not be able to point out the man who had attacked her.
“It was dark,
and it all happened so…so fast…that I…I don’t want to screw this up.”
“Don’t worry.
Please. Have a seat. You won’t screw it up,” Trudeau said, and then he gave a
quick nod to the police officer standing in the doorway, who left, closing the
door behind him.
Claire was
about to say she was fine standing up, but the thought of sitting down was
suddenly quite attractive, so she seated herself in the chair furthest from the
mirror. After a few minutes waiting in silence, the lights went on in the other
room, and the lights in the observation room dimmed. A chill slithered up Claire’s
back as she waited for whatever would happen next. She took a moment to study
the empty room.
The walls were
dull white, and the furthest one had several black lines running the length of
it with increments of height marked with black tape or paint. There was also a
thick black line painted on the concrete floor, obviously to mark where the
lineup suspects were supposed to stand when they came in.
She
chuckled—out of nervousness—when the song “Toe the Line,” popped into her head.
“Love isn’t
always on time.”
“Just be a few
minutes, now,” Trudeau said, and Claire nodded. She shifted in her chair,
hoping to get comfortable, but she found it impossible to relax.
“Will they be
able to see or hear me?” she asked.
“Don’t worry.”
Trudeau’s voice came from behind. A faint reflection of his face drifted across
the glass like a pale, floating balloon. “It’s always a little intimidating,
but they can’t see through the one-way mirror, and this room’s perfectly
soundproofed. They can only hear us if we turn on the microphone.” He indicated
the microphone near the mirror.
Claire nodded
and cleared her throat, which by now was desert dry. She wished now that she
had accepted Trudeau’s offer of some water.
This is
fucking serious…I have to get this right , she reminded herself. It wasn’t a
lark, and it wasn’t a TV show. This was real life, and a man’s future depended
on what she said and did in the next few minutes.
The door in
the lineup room suddenly opened, and three policemen ushered in a line of five
men. They were all dressed casually, and they all walked with the same
shuffling gait with their heads bowed as though even the innocent ones were
ashamed to be here.
Claire reacted
the instant she recognized the man who had attacked her, and almost shouted,
“That’s him! Right there! He’s the one who—”
But that was
all she got out because her gaze shifted to the last man in the lineup when he
raised his head.
She was barely
able to choke back a cry of surprise.
“What the—?”
It was Samael!
His hair was
scruffy, his face bristled with dark beard stubble, and his skin was sallow,
not the healthy bronze glow she remembered so well. His clothes were rumpled,
and hung loosely from his body. He looked thinner and much frailer, certainly
not the well-dressed, well-chiseled man she knew and was sure she loved.
It can’t be
him! She thought, but she looked closely, and there was no mistake.
Samael was
definitely staring at the one-way mirror, and a faint smile crossed his face as
he stared at the glass as if he could clearly see her through the reflective
surface.
Claire still
couldn’t believe it was him. She looked at his baggy trousers, trying to see
some indication of his tail. But even when she didn’t, she was positive it was
him.
Claire’s heart
started pounding so hard her wrists started throbbing.
What the hell
is he doing there? She wondered, but before she could come up with any rational
answers, she questioned if this really was Samael.
It couldn’t
be.
Samael was a
successful businessman who took pride—
Which goeth
before the fall.
—in his
appearance and his social standing. He would never allow himself to be paraded
in front of a lineup like a homeless person.
That has to
“It was dark,
and it all happened so…so fast…that I…I don’t want to screw this up.”
“Don’t worry.
Please. Have a seat. You won’t screw it up,” Trudeau said, and then he gave a
quick nod to the police officer standing in the doorway, who left, closing the
door behind him.
Claire was
about to say she was fine standing up, but the thought of sitting down was
suddenly quite attractive, so she seated herself in the chair furthest from the
mirror. After a few minutes waiting in silence, the lights went on in the other
room, and the lights in the observation room dimmed. A chill slithered up Claire’s
back as she waited for whatever would happen next. She took a moment to study
the empty room.
The walls were
dull white, and the furthest one had several black lines running the length of
it with increments of height marked with black tape or paint. There was also a
thick black line painted on the concrete floor, obviously to mark where the
lineup suspects were supposed to stand when they came in.
She
chuckled—out of nervousness—when the song “Toe the Line,” popped into her head.
“Love isn’t
always on time.”
“Just be a few
minutes, now,” Trudeau said, and Claire nodded. She shifted in her chair,
hoping to get comfortable, but she found it impossible to relax.
“Will they be
able to see or hear me?” she asked.
“Don’t worry.”
Trudeau’s voice came from behind. A faint reflection of his face drifted across
the glass like a pale, floating balloon. “It’s always a little intimidating,
but they can’t see through the one-way mirror, and this room’s perfectly
soundproofed. They can only hear us if we turn on the microphone.” He indicated
the microphone near the mirror.
Claire nodded
and cleared her throat, which by now was desert dry. She wished now that she
had accepted Trudeau’s offer of some water.
This is
fucking serious…I have to get this right , she reminded herself. It wasn’t a
lark, and it wasn’t a TV show. This was real life, and a man’s future depended
on what she said and did in the next few minutes.
The door in
the lineup room suddenly opened, and three policemen ushered in a line of five
men. They were all dressed casually, and they all walked with the same
shuffling gait with their heads bowed as though even the innocent ones were
ashamed to be here.
Claire reacted
the instant she recognized the man who had attacked her, and almost shouted,
“That’s him! Right there! He’s the one who—”
But that was
all she got out because her gaze shifted to the last man in the lineup when he
raised his head.
She was barely
able to choke back a cry of surprise.
“What the—?”
It was Samael!
His hair was
scruffy, his face bristled with dark beard stubble, and his skin was sallow,
not the healthy bronze glow she remembered so well. His clothes were rumpled,
and hung loosely from his body. He looked thinner and much frailer, certainly
not the well-dressed, well-chiseled man she knew and was sure she loved.
It can’t be
him! She thought, but she looked closely, and there was no mistake.
Samael was
definitely staring at the one-way mirror, and a faint smile crossed his face as
he stared at the glass as if he could clearly see her through the reflective
surface.
Claire still
couldn’t believe it was him. She looked at his baggy trousers, trying to see
some indication of his tail. But even when she didn’t, she was positive it was
him.
Claire’s heart
started pounding so hard her wrists started throbbing.
What the hell
is he doing there? She wondered, but before she could come up with any rational
answers, she questioned if this really was Samael.
It couldn’t
be.
Samael was a
successful businessman who took pride—
Which goeth
before the fall.
—in his
appearance and his social standing. He would never allow himself to be paraded
in front of a lineup like a homeless person.
That has to
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