The Smallest Things (A Short Story)

Interrogations

In the small country of the United Kingdom, in the suburbs of Manchester lay a room in a house with the sleepily opened eyes of a ruined woman.
For the first few moments when she woke up, Lilliath didn't recall the awful incident she had lived through the previous day as one does upon awaking. Out of habit, she sat up and fumbled for her cell phone, blearily pressed the home button. An email notification from Sarah's primary school was the first to pop up. Her fingers unlocked the phone and she opened the email. Her sleepy mind thought it was probably a monthly newsletter or something equally as dull. The email read as follows:
Dear Mrs. Darrow,
Your daughter, Miss Sarah Darrow, did not show up for her Fifth Year class and we would like to ensure it was with parental permission--
But that was as far as Lilliath got into the letter before a cold dread invaded her body and her phone slipped through her grip, crashing onto the floor and smashing the plastic screen. At once, her mind open the floodgates and everything came crashing through. Her daughter. The hospital visit. The crisp white lab coat Dr. Stoll wore. Martha's concerned gaze. She froze as waves of emotions washed over her. Lilliath trembled, tears threatening to spill over and she forced her mind away from the image of Sarah's paralyzed body that swam in her vision each time she closed her eyes. She concentrated on something she didn't really care about in the past, her clothing. Lilliath looked down at what she was wearing with disdain. She hadn't bothered to undress before submitting to a sweet slumber so her russet coloured blouse was wrinkled and covered in watermarks. It reminded her forcefully of blood so she wretched the hated silk over her head and threw it into a corner of the room. Her jeans were in an okay state so she left them on and maneuvered her way to the closet, grabbing the first items her fingers came into contact with. She slipped the black t-shirt and deep blue hoodie on and exchanged her work pumps for ratty purple sneakers. Lilliath glimpsed her reflection in the mirror as she passed and she stopped. She looked, as bluntly as possible, awful. Her hair was frizzy and several strands were stuck to the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were bloodshot and there was smears of mascara underneath her eyes. Her skin had a sallow sickly tinge to it. She removed the hairs, put her dark locks into a ponytail with the hairband still wrapped around her wrist. She fruitlessly rubbed at the black marks surrounding her eyes. Giving up, Lilliath swung around and saw her phone on the floor beside her bed. She walked over to it and picked it up, muttering a quiet curse when she saw the cracked screen. Undaunted, she stuffed it into her pocket and headed for the open door. Lilliath nearly tripped over something on the divide between her bedroom and the hallway. It was Bunny, the ratty stuffed rabbit Sarah had since birth. It was a present from Lilliath's elderly neighbor. Bunny was originally a soft white but time and a refusal to wash it from the young girl had left Bunny's fur cloudy grey. That made no difference to Sarah however, and she carried Bunny everywhere with her. Lilliath still expected to hear the joyful, boisterous voice of her baby girl rounding the corner like she did yesterday.
"Mornin' Mummy! What's for breakfast?"
Lilliath, hesitantly, picked the rabbit off the floor and pressed it into her face. It smelled of Sarah and her favorite strawberry shampoo. Clutching the rabbit with an arm, she made it through the hallway, down the stairs, inside the garage and into the front seat of her deep blue car. Bunny was unceremoniously tossed into the passanger seat. 
The ride to the hospital was a blur. She remembered the way there well, Sarah was a sickly child the first few months of her life when she still lived in her awful flat. As a distraction attempt, she turned on the radio. Someone on BBC News was droning on about a recent plane crash and on whatever the hell Obama was doing about terrorist rumors. It became mindless background noise, joining her ringing cell phone and the idiot yelling "put on your fuckíng blinkers!". Lilliath simply blocked it all out.
At the receptionist's desk, she was waiting on the obese secretary who had a Nokia phone to her ear and a manicured red claw held up whenever Lilliath looked like she was going to interrupt. Lilliath felt like tearing the stupid machine away from her ear and giving the bítch a well deserved slap to the face when a gentle hand touched her shoulder.  She flinched hard, nearly dropping Bunny, and her gaze snapped to the man in a police uniform who promptly removed the hand. He looked young, baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. Or perhaps they were the jowls of the thirty-something man who had that too many doughnuts. Dirty blond hair peeked out from the police hat he had on his head. Shock was clearly registered in his muddy brown eyes but he recovered quickly, speaking in a quiet tone.
