Like a Moth to a Flame

Lisa 1

I feel something hard and cold pressed against my face as a hand on my shoulder shakes me wide awake. "Lisa, I'm detective Andrew Reynolds and I'd like to speak to you regarding the death of James Moore." I blink my eyes, the fluorescent lighting exposing the dull gray walls, two way mirror to my left, and the hard, cold steel table I'd just dozed off on. Staring at the brown haired, dark brown eyes, bearded detective sitting across from me makes me realize, I wasn't having a nightmare. This is my reality.

Detective Reynolds brings out a small black recorder, sets it on the table between us and starts with the questions I've heard so many times on those murder mystery television shows, except this time, I seem to be their person of interest. "Can you tell me how you came to know James Moore?" He says in a monotone voice, staring at me while trying to get a good read on me. I try not to let the name evoke such a strong reaction on the surface but within my mind, so many memories flit across a mile a minute; my heart racing with each image like a montage of memories. I take deep breath, letting it all out along with a few warm tears that have found the familiar trail of those that came in a deluge just 12 hours earlier.

"You mean from the very beginning?" Because there's at least 7 years of memories packed into my mind that he's now wanting me to sort through. "Yes, if you could, that'd be great," he says again in a flat voice. "I've got all the time in the world." He finishes without missing a beat. I sit back in the cold steel chair and look off into the two way mirror, taking in my reflection. I don't know that woman staring back at me. She looks lost. I continue to stare at her, hoping that the reflection I was used to will magically appear but it doesn't. Another warm tear trails down my cheek as I begin to open pandora's box.

"I met James, or should I say, I first spoke to James 7 years ago. I worked for an equipment rental company and James was one of our IT specialists located in our headquarters in Dallas, Texas. Every time I had a computer problem, I'd call them and James happened to take my call. He was friendly, charismatic and approachable. I remember laughing on the phone with him for no particular reason at all and it felt good to speak to someone who I felt, connected with me."

My mind begins to flash a scene. I'm sitting in my office clutching the phone tightly with one hand as I hold my head with the other. This must've been the time he randomly opened up to me about his childhood. "Lisa, you have no idea how difficult it was for me growing up. There are only a couple of people who know this about me and I feel that you're someone genuine, someone I can trust. When I was 11 years old..." I can literally feel the weight on my chest again that I felt that same day he divulged this sensitive information to me.

"Lisa, you seem a bit anxious. Can you tell me what you're thinking about?" Detective Reynold's voice has a worried tone to it but I can't tell whether its feigned or sincere. I blink and the scene disappears and its just the two of us again. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about when we first met and all of those warm memories flood your mind in wave after wave." The narrow lines of his lips crack into a slight smile, as maybe he can sympathize with what I've just shared.

"If you feel up to it, continue with your story, otherwise we can take a small coffee break. Would you like some? Its not Starbucks by any means but it'll keep you awake. I'm not sure if that's because of the caffeine or the fact that it tastes so horrible..." He's looking at me, trying to relate, trying to play the good cop I think, as he leans back in his seat, eyes fixated on mine. I suddenly feel vulnerable and exposed, a feeling I hated and I fidget in my seat, wanting to cover myself. He must have picked up on this because his slight smile is now gone and his warm eyes are now fixed on the table in front of him. "I'll get you some coffee. Take 5.."

I watch as he stands up and realize he's easy on the eyes. His fitted white and gray striped dress shirt and black tie, black trousers and shoes fit him nicely. God I wish I didn't look such a mess right now. He walks out of the room and I lay my head back onto my arms and as I close my eyes, James' dark brown, if not black, empty eyes are staring back at me.