I keep the doorknob held down until the door rests still in its frame, only then do I let the handle lock back into place. Hurriedly, I make my way through the short and narrow passage connecting to the next room, scanning the array of wooden desks as I move closer. As I enter the sunlight room, I immediately set my course towards the desk at the very back on the right. Dust drifts aimlessly through the shadow of the half open curtain, and there, in that shadow, I find a small rubbish bin sitting next to the empty desk.

The door clicks behind me once again, the stale air of the large warehouse and the scent of sun-baked paper greet my swift return. I quickly make my way down the two steps in front of the door and head straight passed the high stocked shelves and towards the printing presses at the very back of the room. Alfred stands there, still conversing with a lady that looks just a few years older than him. They’re both staring intently inside the press.

I return to Alfred’s side just as the two are finishing their conversation. The lady gives her parting and acknowledging me with a nod and a smile before stepping round the hefty machine, exiting the way I just came.

Alfred’s eyes remain fixated in the press even after the echo of the shutting door disperses across the warehouse. I linger around, running my gaze across the maze of steel beams holding up the ceiling, until suddenly, a slight gasp by my side breaks my daze.

Alfred stands facing me, a flushed look covers his face.

“Is something the matter?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s nothing. I just didn’t realise you were standing there the whole time.”

I give him a moment to catch his breath before asking him another question.

“Did she tell you anything new?”

“Nothing important. They just checked the logs, and it looks like none of the presses have been used since the last scheduled printing day, It’s unlikely that any extras managed to slip by since Conservatory was able to show up so soon, so it looks like we’ll be able to wrap up here soon. There’s just the rest of the files that we’ll have to look through tonight, but I doubt we’ll find be able to find any kind of actual leads.”

“Can’t be helped, I guess.” I reply.

As Alfred nods in agreements, he notices my eyes lowering to the floor beside me. The blinding shine of sunlight reflects off the silver blanket, wrinkles in the foil wrap around the lump underneath.

“Will someone be taking care of this?” I ask.

Alfred averts his gaze before giving an answer.

“As soon as we’re out of here, the people from the morgue will come and get her.”

There’s a moment of silence, as a train’s horn wails far outside. Alfred then turns, heading towards the warehouse door.

“Let’s get started. I’d like to be out of here by tomorrow morning.” He says.

----------------------------------

“Tell me everything that happened, start to finish. I need every detail.”

My fingers crawl over the laptop keyboard as I type out the first line. Sitting at the dining room table, the sun begins to part through the window. The light a smear of glare on my screen. I stand to close the curtains, as I hear the man sitting across from Alfred take a last breath before speaking.

“It was around ten in the evening that night. I’d been working nonstop since I’d gotten home at six, since deadline was the next day, and I was fairly behind on my work.”

The man pauses. He speaks clearly and without any kind of indecision. He’s probably practiced this explanation many times before. As I shut the curtains, I look at back at the two sitting in the living room half of the small apartment. Alfred sits on the couch, his back facing my direction. Across from him is a young man, I’d guess no older than 25, sitting on a chair taken from the dining room. He clenches his hands tightly in his lap, his figure closed and hunched, despite his best attempts to be mindful of his nervousness.

I return to my seat, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready for his next sentence.

“I’d gotten down to the last article when I’d realised that I had forgotten the transcription of the interview I needed at the office. I normally go for an evening stroll at around eight, right after having my dinner, so I figured that since I hadn’t done either of those things yet, I’d walk back to the office to pick up the interview, and on my way back I’d grab some food.”

There’s another break in his speech, allowing me to catch up on my transcription.

“When I’d arrived at the office, I could hear the sounds of a press operating, which I thought was abnormal, because no one should have been in the back at the time. I thought that maybe someone had just accidentally left the machine on, because recently, one of our presses has had a problem with shutting down properly, and I figured that the warehouse workers might have just left it without double checking it.”

He takes another moment to gather his thoughts, but for brief second, as he begins to speak again, there’s a slight hesitation in his voice.

“I was quite convinced that the issue wasn’t anything major, but just to be safe, I’d remembered what the person from Conservatory had told us and went to get the pistol that he’d left us.”

His voice continues to grow shakier by the word.

“When I entered the warehouse, I noticed that the only lights that were on were the night lights, which automatically turn on at midnight, and I remember specifically thinking that I couldn’t believe it had already gotten so late, so I decided to fix the printing press quickly so I could get back home and finish the work I still wanted to get done.”

My hands quietly lift from the keys. I shut my eyes as I wait, but the pause is longer than the last few times. I swivel my eyes to see a grieving man, trying to hold back tears.

“When I got closer, I noticed a shadow behind the shelves.”

The man swallows gulps of air. Still doing his best to hold himself together.

“She must have heard I was there, and she, Constance, she, - I, ”

I shut my eyes once again, and push the air out of my ears to drown out the sound, but it doesn’t stop me from seeing, or hearing, the pain.

“My apologies, this must be difficult for you.”

Alfred’s voice.

“We’ll head outside for a couple of minutes, give you some time to collect yourself.”

