Chapter 2 – Police Lineup
1137 Words
“Just relax, Emerie," Detective Reyes said as he led her down the sterile hallway of the precinct. “We've got him. Today's just formality."
She didn't reply. Her fingers gripped the sleeve of her coat like it might anchor her to the floor.
A young officer opened the door to the observation room. Inside, a large pane of mirrored glass stretched across the wall. Behind it: six men, each standing silently under harsh fluorescent lights.
“Take your time," Reyes said.
Emerie stepped forward. One of them had his right arm bandaged—Number 3.
Her breath caught.
“That's him."
“You're sure?"
She nodded. “The eyes. I'll never forget them."
Reyes turned to the tech. “Mark Number 3. Let's move."
She kept staring, but the man didn't blink. He looked straight into the mirror—*through* the mirror—as if he could see her.
His lips moved.
*You'll remember me.*
She stepped back, heartbeat spiking.
“Can he see me?"
“No," Reyes said. “It's one-way glass."
“Then why does it feel like he can?"
Reyes watched her for a moment. “You're safe, Emerie."
---
**Two days later. Press conference.**
A swarm of journalists packed the station lobby. Flashbulbs went off like fireworks.
“…and thanks to Ms. Caldwell's bravery and quick thinking," the police chief was saying, “a dangerous repeat offender has been brought to justice."
Emerie stood beside Reyes at the podium, eyes fixed on a distant corner. Her name was trending. *Hero Architect Fights Back*. Her inbox flooded with interview requests. A talk show even offered to fly her out.
She wanted to scream.
A reporter shouted, “Any word on the attacker's identity?"
Reyes stepped in. “Still confirming. He used an alias. So far, prints match a string of unsolved robberies across three states."
“Why was he out on the street?" someone called.
“We're looking into that," Reyes said, tight-lipped.
Emerie leaned closer to him after the conference. “He's done this before?"
“Yes," Reyes said. “Same pattern. Remote roads, solo drivers. But you're the first to fight back. The others… weren't so lucky."
Her stomach turned.
---
**Later that night.**
Emerie sat on the couch in sweatpants, the TV glowing softly. Her fiancé, Blake, brought her tea.
“You know what's crazy?" he said, setting the mug down. “I think you actually *scared* him."
She blinked. “I didn't feel brave. I felt… feral."
“Whatever it was, it worked."
He sat beside her. “You okay?"
She didn't answer right away. “He didn't flinch at the sentencing. Didn't shout, didn't cry. Just looked at me."
Blake brushed her hair back. “He's gone now, babe. Locked up forever."
“No," she murmured. “Sentenced to death."
He froze. “You didn't tell me that."
“I didn't want to talk about it."
A beat of silence passed.
“You did the right thing," Blake said firmly. “He almost killed you."
Emerie nodded slowly. “But why do I feel like it's not over?"
---
**Jail visitation room.**
Antony sat behind the glass, wearing an orange jumpsuit. A public defender placed a file on the metal table.
“They're offering a deal," she said.
He didn't look at her. His gray eyes stayed fixed on the corner of the wall.
“You plead guilty, waive appeal rights, and they'll let you choose between life and lethal injection."
Still silent.
“They've got your prints, Antony. On the knife. On the car. This is open-and-shut."
He turned his head slowly. “Tell me about her."
“The woman you attacked?"
He nodded once.
“She identified you in a lineup. Testified at the grand jury. She's airtight."
Antony's jaw flexed.
The lawyer sighed. “They'll paint you as a sociopath. Might as well get ahead of it."
He leaned forward. “She's not like the others."
“The others?"
His voice dropped. “The ones who screamed and begged. She fought like she'd trained for it."
The lawyer frowned. “Antony—"
“She wasn't scared of dying," he said. “She was scared of *me*."
The lawyer looked at him carefully. “You're not helping your case."
He leaned back, eyes glazed. “She's the one who'll remember."
---
**Back at Emerie's apartment.**
Rain tapped against the windows. Emerie sat at her desk, sketching absentmindedly in a notepad. The outline of a house appeared. Tall, narrow windows. High fences.
She ripped the page out and tossed it in the trash.
Her phone buzzed.
A news alert: **“Trial Begins Tomorrow for Highway Attacker."**
Blake peeked over her shoulder. “You ready?"
“No," she said honestly.
He kissed the top of her head. “Want me to go with you?"
She hesitated. “No. I think I need to do this alone."
---
**Day one of the trial.**
The courtroom was packed.
Reporters lined the back row. Victim support counselors hovered nearby. The bailiff called everyone to rise.
Emerie sat, hands clasped in her lap. Antony was led in by two guards.
She swallowed.
No cuffs.
No mask.
He wore a dull suit. The sling over his injured arm had been replaced with a brace. His gray eyes scanned the room and stopped on her.
He didn't smile.
Didn't scowl.
Just stared.
---
**Cross-examination.**
“Ms. Caldwell, do you recognize the man seated at the defense table?"
“Yes."
“How do you know it's the same man who attacked you?"
“His voice. His build. His eyes."
“You injured him during the struggle?"
“Yes."
“How?"
“I stabbed his shoulder with an umbrella and slammed the car door on his arm."
The defense attorney raised an eyebrow. “And yet you say he didn't physically strike you?"
“No. But he had a knife. He ordered me to drive."
“Do you think he intended to kill you?"
A pause.
“Yes," she said. “Eventually."
---
**Outside the courthouse, later.**
Emerie exhaled as cameras flashed again. Reyes walked beside her, shielding her from the questions.
“You were solid in there," he said.
“I didn't feel solid."
“You didn't flinch once. He did."
She looked up at him. “Really?"
Reyes nodded. “When you said, 'Yes, eventually,' he looked down."
Emerie clutched her coat tighter. “Is it bad that I feel guilty?"
“No," Reyes said. “It means you're not like him."
She glanced over her shoulder. The courthouse doors remained shut.
“I don't know why I still feel watched."
---
**Inside the holding cell.**
Antony sat on the bench, unmoving.
A guard passed, muttering, “You're screwed, man."
Antony didn't answer.
Instead, he closed his eyes.
And pictured her face.
- Writer
