The Prisoner Project

THIRTEEN

I craved to see Banshees file again, in more explicit detail. Not because I needed explicit and graphic images of dead men, women and children to remind me of his brutal sins, but because I needed back story. I needed to know things about him that I could use to my own advantage. I needed to be able to take control and steer the conversation. I needed the upper hand.

Desperately.

Nevertheless, it was weird that I didn't already have access to the file seeing that I was supposed to get information out of Banshee.

I made my email brief.

If it wouldn't cost you an arm and a leg, could you email me or hand me Banshees file? Thanks. - A

That seemed enough to do the job on my part.

___

Frank pulled the glass from his lips and set it down on the table with a soft thump. He looked well, like he had taken the time to look decent for dinner. He wore a crisp white button down and a slim blue tie. His hair was tousled, and his smile was genuine. Charming, if I had the time to admire him.

I didn't question why he had moved our meeting from lunch to dinner.

"Nice tie, looks good on you." I quipped, ignoring the compliment he had given me when I sat down earlier.

I was right; what I had on was not as fancy as that outfit he wore.

"Thank you. I'm a big fan of the colour." He chuckled, smoothing the fabric of his fitted shirt.

I looked down at my dull grey jumper. Yep, pretty accurate. "I wear my favourite colours too." I joked.

If I was going to drill Frank with questions, I was going to go slow. If I rushed into it, I would say things I wasn't sure was safe to say.

Frank lifted his glass and signalled to mine. "To surviving at SSCD for an entire week." He said, eyes alight with humour.  

I gaped. It was already a week? That meant I had one mandatory week left. I knew I could ask for more time if I so wished but my time was ticking. One the one part, I was excited. I would get paid, I would leave here. I wouldn't have to see this man again. On the other, I was distraught. I would never satisfy my curiosity. I would fail the project. I would never know what the goal of the letters were. On the last thought, whoever sent the letters knew my address.

Franks voice broke me from my thought process. His hand remained lifted. "Aw cmon, don't leave me hanging."

Slowly, I lifted my glass and clinked it with his. "Wow."

Unconsciously clinking a bit too hard, the white wine from his glass slipped from his loose grip and splashed. The contents landed on his lower arm and stained his white shirt.

There was a short silence and then a "Fuck."

Dropping my water cup down quickly, I gasped. "Oh no, I'm so sorry! I'm always so clumsy and I-!"

Frank shook his head, and his face held an apologetic grin. "Ah, fuck the shirt. I've not been a big fan of it anyways. It's fine, really."

I grabbed the napkin nearest to me and reached over to help clean up. I really needed a leash in public. I was either toppling over, spilling  things or causing a mess. "Too bad. It was a really nice shirt."