Chapter Four

The police station was nothing special. Despite being the second largest building in the town — the first being the mayor’s house, obviously — it kept the Herafel feel. Cracked floorboards, broken windows, even missing bricks in some places. It was remarkable to Lillia how it hadn’t fallen down. Perhaps if it was encouraged…

Lillia shook the thought away. There were some prisoners here, some whose only crime was being born. Most get moved to an actual prison, this place doesn’t have the capacity to keep prisoners. Today, however, the station was packed. Lillia glanced around the room. Officers stood sternly, their purple uniforms, Ilbion’s colours, marking their superiority to everyone else in the room. She recognised most of the people in the reception area. Everyone was from the riot earlier, and so they all chuckled with each other, some mocking the officers.

“Ay, ay, PC Plonker, what’s the idea, eh?” One of the more bubbly prisoners, lounging at a table, remarked. “You took all the rioters … and put them in the same building! Do you people not use your brain?”

“Na, Garry,” another piped up, “I’m pretty sure to become a pig you have to have a brain transplant. That’s what me mum told me.”

“Oh yeah? What do they replace it with?”

“Nothing!”

The table burst into laughter. Lillia bit down a smirk. The officer remained silent, but his eyes sharpened onto the man. Obviously, he didn’t do too well with insults, but what could he do? He was outnumbered. Lillia was certain that if he did anything, every prisoner in the prison would jump him. Despite them not knowing each other, despite them likely being strangers. The situation didn’t escalate though, which disappointed Lillia a little. She missed out on the actual riot, but a little chaos here would be a good constellation prize.

“Madam, come forward,” A voice called out. The words pierced Lillia’s chest. They were meant for her. “Oh, my apologies, are you a sir? It’s not easy to tell from here.”

Lillia strided up to the desk. “I am definitely not a sir,” she stated forcefully.

The receptionist, a thin, glum woman looked her up and down. “Still can’t really tell, to be honest.”

“I am not a guy.”

“Okay, okay! Calm down!” The receptionist tapped away at a large machine. 

The machine had buttons attached to levers that made a satisfying click sound once one was pushed down. The buttons had letters on them, and, to Lillia’s surprise, seemed to be transferring them onto a sheet of paper. Lillia watched as the receptionist boney fingers glided from one button to the next.

“Your name, girl?”

The machine made a slight whirring noise.

“Girl?”

“Oh, yes,” Lillia cleared her throat, “My name is Lillia Ernalin.”

The receptionist blinked at her, then went back to slapping buttons. Lillia watched as her name was printed onto the page.

“What are you here for?” The receptionist didn’t waste a second. “Turning yourself in?”

“Huh?”

She chuckled. “Just a little joke. You’re here for Rosemarie, correct?”

Lillia nodded. “How d—”

“She’s been waiting for you. No, I should’ve said expecting you, that would have sounded better.”

Lillia looked at the woman, confused.

“Don’t mind me, just trying to lighten up my day.”

“Okay,” Lillia responded, “where is she?”

Lillia barely finished her sentence before the receptionist snapped back: “through that door, table number fourteen. Have a nice chat or whatever, then take her home or something, I don’t care, I just don’t really like crowds, you know. See once—”

“Okay thank you,” Lillia headed for the door, “Uh, nice to meet you!”

Lillia rushed through the door. She recited the questions over and over in her head, the corridor gave plenty of time for that. But she now had a new one, why is Nan expecting me?

Lillia threw open the doors. She entered a new part of the station, a much larger room, but she couldn’t tell that due to the amount of people all crammed into the one hall. Tables were set up, some long and rectangular, others square, but no matter what the shape, they repeated from one edge of the hall to another. More police officers stood guard at the edges of the room. These ones all held a baton, ready in case of emergency — or at least, what they would class as emergency. Lillia stared a little too long, one of the guards shot her an evil glance. Swiftly, she moved on. Each table, she noticed, had a tatty number stuck on it. 

Lillia quickly moved down the rows of tables. One, two, three, five, twenty-seven — wait twenty seven? She glanced behind her. Table twelve. The large man sitting at the table growled at her. The tables were not in order. Well, an attempt was made, but it was a terrible attempt. She looked around. The room was too crowded to make out anyones face. Lillia sighed. Continuing down the jumbled row of tables. If she went past them all, she’d eventually find her nan.

