TOUCH

Chapter 2. Grace - The Light Before the Knight

Grace sighed deeply as she searched the directory methodically, looking for the floor that would house the interrogator, named Bruce Collins.

If it were possible to hate her husband any further than she did already, this would be that time. Forced into a psychological evaluation to determine if she were mentally fit to request a divorce was the epitome of betrayal for her. How could the man she had loved and bore a child with do this to her? He was not her husband though and he had not been since he accepted that job at the Centre for Disease Creation.

Fingering the guide tentatively, she located the floor of despair and headed for the elevator. Checking in at the reception area, Grace huffed in disgust at the situation she was in.

The office, under any normal circumstances, would have been particularly pleasing. Extremely sanitary, not a speck of dust in sight and her hands twitched underneath the lace gloves at the mere thought of it. Reaching into her handbag, she selected the rose scented hand sanitiser and after applying replaced a clean set of gloves. The door to her torture room opened.

'Good morning, my name is Bruce Collins and we will be chatting today, would you please come this way.'

He was exceptionally tall and Grace had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. At a mere five foot, this was a regular occurrence. If it were not for the fact she made her own clothing, shopping would be a nightmare. Why designers thought all women had giraffe legs was beyond her.

Walking into the room, she selected the sofa with its plush cushions encircling the dark leather frame and sat down sighing in exasperation. This was ridiculous.

'Something wrong, Mrs. Knight?'

Was he for real? The polite, unsure smile that followed prevented her from telling him exactly what she thought and she closed her eyes momentarily, picturing the lake house. The only place she ever went to psychologically, in times of distress. The fact that Keith was always there was something that immensely displeased her and she wrinkled her nose in distaste before preparing to answer the gigantic man in front of her.

'Nothing, can we begin please?' Surveying his office, she admired the large oak desk, the centrepiece of the room. Scattered around were a mixture of family photos, she guessed and simplistic art. The whole room was very minimalist, perfect for cleaning and her hands twitched at the thought.

'Of course. Tell me about yourself, Grace, what are your hobbies?'

'Well.' Slightly taken aback by the line of questioning, she cleared her voice and folded the crease appearing in her skirt straight. 'I design dolls, clothing, and accessories. My daughter is my world and I like to clean.' She responded with as much normality as she could. There was nothing wrong with her and the ridiculousness of this moment was grating on the last nerve she had left for Keith.

'Your husband working at the Centre for Disease Control must have been a strain on you all. Such a high profile, intensive position. I can imagine a lot of hours were involved.'

Grace snorted unintentionally and cleared her voice. 'My husband works at the Centre for Disease Creation and I am neither crazy nor depressed nor any other condition that you want to label me with in order to make yourself feel better. There is nothing noble about what my husband does and he has not been my husband for a very long time. Is there any way we can hurry this along? I have much better things to do than talk about that man.'

She knew she had said too much, but whom was she kidding? This was a complete waste of time and she had wasted far too much on the hologram of a man, who had not been her Keith for as long as she could remember.