The next morning I found myself sitting down with a cup of coffee at our kitchen table with Detective Brinks. I refused to go down to the station and give another statement over cups of the garbage they pretend is coffee down at the precinct while sitting in an uncomfortable chair the day after I was assaulted.
It's overcast today so the light is muted. No bright lights and sharp-edged shadows. Just a breeze blowing in off the sea completely ignorant of the fact that I'm not the same person I was yesterday. Part of me has been changed, irrevocably. A hardness is present that wasn't there before as my old friend, the deafening silence, rolls through the room between muted questions and polite conversation.
