by Jaz Johnson
Rolling Saphora’s finger against the dark ink, Glover gently pressed her right pinky against the sheet of paper. Standing there, Saphora watched, her nose wrinkled upwards from the unfamiliar smell of the ink. When done with the pinky, he moved on to her ring finger, repeating the process.
“I’m sorry about my partner,” he said in a low voice. Roland, who was waiting outside the closed room, was on his cellphone.
“I’m the one that should be sorry for you,” Saphora scoffed. Glover chuckled, nodding as he rolled Saphora’s middle finger against the ink.
“Thanks.”
“He’s not all there, is he?” Glover sighed, giving a soft shrug.
“According to our psychologist, he’s just a prick.”
“Sounds about right,” Saphora concurred.
“Yeah well. Maybe he just needs a big hug,” Glover suggested, raising a brow at Saphora. “Care to give him one?” Saphora laughed mockingly.
“I’d rather be found guilty.” Glover laughed, moving on to her other hand.
“I don’t blame you.”
“So after this I can go home?” Saphora asked, glancing up at Glover.
“I’m not sure. My boss had said she wanted to ask you some questions.”
“Is there a reason I wasn’t told that before coming here?” Glover grinned, pressing her left index finger into the ink.
“You’re not the easiest person to get a hold of.”