IT WAS EXACTLY twenty-one minutes past two o'clock.
She is late.
Visitation time was only one hour and a half on Fridays. If she didn't come today, I will have to wait an entire week for any proper form of communication.
That was far too much time. In situations like these, every second counted.
I make note of it in my note book, having to trace over the letters multiple times to make the text more pigmented.
The safety pencils here are one of the daily frustrations that contribute to my less than agreeable attitude.
I'd do some unsavory thing for a well sharpened number two pencil.
When was the last time I had a good pencil?
The muted gray walls melt into warm yellows as light from the flickering fire place dances along the expanse of the hardwood floors.
The surface is littered with art tools; a decorated mess of paper, markers, crayons, pencils, glitter, glue and child safe scissors. I look down to what was on my own paper and the sketch of the house hidden among tall trees is messy, but still well done.
It needs some green.
I reach out for a colored pencil, but another hand beats mine. This one slimmer and decorated with a sparkling gold band wrapped around the wedding finger.
"Ladies before gentlemen."
My head turns with a playful retort at the tip of my tongue, but it dies instantly. Her face is blurred, smudged like fingers ran across paint before it could fully dry. Something painful squeezes in my chest at the sight.
Who are you?
"Ah, are you done? Can I see it yet?"
I slowly turn my head to the other side, and a small boy is hunched over his paper, scribbling furiously as he uses one arm to shield as much of his work as he can. His hair is tousled and the imprinted red cars on his royal blue pajamas are scrunched up as if he had woken from a long sleep only moments ago.
He giggles and hunches closer to his master piece.
"Not yet."
"Well, you better finish up quick mister, dad has already chased away the monsters under your bed and I just know that if you go back to sleep soon you'll have the best dreams."
The crackling of the fire took over, and all was right with the world.
But it isn't.
"Ah, could you hand me that blue crayon?"
My arm reaches out and grabs it, the barest hint of her skin brushes against mine as she takes it from me. It sends a jolt to my brain, and some long built barrier crumbles, allowing me to peak at what lays beyond. But I can't make sense of the flash of images I see, and they're gone in an instant.
"Who are you?"
"Thank you, love."
She doesn't hear me, and her head tilts to the side with an obvious smile in her voice, one that I should see on her face.
"I'm not as good of an artist as you but I think it came out well."
She shows off the image of a bouquet of flowers filled with lilies and roses.
"The roses will be blue, it's only fitting don't you think?"
"Done!"
Their conversation is cut off by the excited voice of a toddler, and they turn to face him as he lifts his head with a proud grin stretching his chubby cheeks. Unlike the woman, this face is clear. Clearer than I've seen for a long time.
And just like that, the spell is broken. The house and it's surroundings drain of its vibrancy and realism like paper in water.
I am back in the room with gray walls surrounding me. Sitting on the bed…
Pathetic. How could you not remember her? How could you not remember what you did?
Shut up.
The voice is loud, it always is after a hallucination, but today it grates at my skin from a completely new angle.
The door swings open without warning.
"Visitor here to see you."
Finally.
I follow the oversized glorified nurse to the largest room where supervised visits take place.
The tables are spaced widely apart and somehow still packed with others trying to make the most of the fraction of time they have with the ones they love.
I weave my way over to one of the smaller tables in the corner, only housing two chairs on either side bolted to the main stand of the table itself.
The woman sitting there stands when she sees me. She is meticulously dressed, as all government workers usually are. Her short pin straight black hair barely brushes her shoulders and her dark blue suite and tie are prim and ironed to perfection.
I take a seat and open my notebook, not looking up as I title the page with the date.
"You are late. I told you visitation hours end at three."
She gives me a blank stare.
"I am not late, visitation time has just started."
"No it hasn't."
Her head turns to the large clock looking over the entire room and I take a moment to read it.
One thirty-five, visitation hours have only just started. I make a note of it in my book.
"Perhaps the clock in my room is defective."
I sound petulant, but I don't care
This has nothing to do with that clock.
I promptly ignore the voice.
"Tell me you have good news."
She lets out a sigh and I can tell she's much more tired than she actually looks, and she seems exhausted. She tries to hide it behind her neatness, but there are dark circles below her eyes that her makeup struggles to conceal.
Good, her haggard appearance proves she is doing her job, which is all I care about.
"I have news, but I haven't decided if it's good or bad."
"What is it?"
"We've decided to make a move soon, we have a credible source that tells us there will be movement sometime in the future. We're waiting for our informant to confirm."
"Wait… so does this mean-"
The woman squares her shoulders as if in preparation to weather an incoming storm.
"We… had an idea of where your son was the entire time."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Why the fuck haven't you gone to get him the moment you found out? You don't even know if he's dead or alive-"
My voice had raised multiple octaves, the strain on my throat altering the words to exit with as much ease as a hairball. The guards positioned around the area slowly start inching closer to our table. I don't care.
"I can tell you with absolute certainty that your son is in no immediate danger. I need you to understand that the people who took him are very powerful and one wrong move could put some very important individuals in danger."
Calm down, I need to calm down.
The hot bubbling of fear and anger threatens to overpower me but I can't let it go. Not here and not now.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wasn't sure how you would… react."
My eye twitches.
"Is that all?"
"Yes and no, there are too many moving parts and it's only a possibility that one of those children could be your son. I didn't want to give you false hope."
"Is there no way to find out for certain?"
"We run the risk of blowing our cover. But, there are talks of an operation happening."
"Isn't that good news?"
"No, we're being pressed on all sides and we're forced to run where we should walk. There are too many things that could go wrong. I'm trying to push it off."
"I don't care about all that. I called you here, told you everything I know, so you could find my fucking son."
She leaned forward at my tone, eyes sharp as her mouth twisted around her next words.
"You seem to be misunderstanding something here. I am all you have, there is no one else willing to listen to a God forsaken thing that comes out of your mouth thanks to the amount of powder you've stuffed in it. You will take what I have to offer, because you have no other choice."
The taste of copper floods my mouth as I bite on the edge of my tongue. She's right, and we both know it. But that doesn't mean I'll take it lying down.
"Sounds like you're all out of choices too."
It had the intended effect, her back went ramrod straight and her features smoothed out but not before I could catch the glimpse of anger behind them.
Good enough for me.
"Enjoy the rest of your week. I won't be in contact for a while."
She walks away and the mild satisfaction dissipated within seconds. Worry gnaws at me as I'm escorted back to my room. That woman truly was the last string I had tying me to the outside world and by association, my missing son.
I sit on the edge of my bed, tapping my foot against the floor to release some form of energy.
Idly, my gaze trails over to the clock. One forty-three; the conversation couldn't have lasted more than five minutes.
Told you it wasn't the clock.
Fuck off.
I make note of it in my book.