The rectangular room had several rows of individual desks made of steel with wooden tops. There was a large chalkboard along the front wall (the opposite wall she was facing). She imagined the officers gathering here in the morning- drinking steaming coffee out of styrofoam cups and hashing out the day’s details while the bullets sat, restless in their chambers.
She was leaning on one of the hard fake wood surfaces of the desks. Two cops sat in chairs in front of her- they were asking questions. She had been up for 24 hours and knew no better, she filtered nothing. The lighting was dim, a yellowish black. It was as if she was on stage and they were her audience. Words flew out of her mouth like water, her brain barely registering the questions before her lips would move.
“Where did you get the heroin?”
“The guys got it from someone downtown.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“Like, who literally gave it to me?”
They nodded.
“The guys, my boyfriend.”
“Did you shoot it?”
“No,” she said smiling, “We could never find a vein. Ray shot it into my buttcheek, I needed him to do it, it’s a little hard to reach."
She smiled and they smiled too. She didn’t know that bit of information could lead to a felony charge.
It was almost like the men were not there in front of her, as if she was alone and a milky white film separated her from them. She was beyond tired, she actually felt energized. Words flew out- every one of their questions got an honest answer.
After questioning she was led back into the room where Ray, Travers and Anne were sitting in a corner on some plastic chairs. The light was bright and harsh, matching the cold color of the walls. Their despondent faces, lacking expression and warmth, looked different than the way she felt.
The two police officers asked Ray to come with them. He was still handcuffed, as was Travers. They were gone for a while, then they came back in and Ray took a seat while Anne left for questioning.
Ray mouthed something to her, she couldn't hear him so she made a confused face, scrunching up her eyebrows.
He mouthed it again:
“You fucked me.”
She did not really know what he was talking about and looked at him with a blank face, though a cold bit of dread started to bury itself inside her chest.
A little while later, Anne and Isa were taken to another holding cell towards the front of the jail. There were two other women in there and a steel bench and a pay phone attached to the cement wall.
The escorting officer told them they would be released in a little while. Isa asked about Travers and Ray.
“They’re being charged, they’ll be here a while.”
Later she realized that it was her words alone that had been used to charge Ray with four felonies.
Anne and Isa stayed in the holding cell for another hour. Then they were processed, given their confiscated possessions and they walked out the double wide glass doors into the bright morning light.
