THE UNDYING | TWILIGHT

5. Questions and Answers

Dahlia slumped forward in the creaky metal chair, shivering when her chin touched the cold aluminum table for the first time. As the minutes slowly ticked by, she sat perfectly still and silently watched the bright, flickering florescent light bounce off the table's shiny surface. 

It's like the sun almost, she thought. I feel like I'm trapped in the sun. Everything is bright, white, and reflective. I can feel my skin burning already. What a terrible room.

When she heard the door open, Dahlia didn't respond in the slightest, not even when she heard the chair across from her screech against the floor. The noise was so loud it gave her a headache.

"Good morning," said a man. Dahlia could smell the tobacco smoke on his breath as soon as he opened his mouth; it was a sharp, musty odor that lingered around like a fog. "I'm Inspector Moretti. What's your name?"

Dahlia didn't move, and she didn't speak.

"I'm sure these past few hours have been very overwhelming for you," he went on despite her, having only a mop of greasy dirty blonde hair to talk to. "Have you been given something to eat yet?"

Still no response.

The inspector shifted uncomfortably in the silence. "Sit up, please."

Slowly, Dahlia sat up in her chair, but her shoulders remained hunched forward as if an invisible string was pulling them toward the table. The inspector resisted the urge to push her shoulders back himself. Instead, he just sat a little straighter.

"This would be a lot easier if you would just cooperate," he said. "I want to make this as painless as possible for you. So if you would please just answer my questions."

"A light is buzzing," Dahlia abruptly stated as she stared up at the ceiling.

The inspector was taken aback by her sudden response. "It does that sometimes ... something must be loose up there. Pay no mind to it."

"It's bothering me. Fix it."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he answered, making Dahlia frown with frustration. "Now, let's get back to the question. What is your name?"

"The sound reminds me of flies. I hate flies. They spoil everything."

"Yes, flies are pests. Please, answer the question." He waited for her response, and waited and waited, impatiently drumming his fingers against the table. "You have no name, no identification, so you might as well not even exist. Now, I want to help you, but first you have to help me. Understand?"

"I'll tell you the same thing I told the others: I don't need your help. I'm fine. Can I go now?"

The inspector pinched the bridge of his nose with his index and middle fingers. "No, you can't."

"Then can you fix the light?"

"No!" he shouted, losing his temper for just a moment. Catching himself, he took a deep breath and calmly said, "No, I can't, not until you answer my questions."

Dahlia sunk into her seat and folded her arms over her chest. "Then I guess we're done."

Biting back his anger, the inspector reluctantly stood to leave. "I guess so. You're not helping yourself, you know. If you were smart, you'd just tell us what we want to know."

Well, I've never been very smart, Dahlia thought, but she refused to speak. They could keep her there as long as they wanted, even send her to prison for the rest of her life. It didn't matter. She was never going to talk.

But she did want to silence that buzzing light.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. That was all she heard, and she started to squirm anxiously and itch at her skin.