Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

5 0 ~ A n n a

                 

Flashback ~ December 30, 2010

Detective Johnson leads me into a room with black walls. It's small, smaller than it seems in the movies, but it's obviously an interrogation room. There's the glass on one wall that I already know is one-way, and a table in the center with a chair on either side.

I have a feeling that I'm supposed to sit down. Which is exactly why I don't.

The detective motions to the chair. "Make yourself comfortable. Would you like some water?"

So you can pull my prints and DNA off the glass? No, thank you. I'm not going to be tricked that easily.

"I'm good, thank you," I say. I notice my voice is kind of raspy from yesterday. I guess being in the cold all night will do that to you.

The detective takes a seat. She says some legal stuff but I'm not really listening. I'm looking at the glass.

It's kind of funny. With these sunglasses on, they can't tell that I'm looking at them, and with their one-way glass, I can't tell if they are looking at me. We both have shields, yet we both know that each other is there.

Reluctantly, I sit and face the detective, keeping my face carefully clean of emotion. As she starts talking, I ponder ways to look more innocent.

I tuck my hair behind my ears. It makes me look younger.

I pull a foot up in the chair and rest my chin on my knee.

I take off the sunglasses.

Hopefully, I look the part of a girl who doesn't know what happened to her in the last twenty-four hours...

"Ms. Blake?" I hear Detective Johnson ask. I look up from the spot on the table I was focusing on.

"Huh?"

"Please state your full name."

"Annabella Blake," I say softly. I start to bite my lip, an old habit but stop. It will look like I'm nervous. Like I'm hiding something.

Well, I am. But obviously, they can't know that.

"Can you tell me what you remember from last night?" She asks.

"I left the house to go into town," I start. I look down at the table, take a deep breath, and try my best to look like I'm thinking. I'm measuring my movements carefully. My words are important, but my body language is worth more to them.

"And?" She prompts.

"I was going to the Grill," I continue. "I got my fries, and started eating them outside."

These are facts. I'm not technically lying if I'm just stating facts. The detective pauses me for a moment. "It's been cold lately. Why did you eat outside?"

She's questioning odd behavior. Just tell the truth. "Larry, the guy who runs the restaurant. He makes me nervous. So I always eat at the picnic tables there and look at the view."

The detective nods. "What happened after that?"

I open my lips to speak but let my face go blank for a second. I keep looking at the table. I decide to skip over the robbery. "I kind of remember the lights. Outside my house. And I remember crossing the street, and my brother coming up to me. That was when I got home. But..."

I trail off.

"And what about before that?" The detective asks. "Do you remember what happened between eating and coming home?" She leans down to catch my eye.