in the cruiser. An officer turns around and said. “Want to tell us what happened?”

As if all that I have been saying hasn't been making sense to them.

“I was set up.”

The cruiser stops at under a streetlight, I look out the window. Two blocks from Jade’s building, a black sedan rolls past us, tinted windows. It slows when it passes the cruiser then speeds up. 

The cruiser stops again, but this time at Central Booking. They pull me out and the cold hits.

Guess I left my jacket in Jade’s apartment. Another officer takes my arm and walks me through double doors and along long corridors with fluorescent lights. The smell of bleach and sweat hits me harder.

“Name.”

“Dana Sosa.” 

“Empty your pockets.” 

“Already did.” 

They take the cuffs off and my shoulders pull forward. The officer points to a bench. “Sit.”

I sit.

A woman two seats down is crying. A man across from me is sleeping with his head against the wall.

I stare at the floor and sight the blood on my sneakers… Jade’s blood. 

A detective comes out. He’s in his mid-forties with his tie loose… “Sosa?”

I stand. 

He walks me to a room with a metal table in the centre with two chairs. I can sight a camera in the corner due to the red light blinking.

He points to a chair. I sit, he sits and then opens a folder. 

“You want to tell me what happened at 422 Park Avenue?”

“I walked in. She was on the floor. The door was open. The knife was there.” 

“Your prints are on the knife.” 

“I don’t remember picking it up… Just that before the police kicked the door in, I was on my knees in her blood trying to press my hand to her shoulder, trying to keep her alive. So I guess that's how the knife ended up in my grip.”

“You called 911?” 

“No. The neighbor did.” 

“Why were you there?” 

“Mateo Tovar called me, he said Jade asked for us.” 

He writes that down. “You and Mr. Tovar close?” 

“Not anymore.” 

“Why would she ask for both of you?” 

“I don’t know.” 

He slides a photo across the table. It is a picture of Jade on the floor from above. The knife is in my hand in the photo and my face is blank. 

“Who took this?” I ask. 

“Neighbor’s doorbell cam. It faces the hall and the door was open.” 

I stare at the photo, at my supposed hand. The knife is on the right hand and I’m left-handed.

I scoffed.

The detective leans forward. “You’re quiet, Ms. Sosa. That usually means two things: You’re guilty, or you’re smart. Which one is it?” 

I meet his eyes. “I want my lawyer.” 

He closes the folder and stands to leave. 

“Okay. We’ll talk when he gets here.” 

He leaves, locking the door behind him.

I sighed a sigh of relief. “I bet all this will be over very soon. It's just a matter of time, so far as Jade is still alive.”

I sat down counting the white tiles on the ceiling.

Thirty-five... Thirty-six... Before I was interrupted by the opening of the door ten minutes later.

A public defender walked in through the door. She looked young.

“Dana? I’m Priya. I’ll be representing you tonight.” 

“Did Mateo call?” I ask. 

She blinks. “Who?” 

“Mr. Mateo Tovar. He called me before I went to Jade’s.” 

She slides my phone across the table before she opens her file. “No calls from Tovar on your incoming log. Last call was from a burner number at 8:02 PM. Yours to Jade at 8:03 went to voicemail.” 

I go still.

“Wait… Wait. Let me see the log.” I said, stuttering.

She turns the file and I find myself reading aloud:

7:58 PM: Incoming, Unknown.  

8:02 PM: Incoming, Unknown.  

8:03 PM: Outgoing, Jade Kellerman. 

No Mateo. 

I look at my hands and then at the screen of my phone quickly. 

There’s blood under my nails. On the right side of my palm, smudged... Like I gripped the handle of the knife right-handed. 

And I then remembered that when I was on my knee, I smelled it under the blood. 

Sandor 34. 

Mateo’s cologne.  

His signature perfume.

I quickly looked at Priya, looking pained.

“I didn’t do it.” 

She nods like she believes me or like she doesn’t. “We’ll enter a plea tomorrow. Get you arraigned. You need to call someone?” 

“My mother.” 

She slides a phone across the table. I quickly dial my mom's number. It rings and enters voicemail. 

I hang up. 

I think of the black sedan that slowed next to the cruiser, it all makes sense.

“I think that I have been played by Mateo,” I said with both hands on my forehead and bowed my head on the metal table. 

So this is how he plans on taking his so-called revenge.