Stuck in Time | #OpenNovellaContest2020 | Round Two

8.

I watched as Inspector Marc Jefferson made his way into the front gate and walked up the path towards the house.

I was sitting on the sofa under the window in the parlour, feet up on the cushion and my hands resting on the top of the seat. I knew what questions he was going to ask, as he should, and what I was going to say to him. Why did I lie? Why did I report the body later than I actually found it?

I wasn't as afraid of the law catching me as I was of losing a friend.

When he pressed the doorbell, I turned around and sat straight on the sofa, slipped my legs down, hands tight together on my knees, and my heart beating faster than usual in anticipation.

"Keep calm," Iris had advised me earlier that morning, just before she had left for work. "I know you can do this. My mother will be there as a witness. I wish I could stay behind, too, but I have an important meeting to attend first thing after I arrive there. I'll be back as soon as I can to check on you and stay by your side. Okay?"

I had nodded in response and, after a few more such encouraging words and a warm embrace, she had left.

Now, I saw Mrs White walk pass the parlour to open the door.

"Welcome, Inspector! Good morning!" her cheery voice chirped.

"Good morning, Mrs White," greeting Marc in response, his voice duller than usual. "I came here about that thing we discussed. To see Patricia one more time before escorting her to the station. Has she gone to work?"

"I – of course, I remember. Please come in." A pause. "And no, she called in sick; she's right here at home."

The door closed then, with an air of finality. I couldn't help shuddering.

There were a few more exchange of words – Mrs White offered a glass of water – but, Marc insisted on seeing me.

'He sounds serious,' I thought. I covered my face with my hands, my head bent forward. 'What have I done? Why couldn't I just have told him the entire truth, instead of making him believe whatever he wanted? After what he believes about me, how hard would it be to believe that I'm actually a time-traveller?'

I felt a presence in the room with me and peeked out through my fingers – and there he stood, his eyes searching for me; when finally found me, I knew that talking to him now would be very hard. I gulped. I needed to do it, though. It was finally time my good friend knew the truth about me.

~*~

"How are you?" asked Jefferson.

I blinked at him. I couldn't believe this was the first thought that popped into his mind. Now that I snapped instantly out of my fear, I realised he had a concerned crease on his forehead as he gazed at me.

As though reading my mind, he added, "And no, don't think that I'm letting you off the hook just because I'm your friend. Not without you telling me the whole truth. Not if I'm not convinced."

I could feel a hint of nausea trying to come up from my stomach and I tried to push it down with another gulp.

"I... I'm doing OK, thanks," I replied. Suddenly remembering that he was still standing, I got to my feet. "Er, good morning, Inspector."

The man sighed. "Good morning. And no, I'm here as your friend. The guys at the station don't know I'm paying you a visit."

Somehow, this felt like a relief to me, though I should really be feeling guilty. I nodded. "T-thanks." My manners came back to me as the cloud of worry dissipated and I added, "Please, have a seat."