"Gladys Cramer," said Sarah, as she entered the small, windowless interview room. The room felt claustrophobic, the walls closing in, devoid of any comforting features. "This is Sergeant Claiborne. He'll be conducting your interview with me today."
My eyes widened in surprise at the mention of Sergeant Claiborne. The Sergeant? Is that really necessary? The weight of the situation suddenly felt heavier, more formal and daunting with his presence. It was as if his rank alone added a layer of severity to the proceedings.
Sergeant Claiborne sat himself in the chair directly opposite me, his posture exuding authority and experience. His eyes narrowed as they studied me intently, like he was trying to read every thought and emotion hidden behind my facade. The intensity of his gaze was unsettling, making me feel exposed and vulnerable.
For a brief second, I shifted nervously in my seat. My mind raced, seeking some semblance of comfort or advantage in this situation. Sarah touched Cody's body, I reminded myself, a thought that brought back a glimmer of confidence. She wouldn't be involving someone so senior if she didn't have to. The realisation that Sarah might be in a precarious position herself was oddly reassuring. You're safe, Gladys, I finished smugly in my head, trying to bolster my spirits.
The only remaining vacant chair in the room screeched loudly across the concrete floor as Sarah dragged it out from underneath the interview desk. The sound was jarring in the silent room.
I coughed sharply, attempting to conceal a new realisation that dawned on me. Sarah wasn't involving the Sergeant voluntarily! The cough was a reflex, a physical response to the shock of understanding that Sarah might not be in control of this situation as much as I had initially thought. This realisation sent a ripple of fear through me, complicating my previously smug assurance. The dynamics of the room felt like they were shifting, and I was suddenly unsure of my footing in this unexpected and unnerving terrain.
As Sarah bent over to take her seat, her movements seemingly routine and focused, she reached into her front pocket to retrieve a small notebook. In that unguarded moment, a small Portal Key fell onto the desk with a clatter, its presence as startling as it was unexpected.
That must be Cody's Portal Key! The thought hit me like a lightning bolt, accompanied by a loud, involuntary gasp. My reaction was overshadowed by Sarah’s sudden and clumsy reach for the device, which only resulted in sending the Portal Key straight into my lap. My heart raced, and for a split second, I was frozen, unsure of what to do with it. I knew I couldn't acknowledge that I had recognised the thing, so I carefully picked up the Portal Key and held it out to Sarah, my hand trembling slightly.
"So sorry," Sarah apologised quickly, her voice tinged with embarrassment. She snatched the device from my hand and dropped it back into her pocket, her movements hurried and slightly flustered.
Suddenly, Sergeant Claiborne stood and made his way to the door. "Thank you, Detective Lahey," he said, his voice firm and authoritative. He opened the interview room door and added, "I can take the rest of the interview from here." His words were a clear dismissal, his tone leaving no room for argument.
As Sarah approached the door, she looked over her shoulder at me. "I'm so sorry, Gladys," she mouthed silently. The unspoken apology in her eyes was a mixture of regret and helplessness.
In a surge of betrayed anger, I slammed my still-cuffed hands against the tabletop. "Damn it! You promised me, Sarah!"
With no time for a response, Sarah was, for all intents and purposes, dragged from the room by the Sergeant. I heard the Sergeant's stern voice trail after them. "What the hell did you promise her, Detective?" His demand was sharp, a clear indication that Sarah was in trouble.
Heart thumping in my chest, I leaned forward, straining to hear Sarah's reply. But it was a fruitless exercise. The distance and the closing door muffled any response she might have given. After several strenuous minutes, during which the tension in the room became almost unbearable, the door slammed shut. I was left alone, the silence in the room oppressive, my thoughts racing. The unresolved questions and the uncertainty of what was to come enveloped me, leaving me feeling more isolated and anxious than ever.
Sitting silently in the interview room, the weight of time seemed to press heavily upon me. The room, stark and bare, felt like a small universe where only my thoughts and fears existed. I waited, each minute stretching out endlessly, morphing into what seemed like hours before the Sergeant finally returned, his solitary presence a reminder that Sarah was no longer there to offer even a semblance of support.
