“I’ve heard of you,” the agent said, slapping a pile of folders on the table between us. He looked up, frowning as I silently watched him. He sat heavily in his chair, watching me with morbid curiosity.
“You have been accused of killing over thirty people – some found, some missing persons. Are you going to defend yourself? Call a lawyer? React?”
I felt the sigh escape my mouth, the lipstick missing in parts. Slowly I crossed my ankles, waiting.
He echoed my sigh, picking up a folder and opening it. “Says here you’re twenty. Is this accurate?”
I didn’t remember. Was I twenty? Was I older? Younger? Had I been on the earth such a small amount of time? I tried to reach back, feeling the caress of cold fingers and red ribbon. It was all choppy, my mind swept up by the dark sea of my memories.
Opening my eyes I lifted my shackled arms up, slowly taking out the hair extensions. I worked carefully, taking away piece by piece of the character I had been playing. Tape unraveled off my face, mascara smudged, eye-contacts came out.
He watched in stunned silence, watching the pile of used junk build on the table between us.
“Wait,” he turned the paper he was holding, showing me a picture of a girl, “this… this isn’t you?”
No. That girl was dead. She had been warned, offered money even to leave it all. The higher ups had worried she’d make too much noise. I remembered the smell of her shampoo, the clever little tilt of her head. She used to hum under her breath when she was pleased. But she was gone now. Was she deceased? How hopeful of you to think.
“I wasn’t born like this.” I told him, my voice coming out in a melodic whisper. I looked at the tape recorder between us, slowly reaching over and turning it off. He let me, his hands creeping under the table. My smile deepened.
Yes. Take this information. Use your phone. Use your memory. Dig until the tunnel falls on top of you.
“I don’t know what name to tell you because I have had many. Ages too. Be careful detective. People burn. People suffocate. People lose the game. Or win it, depending on who you talk to. Have I killed? The question you should be asking is, who would gain?”
I looked him very carefully in the face, memorizing it. The way his eyebrows rose, the deep brown of his eyes, his full lips. He had a family. I could see it in the way his face softened, the laughing lines around his face. The shadows around his eyes, but the light in his eyes portrayed sleep well lost. He enjoyed playing guitar by the lines on his hands. His receding hairline couldn’t hide the roguish good looks he had had in his prime. Should I care that a family would very likely lose a father? I willed myself to care. To dredge up some concern.
“Listen.” I rasped, “Pass this onto someone without a family. Without someone to lose. You all do of course – but not children. Children are like adrenaline rushes from where I come from. They are a thrill to… play with.”
I watched the shudder run across his body. A part of me liked it. Part of me pitied him for it. And an even smaller part… envied him.
“You will not find proof.” I said, “Let me go.”
“Where are you… from?”
I smiled a very insincere smile, feeling it sit on my mouth the way face paint sits on the skin. “I was like you once. Asked a lot of questions.”
“We can protect you if you –”
“Detective,” I sighed, “your time is up.”
He opened his mouth, only for the door to hurriedly open. A woman with thick rimmed glasses scurried in, already bowing an apology not to him – but me.
“We are so sorry for this! We didn’t know who –”
I held up my hands, showing her the cuffs.
“Oh!” she squeaked, pulling out a keychain, “my most sincere apologies!”
The agent stepped back in protest, “Polly!”
She glared at him, coming over to free me. “Do you know who this is?” she hissed.
“My suspect!” He cried as I rubbed my wrists. I reached over for the bin in the corner of the room and swept my mess on the table into it. I pulled out a matchstick out of my hair and swept it across the table, dropping the flame into the bucket.
He watched helplessly as the smoke reached the fire alarm. Polly screamed as water got on her hair from the roof sprinklers. I slid across the table, grabbing his phone out of his hands.
This close I could smell the cologne he used – a present no doubt. No man would pick such a nice scent. “You don’t want my nightmare, Dylan.” I told him softly, his eyes widening at the use of his name, “The world has very dark places. Keep your family out of them. No safe house is safe from smoke.”
Then I kissed his cheek, feeling him tense. Ah, he loves his wife. How satisfying.
I slipped from the table and walked out, crushing his phone like a playing card in my hand.
Back into the dark. 186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcfaR9qP9dm