Thirty, seven, four — the number gave her a boost of hope, but it was just the number four, no one to accompany it. Frustration rose in her chest. She did not want to spend any more time than necessary in this hall. The stench made Lillia gag and the amount of bodies seemed to amplify it. She was used to all sorts of smells and had learnt to deal with most. But this odour attacked her very nervous system. She didn’t even know that was possible.

Lillia made it to the third row. By now, she was just about ready to punch the next person that looked at her funny. The sea of people dispersed around here, many tables laid empty. Still, Lillia couldn’t see her nan. She pushed on. Eleven, thirteen, six. Fourteen. Lillia loomed over the table. The number was difficult to read, but filling in the torn parts presented the numbers one and four. Fourteen. She looked up from the number. The table was empty. She chuckled to herself. What sort of cruel joke is this?

She flexed her fingers, her shoulders twitched. Lillia pounded her fist on the cheap plastic table. The sound escaped into the crowded chatter. Her wrist and fingers started to burn. A heavy sigh. Lillia ripped her forearm off the table, defeated.

“What do you think you’re doing to my table?!” A wheezy voice demanded.

Lillia spun around and the frustration died out — almost in an instant. Her nan stood behind her, two cups of a hot beverage in hand. “Nan, I…”

The old woman laughed. She placed the drinks at the table and sat down. Her nan wore the same clothes as earlier — she wasn’t in the station's prisoner rags — except a beige patch had been carelessly slapped onto her shoulder. 

“My prisoner number, that is,” she replied, sensing Lillia’s curiosity. “No way was I wearing any of their shitty clothes! And it turns out men don’t like it when they are outmatched by an old lady.”

She smiled. Her face seemed to crack as she did, her body losing to age. Dead skin hung around her cheeks and neck, and her eyes were as piercing as ever.

“Come on then,” Rosemarie said, “sit down!”

Lillia stuttered, then fell into the plastic chair, almost losing balance. “Shit.”

“Ha! Yeah, these chairs are almost more fragile than me!”

Lillia shifted into a comfortable position. “You’re not fragile, nan. You’re like the strongest person I know.”

“Kind,” her nan’s smile faded, “but incorrect. My days are almost up.”

“Don’t say that!”

But she had. Those words had been presented and now Lillia had to decrypt them, find the best response, the correct emotion. Because it was true, her days were almost up. Roesmarie had lived way longer than most of the elderly in Herafel, and everyone dies one day. Lillia threw that thought away. Positivity. That’s what Thalia would go for, something positive.

“Well, you have lived a long life — a long life you can be proud of.”

“Heh. Proud of…” her nan’s voice trailed away. She looked down at the floor. “That’s true, but I’ve done half as much as I wanted to and not nearly as much as I promised.”

Lillia remained silent. Her mind flashed back to the pictures and the journal. No. Too soon to bring that up.

“Well, I’m proud of you, nan,” Lillia added with a smile.

Rosemarie’s head jolted back up, her eyes widened and her mouth gaped for a second, but she bit the emotion away. “Th…thank you Lillia. You’ve always been a kind child.”

The two let an awkward silence pass. Has she always been a kind child? Lillia thought, but she couldn’t confirm nor deny that. She remembered the card game that, when she lost, she kicked her nan for beating her. That wasn’t kind, was it? Lillia swallowed her apprehension.

“The receptionist said you were waiting for me.”

“Yes, I guess I have been.”

“Any reason?”

She stroked her chin and narrowed her eyes. Lillia looked away. She could feel them prying into her mind.

Rosemarie cracked her knuckles. “No, not really. I just assumed out of everyone, you’d be the one who visited me.”

“Oh.” Lillia sounded disappointed. All expectations of a greater purpose shattered. It made sense, though, Thalia was far too pregnant and busy and her mother, well, she probably wouldn’t turn up to nan’s funeral.

“Is something wrong?” her nan asked, sipping her drink.

“Huh? Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong,” Lillia gasped, remembering the second drink was hers. She felt compelled to drink it. Tea. A very weak, cold tea. She spat it out. “What is this stuff?”

Her nan laughed again. “Police tea. Though I and the other prisoners here call it pig tea. Makes more sense.”

“Yeah, tastes awful,” Lillia snorted.

“Just like the police.”

Rosemarie placed the cup on the table. She quickly glanced over her shoulders, then turned her full attention to Lillia. Unsettled, Lillia slowly rested her cup back on the table too.

“Lillia, you wouldn’t have happened to,” she paused and hushed her voice, “had a look round the basement today, have you?”

Lillia’s heart froze.

She knows?