----------------------------------

Buried in a pile of loose papers, I struggle to keep my eyes open as I quickly skim over the contents of each one, before placing them in the ever growing ‘finished’ stack. The still indoor air grows colder as night approaches.

Almost falling asleep on resting on my upright arm, I look over my shoulder, where Alfred sits, efficiently and systematically filing through a mountain of documents like he hasn’t already been going at it for hours.

My arms reach high in the air, and I let out a big yawn, but Alfred seems to pay me no attention.

I get up from my seat and head over to the window by the back, opening it wide open. But Alfred still doesn’t so much as look up from his desk.

I sit back down in my seat, letting my arms hang flimsily, and drooping my head upside down across the back of the chair.

“Hey, Alfred,” I say, trying to finally get his attention.

“Yes, what is it?”

Surprisingly, I receive an almost immediate response.

“How do you think he did it?” I ask, purposefully vague, invoking Alfred to question my question.

“How did who do what?”

“How did he gain such a dedicated following within the media?” I ask, fully expecting him to be unable to come up with any kind of legitimate answer.

“Honestly, I really couldn’t say.” He says. “If anyone would know, I would think It’d be you.”

I sit back normally before speaking again, facing the air in front of me.

“I don’t know. He was always the smart one. I was just living in his shadow.”

The sounds of shuffling sheets disappears behind me.

“You still admire him quite a lot, don’t you?”

I feel a stare on the back of my head, and I turn around to meet Alfred’s gaze.

“You’re still doubting me, aren’t you?” I ask in return, assessing his reaction. “Do I have to tell you again?”

“No.” He says, as he shakes his head, returning to his work.

There’s a brief silence. I shut my eyes and listen carefully to the sounds outside, waiting for the signal. But there’s nothing just yet. Perhaps he just needs a little encouragement.

“Hey, Alfred,” I say, the same way as before. “Why don’t I go get us something to eat? It’s getting pretty late.”

He stops what he’s doing to respond.

“Technically, they don’t want me to take my eye off of you,” He says, leaving his sentence lingering uncompleted.

“-but,”

“but we also probably shouldn’t leave this place empty.” He finishes. The expected response.

“I’ll go get dinner. I don’t like most of the food around these parts, so you’d just get the wrong thing.” Alfred says, as he gets up from his seat.

“I know that already, you’ve told me that so many times.” I tell him.

“Can’t wait until they send us back across. I haven’t had a meal I’ve enjoyed in way too long.” He says, putting on his heavy coat and nearing the door.

“That’s a joke, right?”

He shrugs, without a final word before slipping out into the cold.

As the shutting of the front door swiftly becomes nothing more than a distant memory. I lay my head down on the table. Facing away from the breeze of the open window, I close my eyes, and begin to let my thoughts drift. But I know I cannot allow myself to fall asleep.

I rise from my seat and head outside. But I don’t go far, I just lean on the wall next to the door.

Eyes still shut and thoughts still drifting.

But my ears are wide open, waiting for the signal.

Though the curfew has long since been out of effect, the streets at this hour are still fairly empty. There’re only the sounds of the evening train, and flickering lights on the wind. And then there’s one more sound. The crunch of the paper in a recycling bin.

Quickly, I make my way around the corner to the building’s adjacent wall. The one with the open window. There, I find a man, kneeling on the ground, his arm reaching through the window, at the rubbish bin on the other side.

He looks me in the eye, recognizing me, if not by name then at least by my face. He doesn’t even begin to try and run. He doesn’t even try to move.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the pieces of a few torn sheets of papers.

“I take it this is what you’re looking for?”

The man takes his arm out of the windowsill, standing up straight and brushing himself off.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you weren’t the one who killed her, Constance. You didn’t kill her did you?”

There’s no sign of denial.

“The two of you’d realised that that Conservatory was about to show up. So she killed herself. To save you.”

He nods just barely enough to be noticeable.

“That’s why there was nothing in the printer, even though by your story, Constance would have had plenty of time to have used it. You were getting these from your desk.” I tell him, holding up the ball of scraps.

The man’s legs struggle to keep him upright as he stumbles forward. He falls back onto his knees, seemingly accepting his fate, and unable to speak a single word.

“Don’t worry, nobody else knows, and I won’t tell anyone.”

“No,” the man mutters into the stone. “You can’t do that, if they find out they’ll-”

“- I’m well aware of that, but why are you trying to throw away your life so readily? You don’t seem like the type to do that. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come back for these.” I say, holding up the papers once again.

In the man’s complete state of breakdown, he manages to utter one more question.

“Why?”

“I just need to know, the person who put the two of you up to all of this. Do you still believe in what he stands for?”

“I do. His world was Constance’s dream.”

“And did you have anyway of contacting him directly?”

The man shakes his head, almost apologetically.

I nod gently, having been giving the answer I’d expected.

“One last thing,” I begin, before sending him off.

He awaits my words nervously.

“What do you plan on doing from here on out?”

The man gathers himself from the dusty sidewalk and rises to his feet.

“I’ll, continue fighting. For what she wanted.”