Memories: A Short Story

Here we are! Another original short story for you all!
I hope you enjoy. This one is a bit different…

Memories

“The details are a little fuzzy…”
“That’s alright.”
The bright light was lowered a bit, and I could see the shadowy figure sitting behind the desk. I didn’t like him.
“Just tell us what you remember,” the man behind me prompted. It wasn’t that I couldn’t tell them. I most certainly could. The problem was I wasn’t going to tell them. What right did they have to my memories of that night? That night when everything I knew to be true was stolen from me. The man behind the desk was leaning forwards.
“We can help you, you don’t have to be afraid to speak.”
“I’m not,” I snapped sharply, and I could sense the anger gathering in him.
“You were walking with your boyfriend…” the man behind me said slowly. He was eyeing his partner in the interrogation. I smirked. At least one of them was smart. I tossed my head as I answered.
“My fiancé, actually,” I corrected him. “And yes, we were talking about the trip he was going to be taking to Chicago.”
“I see,” the smart one said pleasantly. ” You must have been excited, but do you remember..”
“We were in the middle of the park, out of sight of anyone,” I interrupted. I was going to speak for myself, and not have words drawn out of me like a puppet. “I didn’t notice anything strange, but Henry was nervous. I wasn’t sure about what.”
The two men were listening carefully now, hanging on my every word. I relished in it.
“And then something happened?” the one behind the desk said slowly. “What happened?”
I scrunched my face, pretending to think hard. I saw them waiting, not even breathing. This was going to be fun. I shrugged, and looked at them rather confused.
“I don’t remember,” I said, cackling like a witch inwardly.
“Are you sure?” the man behind the desk, Mr. Bad Cop, demanded. “You remember nothing? Not even a color?”
“Black maybe,” I said, a bit unsure of myself. Or at least I made sure they thought I was. “I think I got knocked out…” I shook myself, and looked at them squarely.
“Where is Henry?”
“I’m afraid…” the nice man began when Mr. Bad Cop cut in.
“He is on a business trip.”
“In Chicago?” I asked, innocently sounding enough.
“Elsewhere. I’m afraid he was needed for a more urgent situation.”
“But he’ll be back soon?”
“Of course,” Nice Cop said comfortingly. “In the meanwhile, I suggest you get some rest. Things were rather crazy last night I’m sure.” He helps me up and leads me to the door under the stern gaze of Bad Cop. I step outside, and the door closes. At least, it almost closes. There’s just the smallest crack, and I’m able to listen to them easily.
“Why did you let her go?” Bad Cop demanded.
“She doesn’t remember a thing, all she knows is her Fiancé disappeared last night,” Good Cop answered, sounding patient, as if he’s heard this tirade before.
“She is a potential theat. If she remembers anything about…”
“She won’t. She is traumatized, and wants to believe her Fiancé is safely in another part of the world and will come back home to sweep her off her feet and down the aisle. She doesn’t remember a thing.”
Behind the door I grinned. They were wrong. I remembered everything.

So what did you guys think? Good? Bad? incomplete? Needs a full novel?
Let me know!

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5 comments

  1. Good job Dayl’ika. You and I write a lot a like now. Excellent job. And yes this requires further elaboration in the form of a novel. Note: If they were speaking outside of an interrogation room she probably wouldn’t be able to hear it. Interrogation rooms are usually sound proofed. Just a quick note. But excellent job.

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