"What's this?" She asked me after a few minutes; all the while looking at the flash drive placed in front of her.
"The video from my car's dashboard camera," I answered directly.
"And what can be seen on it?" She asked again, suspiciously.
I shuffled a bit on the couch, trying to shift a bit to the left to get away from her without standing up.
"The day I ran you over, there was nothing left on the camera's SD card," I explained. "But my camera is a connected one with automated backup, hence I had a copy of the file online."
I heard her click her tongue, probably annoyed by what I had just revealed to her.
It was clear that she had tried to delete the video in question, but hadn't anticipated that the equipment was making a cloud backup.
"So what? You intend to blackmail me?" She said with a tone I didn't recognize.
I had no idea if she was angry, amused, or if it was just a small inconvenience in her eyes. Maybe seeing her face would have helped me to know more, but strangely enough, I also avoided looking at her. Probably because I was afraid of what I could see and understand from her attitude.
And still looking at the flash drive I had placed on the table, I answered her question.
"You already know that I'm not the kind of person who talks a lot, and that spending time with you would surely be enough for me. But I need more than that..." I said.
"More than what?" She repeated, her voice full of confusion.
This time, I decided to turn to face her, and pivoting on myself, was surprised to find myself almost nose to nose with her.
She had already turned to face me, and our faces were so close that only about ten centimeters prevented our bodies from making contact. I hadn't seen her this close since the accident on that road in the middle of the night, and that moment in the inn's room. On each of those occasions, I hadn't had time to really look at her face in detail either.
She had big blue eyes, turning to gray depending on the light - a rather unusual color and all the more beautiful - bordered by rather small lashes, and topped by thin and long eyebrows currently half-furrowed. Her skin, which seemed so pale the previous times, was even more so when seen up close, emphasizing her lips on which a pinkish balm had been applied, giving off a floral smell.
My gaze went up to her forehead, when my eyes were stopped by a color which was not in its place: the cheeks of the young woman were faintly tinted of pink.
Moving back slightly to see her face as a whole, I could finally understand the reason for this sudden irruption of color on her livid skin: she seemed to be embarrassed by my immediate proximity, hence her raised eyebrows and her suddenly hesitant look.
Right after this observation, she turned her head to avoid looking at me, the red tinting her earlobes as well.
I was familiar with this situation, and I was already afraid of the same pattern happening again; if I didn't take the lead.
"I won't do anything to you; so please, don't hit me," I said as I backed up a bit more to my side of the couch.
I knew she was uncomfortable, and had a tendency to throw a punch - or a headbutt - when she was pushed too much out of her comfort zone. Therefore, I hoped I wouldn't pass out a third time; especially since my black eye had finally healed since the last time.
Thinking she would keep the awkward silence she had locked herself into, I started to get up to walk away, when I felt a hand tug on my arm.
The detective had caught me, so that I wouldn't leave, and was now slowly pulling me back down, and to the couch on which I sat again.
"You don't have to leave people at a distance when you feel like you're making them uncomfortable," she said, staring at her hand still encircling my wrist.
Oh...
So she had figured that out too?
"I've noticed that you tend to put physical distance between yourself and people you think you're making uncomfortable," she explained while looking me in the eyes this time. "Maybe because it's the easiest solution for you, who doesn't know how to relate to people. But that doesn't necessarily mean you have to do this every time..."
She was right about the fact that nothing and no one forced me to act like this.
However, it was something I had learned to do over the years: give people physical space to reassure them, to seem less threatening or strange to them.
If I didn't know what to say, I would show them through actions that I didn't mean them harm, or that I had observed their discomfort.
Normally, people were a little surprised by this attitude of mine, and quickly forgot how I acted. So it surprised me that the detective had observed me enough to discover this aspect of my gestures.
"You've been watching me carefully," I said thoughtfully.
Finally removing her hand from my wrist, she smiled gently at me.
"I did tell you that this assessment was a two-way thing, right?"
True. I now understood that she was serious about telling me this. Which also implied that she was probably waiting for my own evaluation; about her.
I appreciated her patience with me from the beginning. She gave me time to talk after I had collected my thoughts if I needed to; and also watched my behavior for any doubt, any insecurity.
It was quite strange, to be scrutinized like that, and right now she was waiting for me to speak up.
"I don't want to blackmail you, even if the idea might have been appealing," I said. "I just want to understand what I saw on that video..."
I then pointed to the USB key still lying on the table.
It was true that the idea had crossed my mind. I could very well have blackmailed her and forced her to reveal things to me. But I felt that doing so was unfair, considering that she had been the first to make the effort to reveal herself to me, even partially. She had decided to seriously consider my request, and for that, had taken it upon herself to involve me in an investigation.
I was curious about who she was, but I also wanted to understand her as she had tried to understand me.
I wanted to know how I could have seen on that video file a headless body get up, and go and get its head back, as if nothing had happened.
To answer me, the detective turned around on the couch, to face the turned-off TV screen again.
"I already told you, but I can't die," she reminded me.
Yes, she had said that many times before; and I nodded my head in agreement.
"If I can't die, it's simply because I'm already dead," she said, blinking slowly.
I felt as if a movie that was invisible to the average person was playing on the flat screen. Maybe it was the recording of her memories, of her life. Something only she could know and remember.
"I don't remember everything, but if there's one thing I absolutely know, it's that I'm not dying," she explained. "I can be shot, limbs can be cut off," she added, showing me her hand with two fingers sewn back together; "or even run over..."
This last example was very clearly related to me, but I remained silent as usual, letting her finish her explanation.
"All those things that would kill anyone do absolutely nothing to me," she finished.
Was she really some kind of zombie, then?
A real zombie?
But if so, how had she ended up like this? How had she become the person she was now?
The detective seemed to notice my confused state as she turned her gaze back to me, for she began to smile at me again - sadly and apologetically - while tilting her head slightly to the side.
"I don't know if it makes you feel better to know this, but regarding this anomaly I represent, I am just as confused as you are..."