Another time

A night, A day

Echoes. It’s all you’d heard for as long as you could remember. The sun had set and rose again, the echoes chasing you into sleep and dragging you out of it. Now they were joined by the hum that came from near silence – your ears desperately trying to fill the gap, to scan for input.

Echoes. Of shouts. Of doors. Banging. Then silence.

It wasn’t an interview room like you thought it would be. Not even an old timey version of one. It was more like a prison cell. A hollow, concrete block that you’d be shoved in and abandoned. There was a bench, little else.

Your cheek throbbed, squinting as you moved your jaw and pulled the skin. Alfie had roared when the officer had ‘accidently’ swung you round a little too close to the door frame. They’d done it on purpose, tried to rile him up. You heard the slam as they threw him back against the wall, held him there while they marched you out. Heard them laughing about the threats he’d spewed as they’d driven you away from the house on the river. To a cell.

You’d tried to fill the time – not knowing how long it would be until someone walked through the door. Tried to get your story straight. Tried to go over your lines in your head. Turned them over and over and over. Until they were echoes.

There were footsteps now, eyes circling over the damp floor as you tried to discern whether they were coming to you. The clink of the door mechanism showed they were.

“Up, let’s go” It was a new guard. One you didn’t recognise. You were tired and sore and it took a few minutes to get your limbs moving. Throat bobbing. Eyes stinging. Fingers shaking. You followed him out, eyes flicking back and forth as he escorted you into a big office. The windows were huge, almost floor to ceiling. It was bright. Open. Beautiful. It was hard to believe you were in the same building.

You turned your head as though you were a puppy, marvelling at a beam of light that dance through a paperweight on the desk before you. As though it was targeting it. Beaming through the bubbles under the surface, churning and dancing through them. Your cheek pulsed as a smile dragged over your cheek but you didn’t mind. After staring at a concrete slab half the night, it was incredible.

The door shut behind you and the guard was gone, replaced by a man in a suit. He was holding a folder, which is where his eyes were, as he walked past you to the desk.

“Sit down, Miss…” he flicked a page and doubled checked the file for your name. You didn’t sit until he did, lowering yourself slowly as if someone were going to rip the chair out from under you.

“Don’t look so worried” he continued, having not even looked up to check your expression. You swallowed, sat a little straighter. Tried to be brave.

Alfie’s lawyer would be here soon. He promised. He promised last night. Soon.

“You’re a secretary, is that correct?” the stranger questioned.

“I’m – No, ‘Day Manager’ is my official title” he started laughing, shaking his head. He scribbled something on the paper, finally looking up to you. His eyes fell on your cheek and he winced a little. Fuck, you probably looked a sight.

“What’d you have to do to get that promotion?” He settled back in the chair, eyes boring into you. Mask back where it was. Don your own. Be brave.

“A damn lot of paperwork” he hummed in response, smiling at the snark in your tone.

“What does Alfie Solomons call you? Do you have an official title there?” he tapped his finger on the leather rest throughout his questioning “or is there still opportunity for a promotion?”