Part One of a short story I had to write for English. I'll put the rest of the parts (there are three more, and much shorter than this one) within the topic if anyone posts.

Please enjoy.

A Matter of Right and Wrong


“She’s been mumblin’ to herself all day,” the police officer said to the detective, gesturing towards the large glass window separating the interrogation room from the smaller room where the two men were standing. The girl in question was sitting in one of the two chairs at the table in the interrogation room itself.

“Ordinarily we wouldn’t care,” the officer continued, looking away, “but she mentioned somethin’ about causing that subway accident a few days ago…”

“I don’t like subways,” the detective interrupted.

He blinked and she was gone.

“Me either,” the officer agreed, nervously chuckling to himself, “Something blew up inside that subway train a few days ago. Killed just ‘bout everyone. It’s all over the news…”

“I know about the accident.”

“…and seeing how she was the only survivor,” the officer seemed anxious to go on, “we thought it would be a good idea if…”

“…If you called in a professional to do the job you’re supposed to be doing,” the detective interrupted him a third time. It wasn’t a question.

“The other officers don’t like to go near her,” the policeman said, lowering his voice to a whisper and looking around as if to detect some unseen bug or wire tap, “Our supervisors tell us to get over it, but the fact is, she gives us the creeps.”

“Fine, whatever,” the detective said, annoyed, “Just wrap up the theatrics and let’s get this over with.” The fact was that just about everyone annoyed Detective Rick Bryant, for whatever reason seemed convenient at the time.

The reason this time, he decided, was the officer’s lack of backbone.

Rick looked through the window into the interrogation room, trying to find what it was that made the girl, as the officer so eloquently put it, “creepy.” She was looking down at her folded hands, indeed mumbling to herself. Her long black hair hung low over her face, and her skin was a pale flesh color, almost reminiscent of an unburied corpse. Impossibly thin arms protruded from her tattered shirt, and her baggy pants cascaded down to her ankles, almost obscuring her shoeless feet. He continued looking for a second longer, but couldn’t see what the officer saw in her.

Pivoting on his heel, Rick walked over to the door that would lead him into the room. Putting his hand on the handle, he heard the policeman’s voice, “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes?” Rick said quietly, barely turning his head.

“Be careful what you say to her.”

Rick silently shook his head and opened the door, closing it behind him as he stepped into the small, box-like room. The girl looked up at the sound of his footfalls, but continued mumbling to herself. “Hello,” Rick said as he walked towards her, trying not to sound bored, “Do you speak English?” He waited for five seconds, during which the girl made no sound other than the monotonous white noise of her deranged rambling, before asking again, louder this time, “Do you speak English?”

Stopping just in front of the table, he ran his hands impatiently through his sandy brown hair, waiting for a response. She gave a slight affirmative nod, her matted black hair lazily bouncing up and down. It was progress, at least. “What’s your name?” he continued, growing more and more irritated with her slow response time as she once again opted to ignore him. “Answer me!” Rick raised his voice, slamming his fist onto the table. She stopped mumbling abruptly and looked up at him.

“She made me do it,” she said slowly. Her voice had a weak quality, as if her throat was perpetually under attack by pathogens, which, given the state of her clothing, was entirely possible, Rick reminded himself. Yet her voice was oddly happy at the same time, tinged with a slight edge of insanity.

“Made you do what?” Rick asked as pleasantly as he could.

“The man in blue didn’t tell you?” she asked, referring to the police officer. She sighed, then smiled, “She made me blow up the subway, of course.”

“Who made you blow up the subway?” Rick continued calmly as he sat down across from her, using both hands to pull his trench coat tighter around himself. She leaned forward, and Rick couldn’t help but do the same, placing one arm flat on the table just in front of him.

“The voice in my head,” she whispered, poking her temple with one finger, emphasizing the word head, “Her name’s Emily, and she’s not very nice.”

“Emily?” Rick said, feeling a disturbing jolt in the pit of his stomach.

He blinked and she was gone.

“Am I talking to Emily now?” he asked, unsettled.

“You’ll know when you’re talking to Emily,” the girl said with a grin.

“Why would Emily want to blow up a subway train?” Rick continued his questions, noticeably nervous now.

“I don’t know,” she said, cocking her head to one side, “Maybe you should ask her.” The statement had no sooner left her mouth than a visible change came over the room. The lights flickered chaotically, the table began moving of its own accord, and a low bass rumble seemed to pulse through the floor. Rick jumped up hastily, knocking the chair down as he did so.

“Hello Rick,” said a voice Rick could only assume belonged to “Emily.” It was a much stronger voice than the girl’s, spreading throughout the entire room, as if it came from the walls themselves. It was a voice he had heard before, in a much less amplified form, but he knew it couldn’t be the same voice. Could it?

“Emily?” Rick asked cautiously, “How do you know my name?”

“Beware the Red Devil,” Emily boomed, ignoring his question.

“The red…?” Rick began. Suddenly, Emily thrust her hand forward and Rick was lifted off his feet and forced into the wall, painfully pinned there as if by some invisible hand. He looked over at the window for help, only to see that the officer had fled the scene in fear. “Spineless…coward…” he managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Beware the Red Devil,” Emily said again, each syllable creating nearly visible waves of sound.

“What is the Red Devil?!” Rick shouted.

“It is the hand of Fate,” Emily answered, “Its redness deepens with each of its victims as it sets timelines torn asunder back into order.”

“What timelines?” Rick managed to gasp.

“It’s found you,” Emily continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “Don’t go home tonight.”

Everything suddenly returned to normal. The lights stopped flickering, the table stopped shaking, and Rick fell to the floor in a heap. The girl’s head drooped forward for a moment, then she slowly lifted it back up.

“I’d listen to her if I were you,” she said, smiling, no longer dominated by the “Emily” persona, “She may not be nice, but she’s usually right.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rick said as he got up, brushing himself off.

“Crimson Station,” the girl said.

“What?” Rick asked.

“She told me to tell you that before you left,” she continued, “Crimson Station.”

“Thanks,” Rick said dryly.

He blinked and she was gone.
Last edited by somebody_123 at Mar 16, 2007,