He took his time, his movements deliberate and unhurried. There was a certain methodical nature to how he pulled the vacant seat from beneath the table, the scrape of the chair against the floor a harsh sound in the quiet room. He seated himself comfortably, his posture relaxed yet commanding, a stark contrast to the tension that knotted in my stomach.
Holding my breath, I waited for the Sergeant to begin. My mind raced with possible accusations, each thought more unsettling than the last. I braced myself for a barrage of questions, for the inevitable confrontation of facts and memories that I was still trying to piece together. The air in the room felt thick, laden with unspoken words and the heavy burden of expectation.
The Sergeant’s eyes met mine, a sharp and assessing gaze that seemed to pierce through my defences. In that moment, it felt as though he was looking not just at me, but into me, searching for truths that I wasn’t sure I was ready to reveal. The silence stretched on, becoming a tangible force, a void waiting to be filled with confessions, denials, and revelations. As I sat there, under the weight of his scrutiny, a part of me longed to speak, to release the tumult of thoughts and emotions swirling inside me, while another part dreaded what those words might bring.
Much to my relief, just as the tension in the room reached its peak, a loud knock on the door interrupted the conversation before it could begin in earnest. The sudden sound was like a reprieve, a momentary break from the relentless pressure of the Sergeant's silent interrogation.
Sergeant Claiborne's expression shifted to a frown, his annoyance evident. "Excuse me," he said, his voice tinged with irritation. The metallic legs of his chair scraped obnoxiously across the floor as he stood, the sound grating and harsh in the otherwise silent room.
"Sorry to interrupt you, Sergeant," an unrecognisable woman spoke from the doorway.
"What is it, Officer Langley?" Claiborne responded, his tone sharpened with irritability at the disruption.
"We need to speak in private," Langley replied. As she spoke, she looked over Claiborne's shoulder to steal a glance in my direction. Her eyes, quick and furtive, sent a nervous chill down my already anxious spine. The way she looked at me, as if I were a puzzle yet to be solved, a secret yet to be uncovered, only deepened the sense of unease that had settled over me.
Sighing softly, Sergeant Claiborne stepped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft but definitive click. The sound of the door closing felt like a seal being set upon my fate, a temporary barrier between me and whatever discussions were about to take place outside. Left alone in the room, the silence enveloped me once again, a suffocating cloak of uncertainty and apprehension. My mind raced with questions about the nature of their private conversation, each possibility more disconcerting than the last.
Several palm-sweating minutes passed, each second ticking away like an eternity. The anticipation of what was to come filled the room, a palpable presence that set my nerves on edge. Finally, the door opened and Sergeant Claiborne returned, his presence commanding and immediate.
Closing the door loudly behind him, the sound reverberated through the small room, a sharp contrast to the silence that had preceded it. With only two long strides, he reached the interview desk, his movements purposeful and decisive. Rather than sit, he pressed his palms into the desk and leaned his well-set frame toward me.
With pinpointed precision, his dark eyes penetrated mine, conveying a seriousness that made my heart race. "They're listening to us," he said, as he leaned closer to my ear. His voice was a barely audible whisper, a secret meant only for me. The words sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and intrigue.
"Don't speak," he commanded, retreating from me. His warning glare was intense, a clear signal that the stakes were high. My eyes narrowed, a storm of questions swirling in my brain. Why am I trusting him? I asked myself, struggling to align my gut instinct with the sudden shift in the Sergeant's demeanour. What could Sandra possibly have told him to change his approach so dramatically?
My eyes followed the Sergeant's as he stole another quick glance at the security camera in the far corner of the room. The moment the camera's light went dark, he whispered, "Come with me." His stare was unrelenting, a silent command that brooked no argument.
Heart skipping a beat, I stood up, trusting the feeling deep within me despite any lack of rational understanding. There was something in his urgency, in the way he communicated without words, that compelled me to follow. The room, once a confined space of interrogation, now felt like the starting point of an unforeseen and potentially dangerous journey.
