Chapter 11
1180 Words
Doors slam open. Boots hit concrete. Fast.
“Hands where we can see them."
I don’t move straight away.
“Hands. Now.”
Closer this time.
I push the door open. Cold hits again. Harder now. Hands on me before I’m fully out. Rough.
“I’m not—”
A hand shoves me forward. Cuts me off.
“Hands.” Flat. Final.
I lift them. Slow. One of them grabs my wrist. Twists. Sharp.
“On the car.” They push me into it.
Metal cold through my shirt.
“Name.”
I sigh. My breath clouds in front of me. “Indigo.”
“Full name.”
I don’t answer straight away.
Pressure on my arm. More this time.
"Campbell."
They repeat it. Like they’re confirming something they already know. Another set of hands. Female.
Search.
Quick. Efficient.
Too familiar.
The officer turns out my pockets. Takes the keys. Pulls out my wallet. Opens it up. lets out a slow whistle. She takes the cash out and shows it to the officer beside her.
"Drinks on me tomorrow, boys." She pockets it.
“Check the car.”
One of them steps back. Looks into the car. Longer than needed.
I don’t move.
“Step back.”
They don’t mean it. They pull me back.
Cuffs come out. Metal click.
For a second—I think about running. Don’t. No point.
They pull my arms behind me. The cuffs go on tight. Too tight.
“Relax,” one of them mutters.
Doesn’t loosen them.
I turn my head. Try to see into the car.
Another officer’s already inside. Gloves on. Moving things.
“What is this?” I say.
No one answers. They take their time. One of them pulls something out.
Brown plastic wrapped around something tight. About the size of a brick. He doesn’t show me. Just looks at it. Then at me.
“Right.”
Something shifts in my chest. Not panic. Something colder.
“Walk.”
One hand stays on my arm the whole time—tight enough to remind me who was in control.
The back door opens. A hand presses lightly between my shoulder blades and I step in. The seat is hard plastic. No give. My wrists are still pulled tight behind me, the metal biting a little deeper now that I’m sitting. I slide into the seat properly. No point resisting now.
The door shuts. Solid. Final.
The engine starts.
No one speaks for a while.
The cage between us rattles slightly as we pull away, a low vibration that settles into the metal of the car. The lights from outside smear across the inside—blue, red, blue again—then fade as we turn off the main road.
I shift my wrists slightly. The cuffs don’t move. Just press harder into the bone.
“Comfortable?” one of them says from the front.
I don’t answer.
They laugh to themselves.
The city moves past in pieces. Streetlights. Closed shops. The occasional car slowing as we pass. No sirens now. Just the engine and the quiet hum of tires on wet road.
My breath fogs faintly in front of me. The cold is harder to ignore now.
One of them glances back once. Not checking on me—checking I’m still there.
I meet his eyes.
He looks away first.
We pull in without warning. The station’s lights are harsh, flat. Too bright for the hour.
The car stops. For a second, nothing. Then the door opens.
“Out.”
My legs feel it more than I expect. Not weak. Just… slower.
They don’t grab me as tight this time. Just enough to guide. Inside is warmer. Dry air. Fluorescent lights humming overhead. Everything looks cleaner than it feels.
“Through here.”
A desk. A chair. Paperwork already waiting.
I sit when they tell me to.
One of them reads something out. Name. Time. Location. Words stacking into something official. I don’t respond.
“Stand.”
I do.
They turn me slightly, one hand on my arm again. Not rough. Just firm.
“Hands.”
I bring them forward. The cuffs come off with a short click. For a second, the relief is sharp. Then—
“Other side.”
Cold metal again. Wrists in front this time. Looser. Not by much. They move me to another bench.
“Shoes.”
I slip them off. Slide them forward.
“Empty your pockets.”
There’s nothing left to take. They check anyway. Hands quick. Efficient. Routine.
“Step up.”
A scale. Cold metal under bare feet. Numbers called out. Written down. Then back off.
“Sit.”
I sit. A new officer this time. Different voice.
“Hands on the table.”
I place them down.
He takes one. Turns it over. Presses each finger down, one by one, onto the glass. Firm. Too firm. The skin flattens under the pressure, ridges spreading, leaving a dark print behind. He rolls each finger slowly, edge to edge. Doesn’t rush. Watches the screen, not me. Thumb last. Same pressure. Same roll.
“Other hand.”
When he’s done, he wipes the glass with a cloth. Quick. Clean.
My fingers feel slightly numb.
“Look here.”
A camera. Flash.
Once. Then again from the side.
“Other side.”
Flash.
“Sit still.”
Another room. Smaller. Sterile. A tray already laid out. Gloves snap on. Latex.
“Arm.”
I hold it out.
She ties the band tight around my upper arm. Tighter than it needs to be.
Taps the inside of my elbow. Waits. The vein rises.
Alcohol swab. Cold. Sharp.
Then the needle.
In.
A dull pressure, then a pull.
Blood fills the vial slowly. Dark. Steady.
She switches tubes without looking at me.
Second vial.
Then a third.
Band off.
Cotton pressed down.
“Hold that.”
I do.
She tapes it without asking.
“Open.”
I don’t react.
“Open your mouth.”
I do.
A swab, rough against the inside of my cheek. Left. Then right. Slow. Deliberate.
She drops it into a tube. Seals it.
“Head down.”
I tilt slightly. She takes a small section of hair. Twists it between her fingers.
Then pulls. Sharp. Quick. Enough to sting.
She drops it into a bag. Seals that too.
“All done.”
Back out into the main area. Same lights. Same hum. They sit me down again. This time in a different chair. Heavier. Bolted to the floor.
“Wait here.”
They leave.
The door doesn’t close all the way. There are voices outside. Low. Indistinct.
Paper moving. Phones ringing somewhere further down.
Time stretches.
No clock.
No sense of how long.
My wrists rest against the edge of the table. The metal’s colder now. There’s a faint mark where the cuffs were. Red. Already fading. I hear footsteps. Different this time—slower, measured.
The door opens again. Someone different. Not a cop—not from here. His suit says enough. He steps in, and shuts the door behind him.
- Writer
