Cal sat in a dry, dim room, the only light emanating from a single desk lamp aimed towards him. The concrete walls surrounded a table, two chairs, the lamp, and a blackened window to his left. His skin was dry, and his seat was hard, and his lower back ached. He had been there for a while, yet a while was an indeterminate concept in the box. The light bore down on his squinted eyes, but tilting the desk lamp elsewhere was an act of rebellion he couldn’t muster. The blackened window to his left would object.
Two shadows entered the room. The light aimed at Cal kept him from ascertaining any details. He glanced towards them as one took a seat across the table, revealing a human face. The other remained hovering in the corner.
“Hi there, Calvin, sorry to keep you waiting,” said the seated man.
“It’s no problem. You can call me Cal.”
“Cal it is. You feel all right? Temperature fine?”
“I’m a little warm, but it’s OK.”
“You know why we have you in here, right?”
“Yeah, it’s all a big mistake, though.”
The seated man chuckled. “So we’re wasting our time with you?”
“You sure are. And, well,” Cal took a deep breath, “shouldn’t I have a lawyer here or something?”
The man across the table smiled. “Look, Cal, it’s like we told you before, that’s your right. We can get the lawyers in here if you choose, but that’s when this turns serious. Right now, we’re only talkin’. We just want to figure this thing out. So if you had nothin’ to do with it, the best thing for everyone is for you to sit here and be honest with us and answer our questions. How does that sound?”
“OK. That sounds fine.”
“So we’re good to continue?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Where were you Tuesday at 4:45 PM?”
“I was—I was still at work, about to end my shift. I work construction down at 14th and Hamilton. My supervisor, Mr. Spitz, will tell you,” Cal said, the heat from the light warming his skin.
The shadow in the corner scoffed.
The seated man opened the binder in front of him and glanced over a sheet of paper. “Yes, Mr. Spitz. We had a little chat with him. He said your team was on-site ’til then, but that he didn’t see you in particular. Ain’t that the damnedest thing?”
“The damnedest thing,” repeated the shadow in the corner.
Cal’s insides were heavy, and a cursory glance around the box suggested it was smaller than when he’d first entered.
“You snuck off a half-hour earlier, Cal. You headed west on 14th down to Sycamore.”
“I—no, that’s not right. That can’t be right.” Cal slid his seat back a few inches. It did little to escape the light. It was brighter and warmer by the second, each word from the man increasing its voltage.
The seated man pulled a photo out of the binder and slid it towards Cal. He peered down, away from the light, his pupils expanding slightly. It was a woman in her sixties. Graying hair hung down to her shoulders, and her blue blouse matched her eyes – weary eyes that had absorbed images they were better off blind to. She stared at Cal, daring him to confess. What do you think I’ve done? Cal thought, matching the picture’s stare.
“Cal, this is Mrs. Windsor. Doesn’t she look like a nice lady?”
“Yes.”
“Would you trust Mrs. Windsor?”
Cal paused. “Trust her with what?” At that, the heat from the light singed his eyebrows.
The shadow in the corner crept towards him, accompanied by a cloud of smoke and a glowing, orange dot. It stopped right behind him, hovering over his chair. “Scoot your seat forward, son,” said the shadow, its thick voice lava in Cal’s ears. He pulled the chair forward, his face burning.
“Now, would you trust her?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Cal,” said the seated man, “I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs. Windsor saw you on your little afternoon frolic down on Sycamore, a few blocks from your work site. Jog any memories?”
Beads of sweat meandered down Cal’s face from his brow to his chin – gathering flakes of skin and dirt before falling in plump drops and forming a salty puddle in his lap.
A moment later, another shadow came in and handed the seated man a piece of paper. He studied it and announced, “we’ll be back in a moment.” The shadow hovering above Cal disappeared and took all the heat and light and smoke in the room with it.
The door slammed, and the room was dark and cold. Cal’s sweat froze into beads of ice clinging to his face. His insides grew buoyant. He tried to move his fingers, but they were numb.
The Sycamore Road street sign arose, uninvited, from his subconscious into his mind. What did I do on Tuesday? If only I could tell them exactly what I did on Tuesday! But Tuesday was a door Cal’s memory refused to open. Instead, his mind could not escape the Sycamore Road street sign. It could not escape Mrs. Windsor, staring back at him through the darkness. All he could remember from that day was the heat.
A while later, the two shadows reentered. The same man sat down at the table and switched the light back on. Cal’s skin simmered. The shadow hovered above him once again. Ash drifted from the glowing orange dot onto his shoulders. The hot smoke toasted his nape.
“Cal, at approximately 4:45 PM you entered through the backdoor of the two-story Craftsman at 1426 Sycamore Road.”
“Sycamore…no…” Cal’s impotent neck struggled to hold his head steady. He rested his forearm on the table for a moment and shrieked as it scalded him. He could hear the skin on the underside of his arm sizzle.
“We know you were there,” the shadow whispered.
“Then, you went upstairs,” said the man at the table. “Describe the upstairs, Cal.”
“It was—it was hot. It was on fire.”
“See!” encouraged the man. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Keep going.”
Cal looked down at his hands. They were crusted and covered in scabs and burns. “It was on fire…” he repeated under his breath.
“You started the fire,” whispered the shadow.
“I saw you. Admit it,” said Mrs. Windsor from a darkened corner.
The rest of the room turned pitch black. The lamp’s glow sucked all heat and light from the box and submerged Cal in its rays.
“Did you start it?” said the voice of the man across the table from the darkness.
Cal’s skin crackled. A dry breeze blustered from above, igniting the flames and setting him ablaze. “YES! YES! WATER!” he moaned as flames engulfed him and he crumbled to the floor.
The man across the table slid a piece of paper onto the floor towards Cal’s scorched flesh. “Sign this, and we’ll put you out.”
After a few moments, Cal felt a cold wave splash over him, extinguishing the fire.
Months later, Cal, seated before a room of his peers, watched the video of himself in the room with the man and the shadow. He still could not remember what he did on that Tuesday. He only remembered the heat.
by 
Nils Gilbertson
Latest posts by Nils Gilbertson (see all)
- An Interrogation - August 23, 2019
Cool story and great use of word choice to really bring the scene alive.
Great story! I really appreciated the surprise ending and imagery throughout. Can’t wait to read your next story.