Both standing at the door, Sergeant Claiborne's actions were swift and unexpected. He loosened the cuffs that bound my wrists, an act that felt like a small concession in a situation where I had little control. "You're still a suspect," he reminded me, his voice low and serious. He checked that my hands could slide through the loosed grip of the cuffs despite them remaining around my wrists, a gesture that felt both liberating and restricting at the same time.
"Don't make eye contact with anyone we might pass. And whatever you do, don't open your mouth." His instructions were clear, each word imbued with a sense of urgency. Swallowing harshly, the dryness of my throat making the action difficult, I nodded my compliance. The gravity of the situation was not lost on me, and his demands carried a weight that left little room for hesitation.
Sergeant Claiborne took a deep breath, a sign of preparation or perhaps resignation, and then opened the door. Standing tall, he puffed out his chest, an embodiment of authority and confidence. He left the room with a presence that seemed to demand respect and compliance. I followed directly behind him, walking quickly to keep up with his fast pace. The hallways were quiet, a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned within me.
Silently, we navigated swiftly down multiple corridors, the quietness almost eerie. We entered the fire exit, descending two flights of stairs with a sense of purpose. The stairwell was dimly lit and claustrophobic, each step echoing against the concrete walls.
As we reached the door clearly marked as a fire exit, Sergeant Claiborne stopped abruptly and turned towards me. The suddenness of his movement caused me to catch my breath. "I'm going to release you, Gladys," he stated, gripping my shoulders firmly. His eyes locked onto mine, conveying a seriousness that made my heart race. "But it has conditions. I need your help in return."
I gulped nervously under the Sergeant's unrelenting gaze, the intensity of his focus almost overwhelming. Feeling the cuffs still rubbing against my flesh, a constant reminder of my precarious position, I knew I had no other option but to comply. I nodded my agreement, a silent acceptance of the unknown conditions he was about to set. In my mind, silent pleas echoed to the distant universe, hoping that I would be able to meet the Sergeant's demands, whatever they might be.
"I know you recognised the device that fell from Sarah's pocket," Sergeant Claiborne told me, his voice steady and probing.
I was confused but stayed silent, my mind racing. The Sergeant's knowledge of the device, its significance, and his keen observation skills were unnerving. It felt like he was peeling back layers of a secret I wasn't fully aware I was keeping.
"If you tell me what you know about it, who it belongs to–" he paused, leaving the sentence hanging like an unfinished thought. So, he knows it's a Portal Key, I surmised by the Sergeant's absent question concerning its purpose. His deliberate pause was like an open invitation for me to fill in the blanks, a clever tactic to glean more information.
The sergeant continued, "Tell me what you know, and I can offer you protection."
"Protection!" I snapped, the word coming out more bitterly than I intended. "Unlikely." My response was a mix of skepticism and fear, a reflection of my dwindling trust in anyone.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sergeant Claiborne asked, his tone taking on an edge of curiosity mixed with frustration.
Instantly regretting my outburst, I bit my tongue and returned to silence. I was treading on dangerous ground, and my impulsive reaction could have jeopardised whatever slim chance I had at gaining some control over the situation.
"Gladys," Sergeant Claiborne spoke firmly, maintaining a firm grip on my shoulders, grounding me in the reality of the moment. "Is Sarah a Guardian?" The question took me by surprise, causing me to stumble a few steps backwards before the Sergeant caught me and steadied me on my feet.
"No," I finally replied, staring at the ground, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not that I know of," I confessed, revealing more than I had intended.
"So, you know about Guardians, then?" Sergeant Claiborne's voice was laced with enthusiasm, a hint of excitement creeping into his tone.
I bit the inside of my cheek hard, chastising myself for the slip. How could I be so foolish to give away so much information with a single reply? I reprimanded myself for the error. You can't trust him, my mind begged, the warning a stark contrast to the strengthening trust in my gut. He could be part of the ones that Cody warned you about, my mind continued its reasoning. The ones that are hunting the Guardians. The thought sent a wave of fear through me, a reminder that the truth could be more dangerous than I had imagined. The Sergeant's questions and my own answers felt like a dance around a perilous truth, one that could either save or condemn me.
