Randall: Mister LaneMature

 

            Alannah seems tense.  I’m not sure if it’s this situation or just me.  I can’t deny I may be slightly eccentric, but I’ve never felt—or been told—that I was off-putting.  I really never know how to speak to women and besides I like the silence.  If everyone is this quiet in elevators I may just have to ride in them more often.

            “Are you ready?”  Alannah asks, nearly startling me from my reverie.  I nod.  “Okay then, here we go.”  She seems slightly more tense than before.

            Humans are such strange creatures.

            We make it to the office with “Patrick Lane” printed on the glass door.  Alannah stops in front of the door, hesitant, so I peer inside and knock.  The man inside—Lane, I presume—looks up with a question on his face before a pall falls over it.  Pale and grim Lane walks to the door and opens it.  He stares daggers at me, “Hello.  Who are you?”

            “I’m Randall.”  I hold out my hand and put on my best, “I’m not here to kill you, I swear.” smile.  It doesn’t have the effect I had hoped for.  He looks disgustedly at my hand and refuses to take it with a minute shake of his head.  Rude.  “And I’m Alannah, we’d just like to ask you a couple questions if you don’t mind.”

            “It happens that I do mind, you should be leaving now.”  His voice almost has a lisp, but it seems like he stresses the T’s to hide it.  “If you know what is good for you.”  He says in a low, and what I’m assuming is his “menacing,” voice.

              Wait a moment.  Is he threatening us?  A smile creeps onto my face, a genuine smile.  This smile doesn’t say the things it should to others.  It doesn’t tell them, “I’m happy, don’t worry you’re safe.”  It says something much more sinister, something like, “You may not understand, but I can see into you, see through you.”

            There was a flicker of fear in his eyes when he made that threat.  He has power, it’s obvious, and he knows how to use it to frighten others.  But here he has nothing, his work is his front.  He can’t do the things he would do when he’s outside, when he’s working the night job.

            “I think I’d like to take you in for questioning, Mister Lane.”  His eyes widen, they rarely expect such a bold move.

            “You can’t do that.”

            My smile grows.  “Au contraire, we certainly can.  We can only keep you for a certain period of time, but we can take you.”

            His eyes harden and his mouth tightens to a thin line.  “You’ll regret this.”

              “I sincerely doubt that, Mister Lane.”  I say, confident, invincible, completely ignorant of the mistake I'm making.

The End

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