V
Her full recovery took all of the next day. Jordan Cavanaugh visited her; Emma timidly thanked her for realizing she was not dead before it was too late. A curious mortician named Sydney brought her a warm meal and a simple outfit for her, on behalf of the entire office. With another British fellow named Nigel, Bug had come to visit her as well, bringing her a small bouquet of flowers and apologies saying that from now on, he will definately double check any bodies that come to him. Nigel was kind, like a clown that visits children. The Chief Medical Examiner, Garret Macy, came to extend his sympathy and apologies. With a slight smile, Emma thanked all of these people for coming to see her and especially thanked Lily for staying with her the entire night.
That evening, though still a little stiff, she was released into the custody of Detective Woody Hoyt of the Boston Police Department, who took her to the station to ask her some questions about what had happened to her.
They sat on opposite sides of a wooden table in a room that Emma supposed was the interrogation room. Only two glasses of water and a file lay between them. She was nervous about telling him her story.
After finishing with the formalities, filling out endless sheets of paper and small talk, he began calmly but with a slight fire in his eyes, "Now, tell me exactly what happened to you."
Emma took a deep breath. She was anxious to leave and put this all behind her. "I had just arrived at my hotel—"
"Yes, it says here you're not from Boston, but that you're from Vancouver?" He glanced down at the papers she had filled out. "What are you doing in Boston?" he asked.
"I arrived on business with a stop in Toronto." He scribbled something on a separate piece of paper and looked up to her, signaling for her to continue. "I had just arrived at my hotel and was getting settled when this guy was in my room all of a sudden—"
"What hotel were you staying at?"
"The Club Quarters on—"
"What room?"
"1006"
"You said that there was a man in the room. Was he there when you got into the room?"
"No, I was brushing my teeth and I heard the door click. I thought it was just my imagination but it, obviously, wasn't and when I finished brushing my teeth I went out in the hallway to check the door and he came up behind me—"
"Was he an employee of the hotel?"
"Not that I know of…" Emma furrowed her brow, thinking that he was asking her stupid questions.
"Did he do anything to you?"
"He stuffed little white pills down my throat with his fingers. I tried to fight back but they made me drowsy and I passed out. The last thing—"
"What's the last thing you remember in the room?"
Emma began to grow frustrated with all of his anxious interruptions, "As I was about to say, the last thing I remember is that he dragged me to the window."
He ignored her curtness, "Did you recognize the man?"
"I didn't get a good look at him in the hotel room, but the night that you came I recognized him. He was—"
"Who was he?" Detective Hoyt asked, his knuckles growing white from the pressure he applied on the desk. When Emma looked into his eyes, she saw a fiery passion that scared her a little but from which she also drew comfort.
She changed her mind on exactly what she was going to say. Instead, she settled for, "He was the man whose taxi I took on the way to the hotel from Logan Airport."
"He was the driver?"
"No, just some guy who wanted a taxi and I took it before he could get to it."
"Could you describe his face or pick it out of a picture?"
"I could draw his face for you. I know what he looks like."
"Good, do you remember anything else about him?"
"He wore all black. A ski mask too. I remember his eyes."
He drew a blank piece of paper and another pen from the file and handed them to Emma. He scribbled some more on his paper saying, "Continue with your chain of events."
Emma reflected for a moment, "That happened last night."
"Do you remember anything of the previous day?"
"Not much," she sighed, afraid that she was not being much help, "I was taken to a strange place and fed more of the white pills which fucked me up, hardcore. People came in and out of the room saying things that I didn't quite understand; something about my body, comparing me with something. I remember sleeping a lot but then my dreams coincided with what really happened. I remember that guy with the eyes, always coming in and forcing me to choke back more pills. Then I heard some shots and different sounds than the ones before—"
"Describe the sounds 'before'."
"They were happy sounds, I suppose; loud thumping music, partying, sex, some screaming, but only once in a while."
"And the new sounds?"
"Terror. After the gun shots they were screams of terror. When the man opened the door, I could see people running. They seemed afraid of him. Some stood at the door, watching to see what he would do with me. He fed me a blue pill and said…" She paused, unable to make out those fateful words that he had spoken.
Hoyt was on the edge of his seat. His eyes were wide he spoke softly to her, "What did he say? I promise I'll get him, if it's the last thing I do on earth."
There was a long pause, tears streamed down Emma's face and she looked up to the cop, her eyes pleading, "H-he said, 'T-they'll think you're dead…'" She sobbed, "'they'll think your dead and cut you up on the table and you won't be able to do a damn thing about it."
AN: too cheesy? Too non-descript? Too passionate? Not passionate enough? You tell me R&R