It had been three thousand six hundred seconds since I was roughly shoved into the metal chair and handcuffed to the table before Abigail Moor walked into the room with hard, suspicious, frighten blue eyes. The bright, artificial light was hard on my eyes and it gave me a headache. Not that I had noticed. In those three thousand six hundred seconds, I was thinking of Rene. She would be at the airport now. No. Not an airport. A ferry or whatever a traveling boat is. No. Not even that. She stole someone's car and was en route to a ferry or whatever. She already called him, her voice tight and filled with desperate relief. Maybe she thought about me. Not maybe. I know she did-and is. She's thinking about how long it would take before I broke out and followed her. She's thinking how she can hide her trail. She's regretting doing this to me because deep down, she knows she loves me. She knows what this'll do to me.
Wishful thinking, am i right?
The door slammed shut and that's when I finally noticed the petite woman in a winkled pantsuit with the jacket askew. She walks quickly to the chair opposite of me and sits down, nearly spilling the folder. She turns red as her hair as she tried to decide between opening the folder and getting turns to it or trying to immediate me.
"So Mr..." she glances down at the manila folder before sounding out my last name, "Eeek-ma-kow?"
"Ea-ma-kow." I try not to quirk a smile at the fake name or laugh at the way the woman blushed harder. This would be over quickly. I pull at my cuffs and lean my head back, groaning. Too small for me to slip my wrist through. The woman arches a bushy eyebrow and opened the folder. In it were three pictures. One from the late 1800's. Another from the middle of the 1900's. And one from this morning. I must say, I don't look too bad in my mugshot.671Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA8IZwwIf6Y
"So... Mr. Eamakho, you know that I should, uh, be questioning you about that murder..."
"You aren't a professional at this, are you?"
"I-it's my first time..." she sighs. I tilt my head back, humming an acknowledgement. She taps the first picture and I try my best not to let a frown cease but it came anyways. The woman looks a bit relieved but at the same time worried. "This is you, isn't it?"671Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ360QJV7LvS
It was. I was standing next to William Wundt (not the psychologist) and his wife. His kids are on either side of us, grinning wide into the camera. The photo was in black-and-white and really, if I wasn't in it, I would have a tough time deciding if I was truly there. I glance at the woman and let myself smile. "How did you manage to get this, Ms..."
"Moor. A-Abigail Moor." her voice goes up an octave and she fidgets with her messy hair. "And you have a criminal record... " she takes a deep breath and looks at the other pictures with a confused longing. "dating back to 1905."671Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvk5f0B6PQL
"Friend's fault." I can't stop myself from saying. It really was her fault. If she would just stop being so goddamn-
"Er, uh okay? B-but how are you.. alive?"
"People can live pass a hundred."
"You look twenty seven."
"..... miracle cream?" I offer. She chokes on a laugh and fails to hold a serious face.
"No. Seriously. How? It isn't..."
"Human?" I offer, leaning forward. "I'm human. One hundred percent. But, I'm not a mortal." Moor's eyes widen and I supply her with her answer with swift percussion.671Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFeZrd5HQ5T
"I'm an Immortal."
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