A/N: I don't even know what I'm doing here, but I felt spark and decided I'm rewriting this story. If I manage to stick through it, great. If not...well who knows

"Little girl, little girl why are you crying?

Inside your restless soul your hear it dying

Little one, little one, your soul is purging

of love and razor blade your blood is surging"

- Viva La Gloria (Little Girl) Green Day

Life is full of unpredictable scenarios, whether they are good or bad. Everyone does their best to prepare for them, but at the end of the road there is no heads up. Molly Chandler liked to believe she was able to prep and adapt to these scenarios. However no amount of preparation, not even sheer dumb luck, made her ready for what she was dealing with.

Being interrogated by the police is nowhere near as surreal as how they show it on tv, she took note of that. Half of the questions they asked didn't make sense, while the others were just intended to make one feel guilty. The handcuffs they shackled to her hurt her wrists, they kept her strapped to the table as if she were just going to up and run.

As if that were a possibility

Molly shook her head, trying to focus on the two men sitting across from her. The two cops had shown up at her house this morning, after she had called them of course. She thought one of them would console her; maybe offer to call someone. Instead, they slapped a pair of cuffs on her wrists and pushed her in the back of a cop car. They least they could've done is let her change out of her clothes, so she didn't have to wait till someone offered her an old GCPD shirt that was three sizes too big.

"You haven't touched your coffee."

Her attention turned to the older of the two men when he spoke. Detective Bullock was his name if she recalled correctly. The name sounded familiar, her father had probably mentioned him once before. Dr. Chandler often helped patch up those who worked at the station…used to help.

"I, uh, don't really want it." Molly muttered awkwardly, pushing the coffee towards Bullock.

The man took the paper cup from her, shrugging and taking a large sip for himself. He made a face and shook his head, setting the cup back down on the table. The other detective, Jim Gordon, gave him a confused look.

"Cold." Bullock explained to his partner, making another face.

Had this been under different circumstances, Molly would've laughed. But it wasn't different circumstances, and she was handcuffed to a metal table. Her eyes drifted around the room, taking it all in. Everything was so…dark. Of course, what did one expect from an interrogation room in Gotham City. Her eyes flickered over to the two-way mirror behind Bullock and Gordon. She wondered who was watching her, what they thought of her. Did they think she was guilty, or were they rooting for her?

"Molly, can you tell us what you were doing last night" Gordon asked, bringing her focus back to the interrogation.

"I already told you," she sounded exhausted, emotionally and physically, "I was in the study, studying."

Gordon huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wanted to believe her, he truly did. Molly Chandler was a good kid, from what he knew. Most of Gotham knew who her father was; Garrett Chandler, along with being very wealthy, was Chief of Medicine at Gotham General Hospital. People even knew about his ex-wife, Lydia, who owned one of Gotham's art galleries. Their daughter however, not so much. Molly didn't go outside much, unless it was for class or something important. She wasn't as social as her parents, and if she was ever seen out with them she hardly spoke. Given that, she had little to no criminal record. In fact, Gordon could count on one hand the things she had ever been charged with: two parking tickets.

"Just, go over everything one more time." He asked her, folding his hands out in front of him.

"I got home from school at four, I took a shower, then went downstairs to the study," Molly explained, looking down at her hands. Bullock nodded at her words while leaning back in his chair.

"And while that whole time your father wasn't home?"

Molly shook her head, "Not that I saw, I figured he'd be home around dinner time. But then it kept getting later and I didn't know if he was back yet. So when I went upstairs to check, I…"

Her voice cracked. Molly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to prevent tears from falling. She knew that she couldn't tell this story again it was getting to hard.

Just a little longer

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. Both men waited for her to finish, though they already knew the ending. Molly looked at both of them, trying her best to remain eye contact, "then I found his body in the dinning room."

It was becoming harder and harder for her to recognize her own voice. It sounded scratchy, worn from crying and talking. Bullock and Gordon both stared intensely at her, trying to figure out what the girl was thinking.

"Your dad's getting killed upstairs and you don't hear anything?"

Bullock asked her.

"Headphones, I was listening to music."

"And you didn't see any sign of a break in?" Gordon pressed

"We keep a spare key under the flower pot, anyone could've walked in."

"Why didn't you call the police until the morning?" Gordon leaned forward, looking Molly right in the eyes.

There it is

Her breath hitched. To be completely honest, Molly hadn't the slightest idea why she waited to call. But that didn't help her case. While the cops were trying their best to get every single gory detail, Molly was trying her best to block it all out.

"I was in shock. I spent the whole night on the hallway floor, crying."

The detectives turned to look at each other. While everything she had said added up, Gordon couldn't shake the feeling there was more to the story. Molly had told them everything she could, and whether or not they chose to believe it was up to them. She had and alibi. She had a reason. And unless she had given anyone any other reason to think so in this moment, she was innocent.

"Can I please go home?" she was so quiet when she spoke, practically begging to be let go.

Bullock sighed, he got up from his chair, reaching over and undoing her handcuffs. Molly could've cheered once they were off, rubbing her left wrist knowing that it would most likely bruise tomorrow. Bullock lead her towards the door, holding it open for her. She felt relief was over her as she was finally free from the dark, cold room. She waited for Bullock so he could lead her back to the main room of GCPD. At last she was free, and she didn't have to keep reliving the same story over and over.

"I'll have someone call you a cab, take you to your Mom's place." Bullock said once they made it to his desk, he pointed to the other chair, telling her to have a seat.

Molly felt her slightly lifted spirit come crashing down at the mention of her mother. She quickly wiped any look of dread from her face when Bullock turned to face her. Giving a quick nod, she adverted her gaze. It was then she had noticed that Detective Gordon didn't follow them. His desk, which was right next to Bullock's, remained empty. Looking around the room, Molly tried to spot his face in the bustling police department. There was no sign of him, meaning he might still be in the interrogation room where they had left him. Her train of thought was cut off when someone came by to let her and Bullock know that her cab was here.

Molly stood up quickly, Bullock following after her. He followed her to the front doors, making sure she got straight into the cab. He watched as she climbed into the cab, her dark hair blowing in the chilly Gotham winds. She gave the driver her address, and Bullock made sure it was the correct one. Bullock watched the car go, not turning to go inside until he saw it disappear around the corner. He looked to his side, half expecting Gordon to be next to him, even though the detective was still inside.

Molly was right, of course. Detective Gordon still sat in the interrogation room where they had left him. He sat thinking over everything that had happened. Not just with Molly, but with the death of her father as well. Why would anyone want to kill Dr. Garrett Chandler? He was a good man, from what Gordon knew. Of course Gotham was nowhere near a perfect city, but the man seemed like one of the last people to be randomly killed.

Something wasn't adding up

A/N: So yeah, rewrote a chapter and maybe more? We'll see how it goes.