Interpreting the Signs

The Interpreter

The precinct looked busy as she'd never seen it before. Maybe it was like that all mornings. She was used to being called after business hours to help out. But now that she was on a leave she had her days wide open, so she'd suggested getting the deposition early in the morning for a change.

The place looked different somehow. Brighter. And not due to sunlight coming in through the glassed doors. It was something else entirely. It almost felt like an office. People busy with paperwork on their desks or sitting in line in chairs with their backs to the walls patiently waiting for someone to call out their numbers for them to address what they came to do.

There were so many more policemen and women there than during the night shift also. She didn't know most of them, which was weird. When she'd come in at night everybody would greet or nod in recognition at her sight. It was better this way. It went well with her current mood. That was the reason she had taken the leave after all. She needed some out of the grid alone introspective time to assess her life and make decisions about her future.

As she turned around the hallway to get to the interrogation rooms she saw him. That was another  reason why she'd preferred to come early. To avoid him. Things were still weird between them and she didn't know how to talk to him anymore. It seemed he had to work the day shift that day. She wasn't familiar with his schedule and career particularities anymore. It somehow felt strange. As if there was something missing in her life. She realized she missed him. Maybe it had been a mistake to break it off. It was one of the things she needed to ponder on.

He was busy removing the handcuffs from a tall languid guy who was just staring at the floor the whole time. She pressed on and moved pass him into the back hallway. There was such an array of individuals mixing their scents into the morning air, which reminded her of why she hated coming down to the precinct. She didn't have a chance now. This was all the work she'd get now. Until she decided what she'd do with the rest of her life at least. She dragged herself to Interrogation Room 3, where she's been summoned by the chief himself to officiate as interpreter for a minor that was to be questioned on the disappearance of his younger sister. It was nothing to look forward to. She didn't know it would be something she'd never be able to erase from her mind, though. Perks of the trade.

She opened the door and sat next to the child.

"Soy Sam Sanders. Soy la interprete."

The boy didn't say anything. There was an eerie grin crossing his face, almost imperceptible but one that she couldn't get out of her mind after seeing it. She would remember this in her dreams. Nightmares were part of the problem. Her emphatic proneness was something that usually helped in her line of work, especially with those who didn't want to talk, but it was also what made her so vulnerable and open to let in all kinds of feelings. Some stuck with her for a long time after perceiving them in others. This was not a good omen. She tried to relax and waited for the chief's lead.

Chief Carlson came forward, folder in hand, sat down opposite them with his cigar still balancing on the edge of his mouth, and opened the folder up. He took some photographs and threw them at them one by one in slow rehearsed movements. First one was a pretty, curly, pump girl in a pink dress. She was smiling. The next one showed a massacred image of the same innocent face. That one would sneak into her dreams too. Then a succession of images equally disturbing flashed before her eyes and just like that the brightness of a promising day turned to ashes and the darkness of the world that had managed to seclude her found its way into the surface. She turned her face away, fighting the tears. The boy didn't flinch.