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My eyes prickled as my mug-shot was dragged onto the file and attached in place. Pressing the printer icon, she smiled then headed over to retrieve the warm freshly inked paper. A lot of areas for details such as my name, personal description, and other things remained blank.
She hadn’t asked a single question. Almost as if—
The door opened, and another officer appeared.
—she’d been doing the paperwork for another person to do the questioning.
The new arrival was a woman dressed in a black suit with an A-line skirt, crisp white blouse, and a gold shield sewn over her breast pocket.
The woman who’d processed me said something in French, handed over my newly created file, and returned to her post at the desk.
Turning in my chair, I faced yet another stranger and tensed, ready for the interrogation that all good movies showed. Only, her eyes fell to my handcuffed wrists, and she tutted. “They should’ve been off by now, don’t you agree?”
I didn’t know what to agree with.
This was all so bizarre to my realm of comfort.
Not that I had a normal range of comfort anymore.
Pulling a key from her pocket, she motioned for me to stand then quickly unlocked the metal. She smiled as the shackles fell away and placed them on the desk. “Better?”
My eyes widened—or as much as they could with bruising swelling them.
These women treated me as a human being rather than a lowlife member of society who’d broken the rules. I kept waiting for the strike to my head or the disdained quips about how I’d screwed up my life.
Not this civil processing.
The older woman ran a hand over her cheek, touching up her immaculate makeup that’d been artfully applied to look as if she wore none at all. As if the pretty shadows over her eyes and pinky hue on her lips were natural.
She was handsome with a no-fuss brown bob and simple gold chain with a medallion and some saint dangling from it.
Clutching my file to her chest, she opened her arm in invitation. “Shall we?”
Shall we what?
When I didn’t reply, she moved in no-nonsense heels and opened the door to the corridor. “Let’s go have a little chat and get the basic stuff out of the way then I’ll summon the doctor, okay? My name is Carlyn Grey, and I’ll be in charge of your case from now on.” She pursed her lips sympathetically. “You’re not looking so good, you poor thing. And you’ve lost a shoe, too. Oh dear. I’ll make sure to find something in the meantime.”
I froze, once again gobsmacked at the kindness in her tone. Had I lumped all humans, male and female, into an unfriendly light because of my past?
Was that a product of Alrik’s lessons or my mother’s upbringing?
Either way, this woman reminded me of a kindly aunt inviting me to unload my woes rather than the upholder of the law whose job it was to take away my freedom.
Even though I wished upon a thousand wishes that I could rewind time and never think about stealing—I had to face the consequences.
Elder…
I’d successfully kept him out of my thoughts, but his gorgeous face appeared with such vibrancy, I gasped at agonising memories and a bone-crushing desire to be with him.
I needed him.
Not just for this terrible situation but because I couldn’t breathe without having him near.
When I didn’t reply, Carlyn Grey leaned forward. “Do you need some water? I can’t give you any painkillers for your injuries until the doctor has assessed you, but if you’re feeling faint, I can order some food.”
Food?
That did sound good. I managed a small nod and drifted toward her.
With yet another kind smile, she marched ahead and guided me down the nondescript corridor to another door—this one with a label stating it was Interview Room Four. “Right this way.”
She held open the entrance and waited until I’d passed her before closing it and taking a seat in the black plastic chair. A large table separated her from a spare seat which I hesitantly took and winced as my bones took on the agonising job of realigning to sit and not stand.
She watched me. “You’re not looking so good.” Using a walkie-talkie resting on the table, she commanded, “Bring some water and a sandwich into IR Four, please.”
A crackled response managed to overshadow the sudden growling in my stomach.
A sandwich had never sounded so great.
Smoothing the paperwork before her, she looked at me intently. “These questions are just a formality. The moment we’re done, I’ll call for the doctor and get you sorted. If at any point you’re not feeling well, tell me.” She narrowed her eyes with the first hint of warning. “If you cooperate, tell the truth, and help me get this done, it will only take a few minutes.”
Swallowing, sending a message to my voice not to hide this time, I nodded.
