The Supposed Terrorist

Chapter 3

I would have liked to say something like 'the two days passed in a blink' or something, but in reality, they didn't. They passed in an excruciatingly slow manner, with every blink feeling tortuous. While I was used to the apparently bland food or uninspiring atmosphere, I was definitely not used to hope and waiting. 

But everything came to an end at some point and so did the two days. The third day half-passed and I only sighed knowingly.

I had spent the time glimpsing at the clock after each hour and then at the door of the station. This was to be expected. Sure, his confidence had been endearing, but the acceptance of bail plea on such a huge thing? It was hard. Even the cops knew that. Especially the cops. Heavens forbid they bit back their sharp remarks ever.

Artem had asked me to do one job– to remain silent. He had asked me to not even think about saying anything to them or consider making a statement in his absence. It was a hard job, mind you.

As the clock hit 5 pm, I had myself ready for another night in this place. Until, 17 minutes later, quick footsteps could be heard. Artem Wing entered the station, in his neatly ironed black suit, and went directly to officer Oberoi's desk.

"Get her out," he said, jerking his head to my cell.

"Wing, I had love to, but her bail plea hasn't been accepted."

Artem pulled out a two-page document from under the lapels of his coat and slid it to Oberoi's side of desk with two fingers. "It's the order of the court."

Oberoi lazily read the pages and cursed under his breath. "Landon! Bring Wayland from the cell."

"And," Artem added, tapping his finger at the lower half of the sheet. "her belongings."

Oberoi scratched his forehead and yelled again. "And her belongings, locker 4."

Landon, his junior, unlocked the cell and let me out. He was back with my belongings by the time I paced to the desk. Oberoi scanned through them, disinterested, and shoved it to my side. I picked the two transparent bags up.

"Well, let's go," Artem said.

"Bunch of heartless scoundrels," I cursed, as soon as I had stepped out of the station.

"Did you say anything to them?"

"No, but dang it. They left no chance to provoke, it's like they wanted me to be at their throats," I said irritably.

"Probably," Artem replied. "I have known Oberoi for quite some time now. If he thinks someone is a culprit, he leaves no room for doubt or second thoughts."

I pulled my phone and wallet out of the plastic bag and turned it on. 40 percent.

"When did you last have it with you?" Artem inquired.

"When the police were questioning me more than half a month back. They made me go through it and questioned why it was completely empty."

"Completely empty?"

"It doesn't have anything. No contacts. No photos. No texts. Like newer than a brand new phone. I don't know why, honestly. Part of the charm."

"Give it to me once." Artem held his hand out. I gave the phone to him. While he typed, I couldn't help but notice the watch on his wrist. It stood out amongst everything else he wore. The watch looked ages old and something that a teenage boy would wear. It had a black dial and an olive leather strap, which bore noticeable creases from being worn a fair lot. The glass on the dial had a few scratches.

"Here," he said. "It's not empty now."

The contacts screen was open and his name was saved. Abruptly, I stopped walking.