Darren Childs a twenty-something prodigy sat in his dilapidated office chair. He glared at his cold cup of coffee. A weak blend made by a weak statured intern which Childs didn’t care for. Untouched, the coffee formed a dark brown scum around the edge of the cup which displeased him. Darren shifted his eyes towards his artificially frosted window, adjacent to his desk. He studied the distorted figures through the glass. The cheap polystyrene cup contaminated his desk. Darren Childs inhabited a dark suit which reflected his feelings; foreboding. He had pale brown eyes with distinct cheekbones and a crooked smile. He sported stubble after gracing the office with his ice cold disposition all night.
He was married to his work. Childs was eternally bound with the endless amounts of cases studies, paperwork and all importantly his sliver plated badge. Dedication didn’t come close to what he possessed. The law pulsated through his veins like drug. A junkie for justice. Just one more little hit to make the world a better place. Darren Childs was an effective officer with a transparent lack of magnetism. He was the South Pole, cold as ice, almost robotic. The rest of the world repelled. Darren’s door was bolted. His room was tucked away, isolated to the rest of the office. Although this didn’t stop his office’s quarantine being broken.
The cold coffee cup infected him, making him inferior to his intellectual mind. He detested his colleagues; he was a live wire, a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment with rage. He had been waiting; poised in the grass like a viper ready to attack; in his tatty chair for twelve hours now, still drumming that same mundane pattern of four. As an undercover police officer in London, he believed there is darkness in everyone it’s just the matter of finding it and Darren Childs held the magnifying glass. He preferred black clothing, a uniform which defined him from the rest of the onyx grey people of the bitter world. Childs was a desolate machine with nothing left.
Suddenly a loud knock disturbed the tranquillity that fell in Darren’s room. He let out a long sigh as he pushed his chair out from under his desk and walked briskly over to the door. The locks clattered as he unbolted it. He held the handle and pushed it downwards with force causing the brown wooden door to leap open.
“What?” Darren bellowed at Peter who was trembling in the doorway.
“H-h- he’s here.” Peter Johnson stuttered.
“Right, go and get your things and send him to Question Room three. I shall be there soon, give me a minute.” Childs exclaimed as he shut the door.
Darren had been waiting for this moment for a long time. He had been given the news that his team had got Paul Smith for murder and put him on the case to interrogate Smith as that was his area of expertise. Darren walked slowly placing each and every step with purpose. He went over to his grey filing cabinet and opened the top draw revealing brown wallets with different coloured papers sticking out of them. He walked his fingers along the top of the wallets and picked one out, this one contrasted from the others. This had a red inked mark on the front which read ‘CLOSED’ in bold font. He looked at it for a second and then crookedly smiled.
“The game is on.” Childs said to himself.
Darren Childs tugged at his black blazer, re-adjusting his form. And paced towards the door, he left the room and closed it slowly behind him not making a sound. It was a short trip ignoring his co-workers until he met Peter at the Questioning Room. Peter’s hands shacked as he handed Darren the file he had picked up from his cubic office space. The room’s door held all the evil in the world. Paul Smith was a cold hearted killer, Darren had revenge and the steel filled room would help it to be served cold. He abruptly opened the door startling Peter as he followed Childs in behind him. Darren walked towards the desk and placed down the file that Peter had handed to him earlier. Peter nervously stood near the corner of the room running his thumb over the outline of his other thumbnail. A drip of sweat protruded from his forehead.
