Prologue: Fly With Me
The plain, off-white interior of the room is perhaps meant to be calming but, if anything, it only makes me more restless.
A door to my left pushes open and a short, stocky man walks in, a plain file in his hand. Pulling a chair opposite me back, he sets himself down with a grunt and opens the file carefully, taking his time as he spreads its contents, how he likes it, across the metal table-top.
Sighing, I twiddle my thumbs. When he shows no sign of finishing up any time soon, I cough meaningfully and the man across from me looks up, eyebrows raised so that creases appear across his bald forehead. “Ms. Calypso Sprile, do you know why you are here?” He moves his hands in front of himself so that he can interlock his fingers.
“Might it have anything to do with Paris? Or perhaps it was New York." I lift one corner of my mouth in a slight smirk to mask the twisting that is happening in my stomach. For a moment, my thoughts flash to Brandon, and I wonder where he is right now.
"You're getting closer to the answer, Ms. Sprile. Would you like to try again or shall I enlighten you?" The question is evidently rhetorical, because he doesn't wait for me to reply. "Were you aware that it is illegal to throw a ball at someone's head in the state of New York?"
"The man was asking for it," I point out reasonably, "It was a softball anyway. It's not like I could have killed him."
"The possibility of his death is irrelevant. It is still illegal."
"So you put me in an interrogation room?"
"There were certain... other aspects that landed you in this room."
I cross my arms over my chest stubbornly and quirk an eyebrow, "Where is Brandon?"
"Mr. Nickson is in another room speaking to another representative." The man across from me leans back in his chair, "Would you mind telling me just exactly what you were doing for the past three months?"
I smirk and mimic the man's posture. "Where would you like me to begin?"
"At the beginning would be nice."