MEETING DETAINEES

Reaching the station, we are ushered right to this cursed room, where these two fools are resting antagonistically on the desk. I cannot see their faces at first because they are resting their faces on top of their hands that are resting on the desk.

I was about to call them from their sleep, but I almost forgot we are at the police station and that they have better means here of handling things. Officer Martin bangs their desk with the police rod, and they almost fall to the floor as they leap to their faces.

I am glad that finally I can see their faces, but just what in God’s name am I seeing, huh? “You?” I snapped at this pretender here.

He looks down. What now? Doesn’t he have some more questions for me now that I have all the time in the world to talk? Doesn’t he want to know what happened to Ejay again? “Do you know him, Miss Gia?” The officer asks.

“Wait, is this fool not that journalist guy from the beach?” Grace asks after realizing why my face is almost sweeping the floor with shock.

“It is.” I emphasize this as the three of us gawk at him while his face lifts up.

He must have realized that there is no point in trying to hide his ugly face in the air for two reasons: one is that that is such a stupid idea because you cannot hide anything in the air, and the second must be that he knows he has been unmasked for a fake that he truly is. There is no point in trying to hide. It looks like he has received quite a beating, but I cannot fail to recognize this face. I saw it some freaking three or so hours ago. And these attires? They are the same as those men who scared Grace and me an hour or so ago.

So they were one and the same people? After scaring us with that interview that did not bear any fruit, they went and changed right away and then came back to scare us again. Why? I don’t think I have ever seen this face in my entire life. I am sure today was the first time I encountered this face. So who is he? And who is that man in the red suit that he rode out with?

“A journalist? A fake journalist, because no real journalist would look like this nor be involved in such activities.” The officer remarks as he browses the man.

“That is what I would love to know as well.” I say this as I take a good look at this man. I am trying to see if I can recognize him from somewhere, but to no avail. This face does not ring a bell at all. “I was so damn right from the minute I saw you. There was something so off about you. Now I know what that was. You are a shameless crook. You are fake! Who are you, and what do you want, huh? Who sent you to me?” I fume as I walk closer to the man.

He maintains his eyes straight in mine, not intiminated by me at all. He is quite a hard one, huh? Or he just does not think a woman can do anything to him. I hate his looks, his stand, his annoying attitude—I hate every single thing about him. “I asked, Who are you? What do you want, and who is your boss?” I add, not breaking eye contact with him until he does it first.

He clears his throat. Not like there was anything to clear, though. Just his jerk attitude at work. “I already told the police who I am. As for the rest, what do I say, huh? I just wanted to have the privilege to have a talk with the great Gia Wilson—the one and only queen of music! There is no harm in that, right?"

Finally, the jerk opens his smelly mouth.

A talk with the great Gia Wilsons, my ass! Is he trying to be funny?

“And the only topic you could pick up to have a talk with me about is just my nightmare? Do you think I am stupid or what?” I snap. The jerk smirks. smirk that earns him a resounding heavy slap from me. And it lands perfectly on his hard face. But instead of my slap shutting him up, it raptured him into deafening laughter. “I am not stupid, Morgan, or whoever you said your name is. Who sent you?” I ask.

He soothes his left cheek first, where my slap landed, before he speaks. “Nobody sent me, Gia Wilsons. And I used that subject because I knew how sensitive it is. It was the only way I could earn your attention, even for a moment.” The jerk lies.

This moron is lying to me. To us. I can see it in his ugly eyes. There is more to this lie he is trying to sell us. The way he is looking at me. This is not the face of an innocent person. He is just playing with our minds.

And just how lame his eyes are!

I always speak to anyone. I respond to people’s questions every time I have time. I am a star, but not a proud one. I talk to people, and you don’t even have to sweat over it. It is not that I have bodyguards with me to scare anyone away. I was just chilling at the beach, so if anyone needed to have a talk with me, no one in their genuine and sane mind would have gone as far as assuming a fake name and all that journalist shit just to speak to me. I am not falling for this lie.

And that spot where they found us, huh? People hardly go there. It is only Deep and I, all those two times we have been there. How did they find us there? How did they even know I was there?

“How did you know I was at the sea and in that exact place, huh?” I implore.

This is complicating everything.

“I saw you and your sister disappearing to that place, so I called my friends and helped me pull that little show right there. I didn’t expect you to react like that, though. I mean, your tormentor is paying for his crimes in prison, and everyone knows that. Why would you worry about him so much at the mere mention of him? Or are you worried that the walls of the cell may not be strong enough to hold him for long?” He asks, and only a fool would fail to notice the sarcasm in his voice. It is etched everywhere, as is his ugly face too.

The way he is saying this, huh? Is he trying to scare me? Or convey a message to me, huh?

“And that is the same reason why you had to dress like a thug and try to kidnap my sister? Only a sick person would use that trick to try and talk to someone. And that man in red, who was he?” I ask with my heart racing.

"What, man, huh?” He says he is playing dumb.

He is toying with our minds, and I am fighting the urge to jump on him and feed him some slaps and kicks. I want to kill this jerk. He is making a fool of us. He knows exactly what I am talking about, but he wants me to look like an idiot.

“Miss, maybe his partner will talk. Try talking to her. She might be a little bit softer than that pigheaded guy.” Officer Martin says:.

Her?

A woman? The second guy is a lady?

I turn around, and to my dismay, I almost collapse to the floor. A face that I fucking know so well greets me. What the… “Y-O-U?” I murmur.

Everything is shaking—from my body to the ground I am standing on—and the image I am staring at right now seems to be not so steady. And it is vague, making me doubt so much if I am seeing well.

No! This cannot be! She cannot be here for all that the heaven’s hold dearest. My eyes must be dizzying me, for I know.