For now, there were only three people in this special room. They all sat on silver metal chairs, with their hands zipped tied between their backs. They did not remember taking off, they were too drugged up for that. However, the occasional air pocket was a reminder of not being on solid ground.
The room was a square silver box with no windows, one door, and one air vent on the wall. Next to the air vent was a red-light bulb nestled in a light bulb cage. The space was cold, and every three minutes a blast of frigid air pierced through the room, carrying with it a freezer burnt odor.
A silver metal table and one silver metal chair was placed between the people and the door.
No one spoke with each other. They were given strict instructions only to speak when being interviewed.
The door propped open and in walked an average built guy with short cut of jet black hair, wearing a navy-blue suit, and brown leather laced shoes. He pulled out the chair and sat down on an angle, with his legs crossed.
“I’m the Interviewer, and you all might want to hold onto something for a moment.” As they hit a pocket of turbulence the room shook, and the chairs danced from side to side, panic filled the room.
The Interviewer smiled, “Now, let me get to the point. All of you were seen at the rally near the University this morning. Phone records showed you all spoke to each other days leading up to this rally, while you were at the rally, and afterwards. So, I want to know the location of your group called the Blanket Network. Who’s running it now that you three are here? And where do I find the person who maintains Blanket Network operations in your absence?”
The Interviewer did not have an accent. It was difficult to place him. His facial features did not give much information either. He drew his attention to the person on his right, “How about you Professor?”
The Professor replied, “You cannot kidnap people and hold them against their will!”
The Interviewer panned from left to right, “My apologies to you all. This important piece of information completely slipped my mind! Collectively, you have three chances to answer my questions.” He shifted his weight on the chair, and kept his legs crossed. “If I am not satisfied with the answers, you will be free to leave, one at a time. So, out of fairness, let us start over.”
The Professor was adamant, “I do not know what you want!”
“Professor,” said the Interviewer, “you have been teaching at the University for many years in the Sociology department, the youngest on faculty. Your lectures run Mondays, and Fridays from 8:30 A.M. To 11:30 A.M. Your choice of beverage on Mondays is piping hot black coffee, no sugar, no cream. And on Fridays, an Earl Gray, no sugar, no cream, accompanied by a sugar powered blueberry scone and lots of butter.”
The Professor’s eyes grew like golf balls.
The Interviewer leaned on the table, “Give me the location of the Blanket Network?”
With a lowered head, the Professor breathed out a sigh of resignation. The Interviewer uncrossed his legs, stood up, smirked, then walked to the door and opened it.
“You are free to leave, Professor.”
The Professor rose from the seat and walked out of the room. The Interviewer closed the door and returned to his seat. He rubbed his hands together, pulled down on his jacket, shifted his weight to sit on an angle, and crossed his legs, again. Then suddenly, the red light flashed and the room shook for a few seconds and stopped.
The Journalist’s head was lowered.
“Come on,” replied the Interviewer, “I am a man of my word, now, chin-up.” The Journalist’s head slowly raised up.
He pulled at his cufflinks, “You are the lead investigative journalist for the top-ranking newspaper in the City. You take out the trash on your way to work on Wednesdays. Last Sunday you had a lovely dinner of baked Cod, mash potatoes, and corn. For dessert, you entertained a slice of cheese cake, which was washed down by a good bottle of red wine. You are on time with your articles, and you lead a mentor group of aspiring journalists.”
The Journalist mumbled, “I’m not sure I can help you.”
“You have not heard my question, yet!”
The Journalist’s shrugged his shoulders, “You’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know anything about a Network.”
“Fine,” said the Interviewer as he rose to his feet and walked to the door and opened it, “you're free to leave.”
The Journalist got up and walked out of the room. The Interviewer closed the door, returned to his seat, and crossed his legs.
He then pointed his finger at the Student, loosened his tie, and cleared his throat in frustration, “You have three minutes to answer my questions. You speak the truth, and you are free to leave. If you lie to me, and I will know if you’re lying, our conversation is done, and you still will be free to leave.”
The red light flashed, the room shook, then stopped.
The Student thought that this wasn’t how the day was to be. Maybe a psychic would have seen this coming. Nonetheless, all the Student could do was make slight movements on the metal chair to prevent lower back pain from creeping in.
The Interviewer leaned on the table, “I’m going to make it easy on you, answer one of the three questions: where is the Blanket? Who’s running it? Or where do I find the lead person?”
“I have a lot to say,” said the Student.
“Then answer one of my questions.”
The Student ignored the request. “Do you remember being in the park last week, when the old man and child sat next to you on the bench?”
The Interviewer slowly uncrossed his legs, stunned at the revelation.
The Student continued, “You were deep into a roast beef and mustard sandwich on rye, with a pickle on the side. You had a can of warm root beer waiting to be popped open.”
The Interviewer glared at the Student, and jumped up quickly while knocking the table with his knuckles in frustration. He squealed, “What is this all about?”
“Do you remember the countless souls you threw off this plane while in flight?”
The Interviewer pulled up the right collar of his jacket and leaned his face into it.
He barked, “Open up the air lock, I’m pushing this one out myself!”
“I’m not finished, I have more to say,” declared the Student.
The Interviewer threw the chair to the side in rage.
“That’s right,” said the Student, “you were in the park, too busy with other things while your babysitter sat with your son. Meanwhile, your daughter went to a doctor’s appointment with your wife.”
The Student shook his head, “Tsk, tsk, tsk, too busy with other things.”
The Interviewer raised his head towards the ceiling in frustration, and charged his way towards the Student. He grabbed the Student by the throat and squeezed. The door swung open, and in walked the Professor with a Stun gun, and the Journalist closely behind. With one shot the Interviewer was on his knees, completely still. The Student got up, and the Journalist cut off the zip tie.
The Student looked down on the Interviewer, “I have one more question before you leave the room. Do you remember who gave you the heart-shaped locket that lives around your neck?” The Student leaned in closer. “I want you to remember the face of your lover in that heart-shaped locket, and hope she catches you falling out of the sky.”
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