Find Me Alastar

“Hello, Emerson.”

I smile. “Hi, Mark.”

“Can you come into my office for a minute?”

“Sure.” I reply. I put my phone into my bottom drawer and make my way to his office. The detectives

stand on my arrival and shake my hand. “Hello.” I smile nervously. Gosh, police make me nervous.

“Please take a seat.”

I fall into the seat.

“There has been a development in the case.” The taller detective smiles.

“Oh, really. Good.”

“Well, it’s not good,” Mark interrupts as he watches something on the detective’s laptop. “There was

another robbery last night.”

My face falls. “Oh… Oh no.” I stammer.

“But the good news is we have security footage.” The detective nods as he gestures to his computer.

My eyes widen. “Oh good.”

Mark continues to watch the footage as he sits back and swings on his chair deep in thought.

“Anyone familiar?” The detective asks him.

Mark shakes his head. “No, unfortunately not. Have a look, Emerson, and see if you see anything

familiar.”

I sit forward and concentrate. He turns the computer to face me and hits play.

It’s dark and I see a man with a torch enter a large room. He’s in all black and wearing a balaclava

and is shining the torch up onto the walls looking for something.

“Luckily for us there was a hidden camera up above the painting that was stolen.” The detective

points to the screen as I watch.

I frown. The person’s silhouette is familiar. The way they walk. I sit forward in concentration. Shit.

Do I actually know this person? I sit still with my eyes transfixed on the screen as the offender comes

over to the painting under the camera and looks up at it. The eyes are shadowed and you can’t see

anything. He then puts the small torch in his mouth and reaches up to take the painting from the wall and

my heart stops.

On the black leather glove there is orange paint spilled on the pinky finger.

That is the same glove that I saw Alastar take last night.

Oh dear god, my heart stops.

That’s Alastar.

My heart starts to hammer and I sit back in my seat guiltily.

“What do you think?” Mark asks.

“Huh?” My eyes flash to him and I frown.

“Any idea who that is?”

I look to the detectives and then to Mark in shock. I know exactly who it is. I swallow the lump in my

throat as my heart starts to try and escape from my chest. No. It can’t be him. I rub my hand over my face.

“No. No idea,” I lie.

Mark hits play again and I sit and re watch it. The thief enters the room and now that I know it’s

Alastar, I can see it as clear as day. The way he walks, his physique. Holy fuck. I have got to get out of

here. There must be a mistake.

What’s going on?

I shake my head in a confused fog. “No… I… No. I don’t know who it is,” I stammer as the clip

finishes. I need to talk to him. This must be a mistake he wouldn’t do this. He isn’t a criminal… is he?

Dear God.

I smile politely. “I have a lot of work to do.” I stand. “Do you need me for anything else, Mark?” I

ask.Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

The detectives shake their heads. “No, that’s fine. Keep us posted if you think of anything.” He smiles.

I fake a smile back at him. “Thank you.” I stand and leave the office and practically run to my desk. I

open the bottom draw in a rush and take out my handbag.

“Where are you going?” Deirdre asks.

Huh. “Oh.” I try to control my panicked breathing as I look around for an excuse to leave. “Oh, um. I

just threw up in the bathroom. I was really unwell last night.”

“Oh.” Deirdre screws up her face. “I hope it’s not contagious. I go on holiday on Saturday.”

Huh, funnily enough, I do, too. To a castle to marry a criminal I don’t even know.

I screw up my face. “Me, too,” I whisper as I look around in a panic for my boss.

“Don’t worry, just go. I will tell him you have gone home sick.”

I nod my head nervously. “Yes, yes. You tell him. Thank you.” I start to throw my things in my drawer

in double quick time.

“Stay home tomorrow, too. I don’t want to get it,” she replies flatly.

“Sure thing,” I breathe as I stand with my bag over my shoulder. Can anyone tell how panicked I am?

Fuck. I leave the office and run to the curb, holding my hand in the air. “Taxi!” I call.

Seemingly one second later I am pulled from my disturbing thoughts by the car coming to a halt.

“Here we are.” The cab driver smiles from his position in the front seat.

I scramble through my handbag for my purse to pay him and tentatively get out of the car. He drives off

and I stand and look at the opulent house in front of me. He didn’t do this.

He’s honest.

He loves me.

He wouldn’t do this.