Page 53 of Rogue Mission
That’s a sickening thought.
A loud voice outside the interrogation room door makes my breath catch.
But when the footsteps pass, I go back to my agonizing thoughts.
Men like Justice know how to survive. They have to be alive. That’s the only answer I can accept right now. But my weak attempt at reassuring myself doesn’t last long.
“Hello? Why am I here?” I call. They probably have a camera on me. Surely they can hear what I’m saying.
But no one comes. No one replies. No tinny voice comes out of a cheap speaker in the ceiling.
Groaning, I rest my head on the metal table—only seconds later, I jolt upright because of that scientific paper I read about microorganisms’ lifespans on metal surfaces in public places.
Days. Weeks.Months!
My groan turns to a gag.
I jump up and bang on the door. “Hey! Hey! Someone. I need disinfectant wipes with bactericide!”
Nothing.
How can I be freaking out about germs when Justice is missing and I might be charged with murder?
My brain is broken.
That’s the only answer.
When I give up and go back to the chair, a quieter man’s voice drifts under the interrogation room door. “Ten-four. I’m going in now to see what I can wring out of her.”
Me?
Surely he’s not talking about wringing something out of me.
I don’t have anything to wring.
Except my hands, and boy… I’ve done that for the last few hours.
Scuffing footsteps draw closer.
Oh boy.
The thumping inside my chest gets so erratic it can hardly be considered a heartbeat.
Calm. Gotta stay calm.
As my breathing speeds, the room grows wavy. Clinically, I know I’m hyperventilating, but heck if I can stop.
“Focus on Justice, that’s all that matters,” I try to coach myself. But end up weeping.
More voices slide below the door with sickening clarity. “The other charges were filed about thirty minutes ago,” the same man relays.
More. Charges?
More voices filter in with a narrow beam of light that’s sliding across the floor, drawing me to the door like a vortex, sucking me over for a listen.
I can’t believe I’m going to do this.This place has to have cameras out the wazoo.
The old Rosalie would never have done this, but now I’m dangerously…brave? More like recklessly determined.
