Awoken

Chapter 2

I had just finished tidying away our plates from the morning when the phone rang. Digging it out of my pocket, I was optimistic that it might be my father calling to apologise or at least explain.

But I didn’t recognise the number on the screen, it wasn’t a London number.

“Can I speak to Miss Ana-Lucia Brown please?” asked a deep voice.

“That’s me,” I said brightly.

“This is Police Detective Hartley.”

I abandoned the kitchen and headed to my room so I could give the call my whole attention. I fought to supress the uneasiness bubbling in my stomach. Nobody likes hearing the police.

“How can I help?” I asked, trying and failing to hide the quivering in my voice.

“I’m really sorry to bother you, but we need you to visit the local station,” he said before giving me the address of where to go.

“Can I enquire what this is all about?” I said.

The police officer paused.

“It’s not something you want to discuss over the phone Miss Brown,” he said hesitantly.

And with that my hands started shaking again.

I ended the call but stood frozen in the middle of my room.

I hadn’t ever committed a crime that I could remember. I’d witnessed a small car crash recently and my details had been taken as a witness but I didn’t think that warranted such a serious phone call.

John drifted past my open door.

“Hey, Ana, you ok?” he asked, as he took note of my expression.

I shook my head and sank onto my bed.

“What’s wrong? You’re really pale. You’re not gonna faint or anything? Maybe you should lie down,” he said, his concern gushing out in a torrent questions.

I waved a hand at him to shut him up and he fell quiet, waiting for me to speak. I told him about the phone call.

“Shit,” he replied.

“I suppose I better get going,” I said. No point in delaying something that needed done.

“Want me to come with you?” he asked.

I considered his offer for a minute. Anybody else and I would have thought they wanted to come along just to be nosey and to pick up a good bit of gossip. But I looked at my friend and saw genuine concern.

We arrived at the small police station 40 minutes later. The building looked shabby; it’s worn carpets and grubby walls echoing the faces of its tired looking employees who herded people through the busy reception area. We sat, huddled in the corner, watching as police officers led petty pickpockets and disorderly drunks through the booking process.

At least no one had slapped handcuffs on me.

I was beginning to worry we had been forgotten about when a dishevelled, middle-age man dodged his way through the waiting area, struggling with his pile of paperwork and a Styrofoam cup.

He led us to an interview room and ushered us into hard plastic chairs on the opposite side of the desk from his own. He spent longer than what I thought necessary arranging his document wallets and wasted more time looking at some notes before looking up at me as if I had only just arrived.

“Miss Brown, thank you for coming in at such short notice. Usually someone would have come out to see you at home but it’s been one of those days.”