Surprising me, Sergeant Claiborne removed the loose cuffs from my wrists with a swift, deliberate motion. "I don't know what game you're playing at, Gladys, but you'd better watch yourself." His voice was stern, tinged with a warning that resonated with a gravity I couldn't ignore.
I rubbed my sore wrists, feeling the relief of being unshackled, yet refusing to meet the Sergeant's piercing gaze as he continued speaking. The freedom felt surreal, almost like a trick, a brief respite in a continuing nightmare.
"You can't begin to imagine the horrors you’re getting yourself involved in." His words felt like a cold splash of reality, sinking my heart deep into my stomach. You really have no idea, I told the Sergeant silently, turning my gaze away as saline burned my eyes. How dare you say that! I shouted silently at him. The horrors I've witnessed, the nightmares that now haunted my sleep, were horror enough.
"Gladys," Claiborne said, his tone shifting to something softer, more earnest. He placed a firm hand beneath my chin, gently but insistently encouraging me to face him. "I know you're not a Guardian, but you need to go into hiding. It's not safe for you here." His eyes searched mine, looking for an understanding, an acknowledgment of the peril I was in.
How does he know so much? I wondered, silently staring at him. The terror filled the deepest parts of my soul, a suffocating fear of the unknown. Why is he letting me go? Is it because I'm not a Guardian? I'm not a risk? My mind was a whirlpool of questions and doubts.
"They have your fingerprints connecting you to the disappearance of Joel Gibbons," Sergeant Claiborne informed me, his words sending a new wave of panic through me. Before I could process this new information, he opened the fire exit. "They will find you. If you have a Portal Key, I suggest you use it."
"Who will find me?" I asked, my voice hesitant, barely above a whisper. The implications of his words were both terrifying and bewildering.
Just then, the door at the top of the stairwell squeaked open, a sound that felt like an alarm bell in this high-stakes game of cat and mouse.
"There's no time now," said Claiborne urgently, pushing me out the door. "Go!" His command was a final push, a desperate urging to flee the danger.
Squinting into the harsh sunlight, I stepped out into the open, the door closing heavily behind me. The bright light was disorienting, a stark contrast to the dimness of the stairwell. I was alone now, truly alone, with Claiborne's words echoing in my mind. The realisation that I was now truly on the run, with unknown dangers lurking and seeking me, was overwhelming.
Back against the rough wall, the coarse texture of the bricks felt grounding, a much-needed anchor in the storm of chaos that had become my life. I took several moments to gather my scattered thoughts, each breath a conscious effort to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside me.
Darting across the small, vacant carpark, I moved with a sense of urgency, yet trying to remain inconspicuous. I settled myself amongst the thick growth of various bushes that lined the edge of the lot, their dense foliage providing a semblance of cover and security.
Switching my phone back on, a surge of hope mixed with apprehension coursed through me. I called Beatrix first. The phone rang, each tone a beacon of hope that quickly dimmed as it reached Beatrix's voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message, a pang of disappointment washing over me.
Knowing there was one man in my life that I could always count on, I found my father's name in my contacts. I hesitated for a brief moment, my finger hovering over his name. The worry that the call would put my father in danger gnawed at me. You can't stand outside the police station forever, my inner voice counselled me, a harsh reminder of the reality of my situation. They are coming for you, remember. The voice was both a warning and a push to act.
With no other option, my finger fell on the dial button. I held my breath as the phone began to ring, each ring echoing in my ears like a drumbeat of anticipation.
"Gladys?" my father's voice called from the other end of the line, a familiar and comforting sound. "Where are you? We need to talk, urgently." His words caused my heart to sink. The tone of his voice, filled with concern and something unspoken, hinted at troubles beyond my current understanding.
"Please come and get me," I almost sobbed into the phone, the relief of hearing his voice mingling with a deep-seated fear and vulnerability. "I'll send you my location."
