by Jo Watson
“You didn’t really seem to care what I was doing here, last night, when you came back to my room,” I said snappily.
“I was off duty,” he replied.
“And now you’re on duty?” I looked him up and down.
“Yes,” he said, matching my snappy tone. “Well?” he asked again. “What are you really doing here?”
“I told you—I’m a writer. I am doing research for my new book.”
“Yeah, to see whether you can climb over a fence or not.” He didn’t sound convinced.
“Mmmhmm.” I nodded.
He shook his head at me. “Becca, you’re putting me in a seriously difficult position, here. I’m law enforcement in this town, and you broke the law.”
“Where did you go when I was inside the shop?” I asked. “You know I was standing in the parking lot with a box of condoms in my hand? Did you just decide you didn’t want to . . . you know?” I felt embarrassed and vulnerable asking the question, but I had to.
“What? NO! I wanted to. Trust me, I really, really wanted to, but . . .” He paused and looked at me as if he was going to carry on speaking, but he didn’t.
“But what?” I asked, my throat drying up and tightening.
“You probably won’t believe me, but an emergency came up,” he said.
“Really?”
He was right. I didn’t believe him.
“I got a call and had to rush to help someone. I tried to let you know, but there was no time to spare. It was urgent.”
“I thought you weren’t on duty last night?” I looked at him smugly.
“Well, yes, technically . . . but if there’s an emergency, then I can’t just say, ‘Sorry, I’m off duty.’ It’s my responsibility to help.”
“Help who?” I asked, folding my arms.
“Mrs. Van der Merwe. She stays in the old-age home, and every now and then she escapes and runs away. I get called to find her.”
“Really? And at the exact moment that I was in the shop, buying condoms, you got an emergency call to find her? Seems rather convenient to me.”
“I did,” he said, pushing himself off the wall. He walked into the jail-cell-cum-storeroom and I followed him in.
“I see. And you didn’t think to pop in and tell me this, like a decent human being?” I asked.
“There wasn’t time. I was worried about her. She has Alzheimer’s. Someone saw her standing on the highway; I was concerned she would be run over.”
“Interesting,” I said slowly, still not sure whether I fully believed him. I looked around the room. Rows of shelves containing files lined the walls. A desk and a few chairs were in the middle of the floor, and the rest of it was covered in overflowing boxes. “You really want me to stay in this room?” I turned and looked at him after my visual inspection.
“Well, you are officially under arrest,” he said. “And I have nowhere else to put you.”
“And what am I being charged with?”
“Trespassing. Breaking and entering. Possible eco-terrorism. Take your pick.”
“Don’t I get a phone call? Don’t I get to call my lawyer?” I asked.
“Do you have a lawyer?”
“No. But I could call one.”
“Sure. Go ahead,” he said. “But, I must warn you, we only have one lawyer in town, and he’s busy.” Mike walked over to the desk and opened the drawers.
“What are you doing?” I asked, as he took all the paper clips out and slipped them into his pockets.
“You could pick the lock with these.”
I burst out laughing. “You think I can pick a lock? Newsflash: I’m not some career criminal who goes around picking locks. I’ve never been in jail before.”
“I found you trespassing on private property today, and yesterday you were climbing a fence, not to mention lurking suspiciously in a graveyard.”
“I told you, I like graveyards,” I said. “Besides, if you really thought I was a dangerous criminal, you wouldn’t have almost had sex with me last night, seeing as you are the law around here.” That was a good argument. Didn’t need a lawyer for that one! And I seemed to have got him, because he was looking at me blankly now, as if he didn’t have a rebuttal.
“There’s a chair there, and there are even some magazines you can read.”
“Wait—what if I need the toilet?” I asked. I was feeling a little panicked now. This was starting to feel a bit real. Maybe too real.
“Do you?” he asked.
“Not now. But I might need it soon.”
He looked at me and shook his head again. This man was a head shaker, for sure. He looked torn, as if something in him didn’t want to lock me in this room. And I wanted to believe that. I needed to believe that the man I’d shared an intimate moment with last night was having some trouble locking me away like this, like an animal in the zoo.
“You can call me when you need to go, and I’ll take you to the office toilet.” He started moving towards the door.
“You’ll take me to the toilet?” I asked.
“Well, I won’t go inside with you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He looked somewhat uncomfortable, now, as he edged his way towards the door.
Suddenly, I panicked. “Wait!” I jumped forward. “You can’t seriously be locking me up?”
“What do you want me to do with you?”
“I don’t know—release me, turn a blind eye to it. It’s not like I killed anyone, for God’s sake.”
“Honestly, I wish I could, but you just pissed off the eco crowd, and those guys don’t let up. You couldn’t have messed with a more uptight crowd if you’d tried.”
“What if I’m bored and get scared in here by myself, or there’s an emergency?” My voice was high-pitched and shaky.
“What kind of emergency?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I looked around the room. “What if I’m allergic to old files and dust, and go into anaphylactic shock and need a stab with an EpiPen?” I asked.
“Are you? Allergic to dust?”
I shook my head. “But I could be. I’m slightly allergic to cats.”
