Untitled: Part I
The room was damp, cold, and devoid of anything other than an aluminum table, a chair, and a fan mounted near the ceiling in the corner of the room. One person could easily leap from one side to the other in one single bound. A mirror had been placed on one side of the room adjacent to a door with a window at the top.
A tall, rather fit, young man sat unbound in the chair with his elbows resting on the table. He held his hands together, occasionally rubbing them together and then laying them flat on the table. They had been keeping him in this room for quite some time now. It had been twenty minutes since a detective walked in to question him again. He kept track of the time in between by the clock permanently mounted above the door.
On the table, a glass of water stood, once in a while rippling when Jack would put his elbows back on the table. The water was tempting, but he knew it was drugged. Same went for the plate of food that was left for him by one of the detectives. The steam still rose from the plate, even though it had been quite some time since they left it. The aroma of roasted duck filled the room. Jack never had the opportunity to have duck. However, even if it was not drugged, Jack wouldn’t have been able to eat it. He gave up meat a long time ago. The temptation quickly settled, but his stomach wasn’t agreeing with him.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the mirror stood two detectives dressed in charcoal gray suits and black ties. Detective Royce stood taller than Detective Grove, but Grove had seniority. He had been a detective for thirty-five years. Since the beginning of the movement, Grove was there. Each wrinkle on Grove’s face told a story that no man dare question its validity. His gruff tone was enough to make any rookie quiver with fear, but Grove was a kind man. Underneath his tough exterior, he was a compassionate man; the perfect compliment to Royce’s soft exterior and brazen interior.
“How long?” Detective Grove asked.
“Not long. I think we’re wearing him down,” Detective Royce said confidently, while scratching his head.
“No, Jim. I meant how long has he been here…” Grove said.
“Oh… A little over three days…” Royce said, pulling his jacket back and resting his palms on his hips.
“And the others?” Grove asked.
“I don’t know about the others. Charles was the one who brought them in… I wasn’t here,” Royce explained.
“Hmm… He hasn’t touched his plate…” Grove noticed.
“He hasn’t even taken a sip of the water, either,” Royce said.
“It’s obvious… He knows they’re drugged,” Grove said. “Go get Charles… I wanna speak to him.”
“Grove, I…”
“GO!” Grove commanded without taking his eye off of Jack.
Grove took a bottle of water off the desk behind him, unscrewed the cap and let the contents swish around a little before taking a sip. He squinted as he took a sip, never taking his eye off of Jack. Wiping his mouth, he put the bottle back on the desk and pocketed the cap. Grove pushed the button to turn on the microphone that had been setup in front of Jack.
By the time Royce returned with Charles, Grove was already engaged in a deep conversation with Jack. Royce and Charles stood and watched Grove work. Jack was tough, but Grove was an experienced interrogator and could make anyone talk without using any drugs or gases. Charles flipped the switch to turn the audio on.
[to be continued…]