“After... it happened, I went to see a therapist.” My mother had insisted. I'd gone from plotting my big plans, to hiding in my room and never leaving the house. “They told me it was a safety mechanism. The trauma kept me from recalling the details.”
Roose bent close, grabbing my hands on the table. It made me think of Silver, so I pulled away, uncomfortable with such intimacy from the detective. “Can I show you something?”
I nodded, and he opened up his folder. Sliding a paper to me, he waited anxiously. “Read that and tell me if it means anything to you.”
Bending close, I scoured the page. It contained a bunch of symbols, word and number vomit, if you asked me. “What am I looking for?”
“It's right there in the center.”
Squinting, I looked... and I saw it. “Oh!” Surprised, I started to read the sentence. It had been hidden in the mess. “It says, 'Silver spoons for some, government cock—” I choked.
The detective was watching me closely, did he want to see my reaction?
Cocks for everyone else, I finished in my head. I flashed him a nervous look. “What is this?”
“It doesn't mean anything to you?”
“It's a little vulgar,” I mumbled.
Sighing, he pulled the paper back. “It's a phrase that was hidden in the code that our tech intelligence were able to dig up after the latest hacking attempt. It's the hacker's calling card, if you ask me.”
The back of my neck was warm. “Oh,” I said simply.
Roose tucked the folder away, his tone stretching like he was begging me. “You honestly have no clue about it, huh?”
“I really don't.” I peeked at the door. “Is it alright if I go, now?”
“I wish I had the footage from that day, but it's still tied up in red-tape.” His chair squeaked as he rolled it forward, then backwards. In every sense, he was telegraphing his frustration. “Do me one more favor.”
“What is it?”
“You think you can't remember anything, but close your eyes and try. I'm counting on you. If you can't give me one tiny bit of info to help close this case... someone else could end up at gun point. And they might not be lucky enough to survive like you did.”
It was a hard dose of reality. “Alright,” I whispered. My heart was flexing over and over. “I'll try. Is there something in particular you're after?”
“Anything. His face, his voice, just anything.”
Scrunching my eyes, I breathed in—held the air. Working through my memory was like digging into a dark cave. I shoved and shoved through the thick black and stifling sand. Somewhere in my skull, there were answers.
In my mind's eye, I glimpsed a gun. It scalded, white hot and aimed at my eye.
Yes.
That was right.
He'd grabbed me, pulled me close, and then he'd whispered... he'd said... Fuck, what had he said. Why had he picked me, out of everyone in the bank that day?
My skull was trembling; everything was trembling. I clung to my own arms, hugging tight and fighting off the waves of fear. This was exactly what I'd wanted to avoid. Roose was reminding me of everything I'd buried, forcing it to claw up from the dregs of my mind, making the nightmare real again.
Those eyes...
That voice...
“Miss Willow!”
Roose's palms came down on my shoulders; I'd been about to fall from my seat. Sweat made my shirt cling to me, each breath coming faster and faster.
“Are you okay?” he asked, helping me sit upright.
Firmly, I shoved him away. “Yes, I'm fine.” My smile was frail, I knew he wasn't convinced. “This interview is over.”
“But Miss—”
“It's over. I can't do this.”
Frowning, he moved so I could stand. I held the table, trying to make it clear I was alright without his support. “Please,” he said. “I need you to look over some photos. I need answers, clues, anything to help me catch this man before he does this again.”
Again.
Laralie's words came back to me. “Did he manage to really do it, hack another bank?”
Roose flinched, considering my question. “No, it was just an attempt through their system. But I'm positive it's the same guy as five years ago.”
I was dizzy; I fought not to sit down again. That man is really back?
Even though he was still swimming in my vision, I looked at him. “Detective,” I said slowly. “Let me give you my cell number. If I think of anything, I'll tell you.”
He puffed up, handing me his pen so I could scribble it on the notebook. “Thank you. Here, my card.” He slid it from his pocket, offering it to me. “If you don't call me first, I'll reach out to you. If that's okay?”
“Yeah, of course.”
His grin was polite, but I knew I'd disappointed him. I would have felt worse about that, except my stomach was still knotting and twisting.
When Roose left the conference room, I darted behind him, hurrying the opposite way towards the restroom. I was on the verge of being sick, the back of my throat itching.
Stumbling against the sink, I spun the knob. Water rushed out, my palms cupping it, splashing my sickly pale skin. In the mirror, I saw how drained I looked. It was as if I'd seen a ghost.