For the first time since seeing me tonight, he smiled. It was small. It barely tickled the corners of his lips. He shook his head again, as if caught somewhere between amusement and irritation. “You really are a writer,” he said.
“I am,” I replied softly. Although I wasn’t so sure if this statement was entirely accurate, these days.
He looked at me for the longest time, and then, slowly, he took his walkie-talkie out of his pocket and passed it over to me. “Only use this if there’s an emergency.”
I took the walkie-talkie and he showed me how to use it. And then he turned and started walking away. This time, he didn’t stop. He walked straight out the door and closed it behind him, and I . . . Oh shit, I was officially under arrest.
CHAPTER 24
“Hello, hello? Come in, Mike. Over and out, over and out,” I said into the walkie-talkie.
“Becca.” I heard his voice come through all crackly and distant sounding. “What is it? Is there an emergency?”
“I just wanted to make sure this thing was working. Over and out,” I said.
“Well, great, now you know.” He hung up. Wait—do you call it “hanging up” when it’s a walkie-talkie?
I sat and waited for a while, but he didn’t say anything else. Then I walked around the room a few times, completely alone and bored. I read the names on the spines of the files—nothing exciting. Nothing like you see in the movies: a room full of unsolved serial-killer files, laden with evidence and jars of body parts for DNA testing. I walked over to the desk and opened the bottom drawer. A folded piece of paper caught my attention and I pulled it out. I placed it on the desk and flattened it with my hands.
“Oooh,” I said out loud, when I saw what it was. It was a slightly younger-looking Mike, without a shirt on, cradling a small, white, fluffy kitten to his big chest. I smiled to myself and picked up the walkie-talk
ie again.
“Come in, Mike. Come in, Mike. Over and out,” I said into the thing.
“Yeees?” he returned, sounding irritated at my interruption.
“Why is there a picture of you without a shirt on, holding a kitten, in the bottom drawer of the desk? Over and out.”
“Why are you going through the desk?” he asked.
“I’m bored and you’re still not answering the question,” I said.
“It was for a charity calendar,” he said, very quickly and matter-of-factly.
“Charity? For what?” I asked, staring at the picture of him. He looked good, holding a kitten. Mind you, he’d probably look good holding a sewer rat, too.
“SPCA.”
“So, all the cops took their shirts off and posed with kittens?” I was amused now.
“There are no other cops in this town,” he returned.
“So it was just you? Twelve shots of Mike without a shirt on, cradling various animals?” I didn’t bother to stifle my laughter.
“It was for charity,” he reiterated.
“And can one still buy this intriguing calendar?” I asked.
“No. Limited print run.”
At that, I laughed. “Limited print run,” I repeated. “So, when I get out of here, will you autograph this picture for me?”
“Just stop it!” he said.
“Stop what?” I asked innocently.
“I really have to work,” he said, after a small pause.
“Fine. Fine. Over and out, Mr. January, February, March, April—”
He cut me off mid-calendar, and, once again, I was all alone. With a shirtless picture of Mike. I lasted about five minutes before I called again.
“Come in, Mike. Over and out,” I said into the mouthpiece.
He replied quickly this time. “You don’t have to say ‘over and out’ every time. What’s wrong?”
“What other animals were you holding, in the shoot?”
“Alright, that’s it, I’m goi—”
“NO!” I yelled into the mouthpiece. “Please don’t go. I . . . I don’t like it here. I’m claustrophobic.” That was sort of the truth—ever since that elevator incident, anyway.
“You should have thought about that before you broke into private property.”
“I know, I know,” I said. “I should have thought about a lot of things before I did them, but I don’t. That’s my problem. I hardly ever think before I do things. It’s a disease or something. Maybe there’s a pill for it, or . . . I don’t know.” There was a long, silent pause and I couldn’t bear it. “So, what are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m busy trying to write up an incident report. You won’t believe how much paperwork there is to fill out when someone trespasses.”
“I could help you with that. I’m a writer, after all,” I said hopefully.
“I couldn’t let you write up your own report, Becca. That would be seriously illegal and, believe it or not, I’m not into breaking the law.”
“Except when you were a teenager and drew purple penises around town,” I offered up.
He huffed. “You know way too much about me.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you live in a small, strange town that likes gossip.”
“I have to go.” At that, he hung up on me and I was all alone again. Shit, maybe I was in real trouble here—and for what? I’d seen the engraving on the tree, but I didn’t understand it.
I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from one of the drawers and drew it as I remembered it. A symbol, like an eight . . . Wait! That was the infinity symbol.
I rolled my eyes when I realized that. I had been expecting something a little more—not an infinity symbol, which every person who falls in love gets tattooed on them.
Then I wrote the word fool in one side of the infinity symbol and drew a heart in the other side, just like I’d seen.
I sat back and looked at it. What the hell did that mean? Fools and hearts? Fools and love? I hated not knowing the answer and I folded the piece of paper up and slipped it into my bra, since my wallet had been taken away from me and my pants didn’t have pockets.
CHAPTER 25
“Helloooo, Mike. Hello, Mike. Are you there? Over and—Uh, no, I don’t say that. Mike?”
