Disguised As A Boy To Attend Belmont High School
Chapter 112: A Fatal Night.

Chapter 112: A Fatal Night.

The room fell into an oppressive silence as the group processed the brutal reality before them. Michael’s lifeless body lay sprawled on the floor, a dark reminder of the violence that had shattered the evening. Rachael and Henry exchanged a glance—no words, just the heavy weight of a shared understanding. They had to stick to their story. No matter how convincing the truth seemed, it wasn’t an option.

Anabella broke the silence, her voice shaky but firm. "We need to call the police. Now."

"No, no, no!" Rachael’s voice trembled, and she shook her head frantically. "Please, don’t call them. Please."

Peace rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around her. "It’ll be okay, sweetie. Don’t be scared. We’ve got you," she whispered soothingly, though her own uncertainty seeped through her words.

"I’m going to get arrested," Rachael sobbed, her voice cracking. "I don’t want to go to prison. Please... I can’t."

Peace tightened her grip, holding her trembling friend. "You won’t go to prison. Michael slipped, didn’t he? You didn’t push him. It’s not your fault."

Olive, standing a few feet away, stepped forward, her voice calm but urgent. "We need to call the police, Rachael. We can explain everything. They’ll understand, after listening to the truth ." Her eyes scanned the room, looking for support from the others. "It was an accident."

Rachael could only sob harder, her words lost beneath her tears.

Then Jessica burst into the room, her wide eyes immediately locking onto Michael’s body. Her voice, high-pitched with shock, cut through the tension. "What the hell happened?" Her gaze darted to Rachael and Henry. "Why did he have to die in my mom’s club? This is going to bring so much trouble!"

"Just call the police, Lucas," Mark urged, breaking the lingering silence. "We don’t have a choice."

Lucas nodded, pulling out his phone. "I’ll handle it."

"Shit! My drugs!" Jessica shrieked suddenly, spinning on her heels and dashing out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the stairs. They all knew what she was doing—she was running to stash her drugs, desperate to avoid her own legal troubles.

As they watched her flee, her personal crisis seemed almost comically small in the grander scheme of things, but none of them said a word. There were bigger problems to deal with now.

The tension in the room shifted as Lucas spoke with the authorities, and the group began to disperse into smaller pockets, trying to process the chaos. Mark, Lara, Aiden, and Olive huddled in a corner, their voices low.

"This is insane," Aiden muttered, his face pale. "We can’t get caught up in this mess. We don’t even know what really happened. All we have is Rachael and Henry’s word."

"We’re already caught up in it," Lara hissed back, glancing over her shoulder nervously. "We were here. That’s enough. It doesn’t matter that we didn’t see the whole thing."

Olive’s eyes flickered between them. "Rachael and Henry are definitely hiding something, but whatever it is, we’ll deal with it after the police investigation. Right now, we need to stick to their story."

Lara nodded, though her expression was skeptical. "I mean, Henry was with Rachael. Michael must’ve walked in on them. That’s probably what led to the fight." She gestured toward Henry, whose face was bruised. "But we’ll let him explain how he got those bruises. The police will sort it out."

"There’s a CCTV camera in the hallway," Aiden added, running a hand through his hair. "Henry better be smart enough not to say anything that’ll screw us all over."

The blaring of sirens from outside cut through their conversation. The police had arrived.

"They’re here," Lucas announced, though the sound of sirens had already made that clear. "Let’s stay calm."

Henry’s gaze found Rachael’s again. The unspoken agreement between them remained: no matter what, they had to keep their story straight. The stakes were too high.

The police entered, their presence imposing, faces stern as they scanned the room. "Alright, everyone step back and let us do our job," one officer said gruffly. They moved with practiced efficiency, taping off the area as Michael’s body was wheeled away on a stretcher.

The gravity of the situation settled in as the officer in charge—a middle-aged man with silver streaks in his hair—spoke. "You’ll all need to come with us to the station," he announced coldly. "Everyone in this club, especially those found at the crime scene, are suspects. You’ll be questioned."

Fear rippled through the group as they exchanged glances, but there was no resisting. Without protest, they followed the officers downstairs, joining the others from the party, who were already lined up outside.

The police vans soon filed out of the club, driving into the night toward the station.

____

The students were led out one by one at the station, where the harsh, sterile lighting only added to the tense atmosphere. The station’s white and blue walls felt oppressively close, and the distant murmur of officers working filled the air.

The same middle-aged officer stepped forward, his expression unyielding. "You’ll be interrogated one at a time," he said, his voice flat. "The rest of you will be held in cells until we’re ready."

Rachael was the first to be led into the interrogation room, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the weight of the detective’s stare before she even sat down.

"Rachael, right?" Detective James asked, not unkindly, though his voice held the same professional detachment as the others. "Please, sit down. I’m Detective James, and I’ll be leading the investigation."

Rachael nodded shakily and sat. She stared at the table, feeling Detective James’ eyes on her, waiting.

"So, Rachael," he began, flipping open his notebook, "can you tell me what happened tonight? From the beginning."

Rachael inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. She knew what to say, but her voice felt trapped. Finally, she spoke. "Michael and I had a fight. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, just... normal couple stuff." She paused, her hands gripping the edges of the chair. "Then... he slipped. He hit his head on the glass table."

Detective James raised an eyebrow, scribbling in his notebook. "I see. So you were Michael’s girlfriend?"

"Yes, sir," Rachael replied quietly.

"And what started the fight tonight? Did something specific happen?" the detective pressed.

Rachael’s breath hitched. She knew she couldn’t hide everything. "He got upset because... because he saw me with Henry."

"Henry?" Detective James asked, glancing up from his notes. "And Michael didn’t like you spending time with Henry?"

Rachael shook her head. "No, he hated Henry. He didn’t want me near him, and when he saw us together, he just... lost it."

The detective studied her for a long moment before nodding. "Alright. We’ll be in touch if we need more from you."

Rachael exhaled in relief as she was led out.

Next, Henry was brought in. Detective James didn’t waste time. "Henry, tell me what happened."

Henry, swallowing nervously, began his rehearsed story. "Rachael invited me to her room. We were watching a movie, and then Michael showed up. He hated me. He always hated me."

"And what happened when he saw you?" Detective James asked.

"He lost it. We got into a fight," Henry replied, careful not to reveal too much.

The detective’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you kill Michael, Henry? Was it more than a fight?"

"No!" Henry’s voice wavered. "He slipped. He’s way stronger than us. We couldn’t have killed him."

Detective James watched him closely, scribbling in his notebook. "Alright. I’ll be calling you back later."

As Henry was led out, the others waited, steeling themselves for their own turns under the detective’s scrutiny.