The world was spinning when she opened her eyes. Her mouth was dry as sand and had the kind of sweet, sickening taste that tells you that you've thrown up. "Did I go out yesterday?" she thought, "no". She closed her eyes again and rolled over. Bad move. The movement made her stomach churn, and for a second, she thought she might hurl right then and there on the couch. She shut her eyes tight, took a deep breath, and clenched her fists. Her hand was crusty. Not really wanting to open her eyes again, she rubbed her fingers together and felt whatever was on her hand crumble into a gritty dust. She had an idé what it might be, but was it worth risking the movement to confirm? No. She did her best to fall back asleep.
She woke back up feeling thirstier now than ever before in her life. She moved her blanket painfully slowly and rose to her feet. She opened her eyes and looked around her tiny apartment. On the table, an empty whisky bottle lay on top of her shirt from yesterday, in turn lying half on top of a stack of 5 dirty plates. "Not wearing that", she thought to herself before taking a big step over a few bottles and cans on the floor. She bumped the doorframe to the bathroom and entered. "Yup, definitely threw up". She flushed the toilet. Her eyes met her own in the mirror above the sink. Her left eye was bloodshot, and she had somehow cut her lower lip. Looking down, she confirmed what she had suspected earlier. Her right hand was covered in brown, dry blood, and her knuckles were cut and bruised. She undressed and stepped into the shower, turning the water temperature down low. The cold water made her body contract and her skin tighten. She opened her mouth in a silent gasp, then opened it wider and angled her head to catch the flowing water. The shower water had a metallic dry taste, but she didn't care. Water pooled on the floor, and a stream of pink flowed down her right arm, dripping from her elbow down to the ground. The gritty, dirty feeling of her hangover was dissipating. She smelled her armpits, decided that it could be worse, and stepped out of the shower. She grabbed a towel and walked out of the bathroom. She took another look around, spotting a small jagged crater in one of the walls. She stumbled over to it and felt it. "Brick... Did I crack it?". She looked down and nudged a piece of broken red brick with her left foot. She looked back up, next to the wall crater, and out through the window. The sun was bright and high in the sky, not a cloud in sight. She thought it might be about 2 o'clock. She drew the blinds since she lived on the ground floor, and carefully lowered herself onto the sofa. Her phone told her today was August 3, 14:56. She also saw that she had 6 missed calls from that morning. "Who?", she looked at the number, "What country is this number from? Scammers". She dropped her phone and curled into a ball. She looked down at herself and decided she wouldn't need to get dressed if she wasn't planning to go outside. Today, she had nothing planned anyway, so an afternoon on the couch seemed just fine.
Although she felt better now than when she woke up the first time, she still couldn't think completely clearly. The feeling was as if she had a hard time deciding for herself what she was thinking, as if her brain was engaged in some form of not-so-quiet protest. She must have done something to anger it last night. She was pretty sure that her brain must have been the one who told her to drink, so who was really the victim here? For what it was worth, she felt calm today, or at least calmer than she had for several days. It had been two weeks since her last "bender", and this seemed fairly tame compared to last time. Then again, there was the cracked wall. She looked at the wall, deciding that it was the wall's own fault that it was broken. No one punches a brick wall and breaks it unless it's already broken. "Is that a load-bearing wall? Must be. This place is a shithole".
