Page 11 of Ezra
Ezra is stoic. “I remember you too.”
“What can I do for you?” I ask the detectives. My body aches from being slammed into that bathroom sink. I have blisters in my flat shoes from running back and forth all around the café, just trying to help anyone I could.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions while the incident is still fresh in your mind,” Washington says.
“Where were you when the blast occurred?” Ezra asks.
It’s such a simple question to ask and answer, but all it does is remind me that the only reason I’m here standing on both feet is pure luck. I was in that café. I was going to sit down and eat. What’s worse, I asked Zoey if she could save us a table. If I’d just stopped her, asked her to come to the bathroom with me instead...
“Miss Carson?” Washington presses softly, drawing me out of those thoughts and off the precipice of spiraling.
“I was in the bathroom,” I murmur. “Freshening up. I only just stepped away.”
“Did you see anything unusual leading up to the attack?” Ezra asks. He’s at least six-four with broad shoulders, standing with unnaturally perfect posture, his hands clasped behind his back. The collar of his blue tailored shirt is slightly undone. His voice is still deep and low, serious and grave, but lacking the comfort, the gentleness, when I was knocked out cold by the blast.
“I’m sorry.” I look from Ezra to Detective Washington. “It’s difficult. My thoughts are a bit jumbled...”
“I understand. You’re in shock. Take your time but do your best,” Washington replies.
Ezra gazes at me with his piercing eyes. The rain has slowed to a drizzle. The dampness doesn’t seem to bother him.
“I don’t know that I can be of much help.” I wince at the stinging in my palm. I haven’t asked for medical aid yet, not when others are hurting far worse. “I’m honestly surprised you’d want to talk to me at all.”
“We’re aware of your affiliation with Humanity First,” Ezra says, “if that’s what you mean.”
“And that’s not enough to scare you both off?”
The sound that comes from Ezra is almost like a scoff. But not because he’s angry or irritated. It’s like I nearly made him chuckle. Such a human reaction. It’s not what I expect at all. “Perhaps some other time, Miss Carson. But not today.”
The patience of these two men isn’t lost on me. I appreciate that they aren’t rushing me, but the pressure of trying to piece together anything before the blast is hard. “It’s just—I’m sure there are people who saw it happen.”
“There are,” Ezra agrees. “But I’d like to hear from you.”
Notwe, butI. As though Ezra has come to this decision alone. His programming really must be state of the art. Adaptive. I try to focus and make sense of everything that happened in the moments before.
“There were several androids inside. We don’t have a way to scan them or stop them for security measures yet. It was a busy day. I only really noticed one that was... strange.”
“Tell me about that one.” Ezra rests his hands by his sides. Washington remains quiet, watching me.
“He was wearing a baseball cap. And an oversized hoodie. I’m not certain who he belonged to. He ran into me on the way to the bathroom. Hard. My shoulder still hurts from him slamminginto me the way he did. I was surprised he didn’t apologize. Most would in any other scenario, but?—”
My mind strays to that singular word, etched on the droid’s forehead.
Purify.
Did I run into the killer on the way to the bathroom?
“And you didn’t see him with anyone? No family or person of any kind?” Ezra asks, more urgently now.
“It was crowded. I couldn’t say. I wish I had. Does that help?”
“It helps,” Ezra replies as Washington pats his shoulder and whispers something to him I can’t make out before he walks away. “Thank you, Miss Carson.”
“You’re welcome,” I manage, glancing at a paramedic hurriedly passing me. I hesitate, wondering whether I should say something about my hands. But it seems so pointless in comparison to everyone else. I’ll have to go home, see if I can’t take care of things with a pair of tweezers and some antibiotics.
“You’re hurt.”
I turn to Ezra. He peers at my bloodied palms and scraped knees, his pupils shuttering, narrowing and widening like a camera lens. Like he’s zooming in on me.
