Aphrodite
“He’d been sitting in his motel room in near silence, not even turning on the television, for over five hours. Every time he heard any kind of noise outside his room, he’d stiffen, wait for the knock, and envision the conversation he’d have to have.
Who is it?
FBI. Open the door.
I need to see some ID.
Open the door and I’ll show it to you.
Slip it under the crack. When I see some valid ID, I’ll let you in.
So far, the knock hadn’t come. But he’d played the scene over and... over in his head while he sat there, maybe two hundred times. He had come up with ten or twelve variations. One time he’d move confidently over to the door, check the ID, and verify it. He saw himself opening the door to someone who would stride inside and assume command, and who, without question, could lead him out of this mess. Another time, he imagined himself picking up the photo and badge, realizing that something was wrong, and then he’d freeze, knowing they’d found him and were going to kill him.MoreLess
Who is it?
FBI. Open the door.
I need to see some ID.
Open the door and I’ll show it to you.
Slip it under the crack. When I see some valid ID, I’ll let you in.
So far, the knock hadn’t come. But he’d played the scene over and... over in his head while he sat there, maybe two hundred times. He had come up with ten or twelve variations. One time he’d move confidently over to the door, check the ID, and verify it. He saw himself opening the door to someone who would stride inside and assume command, and who, without question, could lead him out of this mess. Another time, he imagined himself picking up the photo and badge, realizing that something was wrong, and then he’d freeze, knowing they’d found him and were going to kill him.MoreLess
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