“What is it now, Becca?”
“I need the loo.”
“You’re just saying that,” he said.
“No, I’m not,” I insisted. But I was lying. I didn’t need the toilet. I just wanted to get out of here.
“I don’t believe you,” he returned.
I dialed up my acting skills. “Pleeeease. I’m soooo desperate. I’m going to burst! Eeeeee.” I made a noise that was meant to mimic the sounds of a person with a full bladder. It was ridiculous and he probably wasn’t going to buy it. I didn’t buy it myself. I paused and waited. Held my breath. My heart thumped in my chest when I heard footsteps, long and loud and wide, coming down the passage towards me. I looked at the door when I heard the key slipping into the lock, and I jumped to my feet in anticipation. Key turning, door handle turning, and . . .
There he was.
He stood in the middle of the doorway—it framed him, as if he were some great painting. And, lo and behold, the bright florescent light from the passage was behind him again, creating the perfect silhouette. A thin strip of white light outlined him perfectly.
“Do you know that, whenever you enter anywhere, you’re always backlit? Do you have a lighting crew following you around, backlighting you for added drama?”
He looked at me blankly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I stared at him and blinked. “Never mind,” I said. “It’s just ridiculous, that’s all! It adds to the whole mystique thing you have going on.”
“Mystique?” he asked, stepping to the side and into the light again.
“Yeah. You, appearing suddenly from thin air, and disappearing, too. All large and intimidating and . . . and . . . hot.” I said it before I could stop it.
His face scrunched up and he looked at me curiously, or was that suspiciously, or was that . . . Was he confused? It was cleared up pretty quickly when he opened his mouth and started talking.
“You know, Becca, you confuse me,” he said, his tone a little softer this time.
I folded my arms. “Ditto,” I said curtly, feeling somewhat defensive.
“So we both confuse each other,” he stated.
“Something we have in common, it would seem,” I replied. He looked at me for a while before speaking again.
“Here,” he said, producing a towel from behind his back.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Thought you could use it to clean up. You’re covered in—” he looked me up and down—“budgie shit and mud.”
“Pigeon!” I insisted.
“Pigeon, budgie. Budgie, pigeon.”
“Thanks.” I reached out and took the towel.
“I also put a change of clothes in the bathroom for you,” he said. “An old tracksuit. It will be too big, but I thought it would be better than what you’re wearing now.”
“Oh!” I was surprised by this kind gesture and didn’t really know what to say. “Thanks,” I mumbled, feeling guilty now.
“Shall we go to the toilet, then?” He moved out of the doorway and gestured for me to follow him.
“Sure.” I walked out defiantly.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said through the toilet door.
“Don’t you?” I tried to sound surprised, but I wasn’t. No matter how much I pushed, nothing was coming out.
“I knew you were screwing with me.”
“I’m not a robot! I can’t just go on command, and certainly not with you standing right outside the door. Haven’t you ever heard of stage fright? I bet you can’t just pee in front of strangers.”
“I have to stand here, or you might escape out the window,” he replied.
I looked up at the window and then laughed. “God, you clearly h
aven’t seen my ass properly yet, because, if you had, you would know I am not squeezing through that window in a hurry.” I said it in jest, but, the second the words were out of my mouth, I suddenly remembered his hands all over it and sweat prickled on my forehead. I heard an awkward throat clearing and a shuffle of feet.
I looked at the sink and saw a small glass on it. I rolled my eyes and reached for it, filling it up with water. I then, very carefully and gently, poured it into the toilet bowl. But I clearly underestimated the amount that would come out, and there was a short, too-loud splash.
“Really? Really?” I heard him say sarcastically.
“Okay, whatever!” I pulled my pants up—the large tracksuit pants that I had changed into—and flung the door open. “You got me. I didn’t need the toilet. You happy now?”
“Happy?” he asked, looking somewhat angrily at me. “Do you think arresting someone that I quite like makes me happy?”
“You quite like me?” I asked, stunned.
He looked down at his feet now, as if feeling coy. “Well, yeah! Wasn’t it obvious? Despite what you probably thought, I don’t just do that with women all the time. In fact . . .” He paused. “I just don’t.”
“Oh!” I was stunned by this sudden confession. For a moment, I felt my mouth opening, and I felt the words I quite like you too bubbling to the surface. But I didn’t let the words come out. Instead, I shrugged. “Could have fooled me,” I said, and strode back down the corridor, towards my jail cell.
CHAPTER 26
I sat on a chair in the middle of my “cell” and waited for him to close the door on me. I was trying to be slightly offish and nonchalant about this whole thing, but that was really just to hide how much I was starting to freak out inside. But he didn’t close the door. Instead, he simply looked at me. I could see his mind was racing. I could see thoughts swirling around in his brain. I imagined some hectic piano concerto was playing in his head right now, fingers slapping down on piano keys frantically, off-key and hard and strange, making his skin crawl and making him feel slightly mad. Well, that’s how I felt as he stood there and glared at me.
What the hell was he thinking? What the hell did he think of me? And, when the glare was finally over, he hung his head.