"Madam, are you-" he glanced at the paper clutched in his hand, "Lilliath Darrow?" He pronounced it Lee-ah-lith (A/N: it's actually Lil-ith) but she nodded anyway. He seemed relieved at the conformation, "Scotland Yard. I need you to come with me." His voice was higher pitched then she expected. The police officer started down the nearby hallway. Lilliath glanced at the secretary once more before following the officer. Her gaze burned into Lilliath's, a shocking ocean of burning hate. It sent a shock of fear through her system. The copper's footsteps were quick, yet she noticed, out of habit, the slight difference in his gait. There was a tiny limp, almost invisible. He was unknowingly favouring his right leg. She let her mulling over whether it was just the way be grew up walking, maybe surgery or perhaps injury to his hip that caused the defect distract her from Sarah. After a few turns, the young man put his free hand on the handle and twisted it open. Lilliath noticed a thin wedding band on it. The door opened to reveal a plain white room with two large windows, a table and two chairs dominating the central space and a second man in an identical uniform to the blond officer in the corner. He was older, smooth grey hair parted neatly and smile lines around his eyes. He was heavier too, with a large potbelly and thick, stubbly fingers that were currently clasped behind his back. He watched the skinny woman, looking all in the world as a guilt and anguish stricken mother. She stepped forewords as the younger detective closed the door behind them. He gestured a hand to the plastic chair closest to the door,
"Please take a seat, ma'am." Lilliath obeyed his command, clutching a stuffed bunny to her chest. Once seated, her head swiveled to take in the CCTV camera in the upper right corner and its blinking red light. She looked back at at him. "I am Detective Inspector Ray Morrison, and this is my partner Detective Sargent Timothy Whiller. You can call me Ray." He said, staring into her pitched face. She nodded, "What am I doing here?" the woman asked, caressing the rabbit in her arm. Ray sighed, drawing out the chair on the other end of the table. "I will get to that, Ms. Darrow. I am going to go over the events as I understand them, alright?" Another nod. "At approximately 1400, Sarah collapsed in your home office. You arrived home at 1410 and found her at 1412 where you called emergency services to assist. You told them your name, address and that your daughter needed medical attention. They arrived at 1415 and she arrived at the ER at 1425 where she underwent immediate care. Is this all correct?" Ray asked gently. Lilliath just twitched her head to indicate its accuracy.  He continued, "Where you come in, is a little more complicated." DI Morrison produced a clear plastic baggie with a half chewed wad of gum in the bottom left corner. "This is the source of her predicimemt, Ms. Darrow. To recap, this came from a packet in your office drawer and each of the other eleven sticks contained .0025 mL of <poison>.  And it was poison. Little known, effective, and with clear symptoms. Enough to kill someone, but at her size the effects were much faster. Since this is an extremely dangerous substance it has been brought to the attention of Scotland Yard. Do you have anything to say?" While he had been speaking DS Whiller had brought her a steaming paper mug of black decaffeinated coffee and she took a small sip before putting it on the table. Her gaze was surprisingly steady as she answered, "Have you checked my current status and level of employment?" She'd avoided the question entirely, but the response would soon be entirely clear. Lilliath picked the cup up for another drink, but her hazel eyes never left his face. Confusion crossed Ray's face and he beckoned to Timothy to bring him her case file. She watched as he messily rifled through the papers until he found the one with her personal information. She raised an eyebrow as he found the name of her employer and his face paled a shade or two. In a simple question, she had taken control of the room and became a shell of the woman that had been lost at two pm the day before. "Does this answer your question?" Lilliath asked, looking distastefully at her coffee. "Yes madam, sorry." Ray muttered. Lilliath pushed her chair back, holding Bunny with one hand and the cup in the other, "I am going to see my daughter now, thanks for the coffee." And with that, she stood up and left the room, leaving the two detectives to ponder on her absence.