The Longest Time Without You (Gold Streaks Book 3) by Sylvie Nathan Page B
Authors: Sylvie Nathan
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Marsden, yes?”
“Yes.” Titus affirms, standing his ground; the still-polite smile broad on his face, and only slightly frozen.
“Well, perhaps we can ask you a few questions?”
Sue takes a seat beside Titus on the main couch, and the policeman lowers himself onto the white one. Sue swallows the protest at the dirty marks from his boots. Nothing else matters now. These men could find Lisa. That is all that matters.
They start asking questions. Sue and Titus do their best to answer.
“Anything else?” he asks, finally. They are all standing, ready for the police to take their leave. Sue has risen to escort them downstairs and out of the front entrance.
“I'll...I'll keep phoning Lisa? Maybe she will be able to reply.” She asks; her mobile in one hand.
“Probably they have disabled calls by now.” The inspector replies. “You can try, but don't expect any answers.”
Sue sits down, abruptly. Suddenly, it is all too much. She feels frozen. She wants to cry, to scream, to break down...do anything , rather than sit here with these men telling her she has little chance of seeing Lisa again.
Titus rests his hand on her shoulder.
“I'll show these...gentlemen...out.” Titus lets the pause sink in.
“Thank you, Titus.” Sue's voice is cold, regal. “Do that.” She pauses, then continues.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I trust you will keep me informed? I will let you know if anything changes here.” Her voice is hard.
Titus nods to her as he leaves, the policemen behind. He and Sue are colleagues, suddenly; united in their distaste for the policemen's callousness.
“This way?”
Titus leads them downstairs and to the front door.
Sue waits; hears the click of the lock as Titus locks the door behind them.
He comes back up the stairs, his shoes almost-silent on the carpet.
“That's that, then.”
“Yes.” Sue agrees, thinly.
“We should get some sleep?” Titus asks. “You must be exhausted.”
“Yes. Yes, I am exhausted.” Sue replies, her voice somehow distant. “I'll...there's a spare bedroom at the front of the corridor, on the left? The bed's made up, and there's a bathroom next door.”
“Thanks.”
“Not at all.” Sue replies automatically.
Then, “Thank you, Titus.”
“No problem.”
Chapter 2
Morning. It must be. The light hurts her eyes. Gold, slanting, coming from a high angle, somewhere far above her.
Lisa groans, rolls over. Rubs her head. Feels the beginnings of a lump, damp with new sweat and old blood. She groans again.
Nothing feels broken; not anywhere in her body.
She thinks back; remembers leaving work; the brief terror of a confrontation; then pain and darkness.
She inhales, smells old straw and fresher paint and steel and the iron of rust and all over the powdery cold scent of cement.
She opens her eyes.
The roof soars far, far over her head; bare corrugated steel. The light is coming through high windows, set just below the roof. Bare walls stretch up to meet it; the perspective making them lean inwards together, even though they are straight and far apart.
Lisa turns her head, winces at the throbbing from the bruises.
The far wall is cement, and solid, without a door. Across the room is some disused equipment; rusting and seemingly-broken. She sits up, rubbing her right arm, absently, which has been lying underneath her through the night and is now gone stiff and cold.
On the far right, near the front of the room, is a single door; two long iron sheets with hinges and a locking-bar across them.
Lisa tries to stand. It takes longer than she would have expected. She gets to her feet and walks across the cement and straw of the floor; keeping as quiet as possible, her legs cold and cramped and far from steady.
Eventually, she reaches the door. Leans down on the bar. Nothing. It must be locked from the other side. She leans down harder, grunting with the
“Yes.” Titus affirms, standing his ground; the still-polite smile broad on his face, and only slightly frozen.
“Well, perhaps we can ask you a few questions?”
Sue takes a seat beside Titus on the main couch, and the policeman lowers himself onto the white one. Sue swallows the protest at the dirty marks from his boots. Nothing else matters now. These men could find Lisa. That is all that matters.
They start asking questions. Sue and Titus do their best to answer.
“Anything else?” he asks, finally. They are all standing, ready for the police to take their leave. Sue has risen to escort them downstairs and out of the front entrance.
“I'll...I'll keep phoning Lisa? Maybe she will be able to reply.” She asks; her mobile in one hand.
“Probably they have disabled calls by now.” The inspector replies. “You can try, but don't expect any answers.”
Sue sits down, abruptly. Suddenly, it is all too much. She feels frozen. She wants to cry, to scream, to break down...do anything , rather than sit here with these men telling her she has little chance of seeing Lisa again.
Titus rests his hand on her shoulder.
“I'll show these...gentlemen...out.” Titus lets the pause sink in.
“Thank you, Titus.” Sue's voice is cold, regal. “Do that.” She pauses, then continues.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I trust you will keep me informed? I will let you know if anything changes here.” Her voice is hard.
Titus nods to her as he leaves, the policemen behind. He and Sue are colleagues, suddenly; united in their distaste for the policemen's callousness.
“This way?”
Titus leads them downstairs and to the front door.
Sue waits; hears the click of the lock as Titus locks the door behind them.
He comes back up the stairs, his shoes almost-silent on the carpet.
“That's that, then.”
“Yes.” Sue agrees, thinly.
“We should get some sleep?” Titus asks. “You must be exhausted.”
“Yes. Yes, I am exhausted.” Sue replies, her voice somehow distant. “I'll...there's a spare bedroom at the front of the corridor, on the left? The bed's made up, and there's a bathroom next door.”
“Thanks.”
“Not at all.” Sue replies automatically.
Then, “Thank you, Titus.”
“No problem.”
Chapter 2
Morning. It must be. The light hurts her eyes. Gold, slanting, coming from a high angle, somewhere far above her.
Lisa groans, rolls over. Rubs her head. Feels the beginnings of a lump, damp with new sweat and old blood. She groans again.
Nothing feels broken; not anywhere in her body.
She thinks back; remembers leaving work; the brief terror of a confrontation; then pain and darkness.
She inhales, smells old straw and fresher paint and steel and the iron of rust and all over the powdery cold scent of cement.
She opens her eyes.
The roof soars far, far over her head; bare corrugated steel. The light is coming through high windows, set just below the roof. Bare walls stretch up to meet it; the perspective making them lean inwards together, even though they are straight and far apart.
Lisa turns her head, winces at the throbbing from the bruises.
The far wall is cement, and solid, without a door. Across the room is some disused equipment; rusting and seemingly-broken. She sits up, rubbing her right arm, absently, which has been lying underneath her through the night and is now gone stiff and cold.
On the far right, near the front of the room, is a single door; two long iron sheets with hinges and a locking-bar across them.
Lisa tries to stand. It takes longer than she would have expected. She gets to her feet and walks across the cement and straw of the floor; keeping as quiet as possible, her legs cold and cramped and far from steady.
Eventually, she reaches the door. Leans down on the bar. Nothing. It must be locked from the other side. She leans down harder, grunting with the
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