She had been staring at the wall for a good long while when her Phone pinged. She gave the wall one last stern look before flipping over onto her back and looking down at her phone. "Mom: Someone called Dad asking about you. He told me it sounded serious. Are you ok? Want me to drive over to you? Love you <3.". She read the message slowly before rolling her eyes and replying "I'm fine", and "Don't know what it's about but I'll be fine", and finally, "Don't come over, not feeling 100". She had just about put down the phone when her mom replied, "You haven't been drinking again have you Whinney? I'll ask dad again what they told him over the phone. This may be something you need to take care of. We are here for you if you need us. Get well soon." Whinney didn't reply; she just put her phone aside and let out a frustrated sigh. A few minutes later, someone rang her doorbell. "Shit" she whispered. a sinking feeling washed over her. "Someone probably complained to the landlord about noise last night". She decided not to answer the door. Whoever was at the door wasn't letting up, ringing again and again. She threw the blanket onto the floor, frustrated, and made a sound like a very small snarling dog. She found a pair of sweatpants under a plastic bag in the corner of the room and grabbed a t-shirt out of the laundry basket. She looked back at the trash-littered apartment, then opened her door just a crack. On the other side stood two people, a man and a woman, neither one her landlord. Both were wearing black suits. The man had wide-open eyes and an intense stare. The woman had long, flowing, deep brown hair and full red lips. She looked at Whinney in a way that made her feel naked. The man gave her a forced smile and said, "May we come in?". Straight to the point, Whinney didn't like that. "No, what'sha want?". Probably Mormons or something, she concluded, those are the guys who like to walk around telling people bout Jesus, right? "We're special detectives", said the man, pulling out a badge and showing it to Whinney. She couldn't tell if it looked official or not, but something felt off. This guy made her feel uncomfortable, something about the way he hadn't blinked yet, and the woman's suit and shirt seemed way too small. Hardly official lookin. "Those buttons are workin overtime, doin the Lord's work", she thought. "We spoke to your father over the phone, and we tried to call you earlier this morning. It's important we speak to you". Whinney didn't like these guys, but somehow she couldn't shake the feeling that this guy was telling the truth. She knew that at least some of what the man was saying could be true. "What's this about? I haven't done anything". "Well, we have some questions to ask you before we can tell you more. At this time, we simply need you to cooperate". Fuck this. "Come back with a warrant or whatever, I'm not talking to you without a lawyer and an attorney". She tried to close the door, but the woman moved to stop her, and she seemed, at least to Whinney, incredibly strong. "I'm sorry", said the man, no longer smiling, "you really don't have a choice in this matter. Please don't make this difficult for yourself". Whinney froze momentarily at those words, her hands clenched the door handle. The woman pulled the door open, and the force flung Whinney into the man. She yelped like a small dog being thrown into a wall. The man stood her up straight, then looked over at the woman. "What do you make of this?". "Not sure, nothing obvious, but she might be hiding it". Whiney shook the man's hands off and backed up, something akin to panic creeping in. "Hiding? Hiding what? Who are you, really? I'm calling the police!". The man took a step forward, closing the newly formed distance, and said, "This is for your own safety, miss. We suspect that you might pose a threat to others as well as yourself. We are here to help you".
The two strangers walked straight past Whinney into her apartment. The strange woman looked around and turned to her partner, saying, "Filthy, not conclusive, but certainly supports the theory" in a low voice. Whinney looked on in disbelief at these two who claimed to be law enforcement, violating her privacy, rummaging through her messy home. She felt a familiar dark heat growing in her chest up into her throat, like a flaming tumor. She felt as if she had to do something or she would boil over, but had no clue what. She slammed the door shut, making the entire apartment stairwell echo, and stomped into the apartment. "Here to help? fucking bullshit. Who do these sons of bithes think they are?" she thought while walking up to the man who stood by the wall next to the window. "Hey, you, you tell me just what the fuck you think you're doing. Get the fuck out of my home, or I'll," but she was interrupted by the man, who spoke calmly, as if he hadn't listened to her at all. "You did this?" Gesturing to the broken wall. "Yeah... so what? get out o...". "With a hammer? Or with your fist?" He looked down at her battered and bruised right hand. "Who cares! I'm telling you to get out of my home!". Whinney felt a hand on her shoulder and felt hot breath next to her ear. The woman had come up behind her and spoke, "You're angry, and the wall, that's enough, we've seen all we need to". She said this at Whinney, but the man was the one who answered, "This is true, Willheminia, you are under arrest". Whinney was boiling. "Oh no I'm not! You people are not cops or detectives!", she said loudly, not screaming, baling her fist. The man spoke again, "Yes, we are, and yes, you are. We have credible evidence tying you to two counts of grievous bodily harm, several cases of assault, and many more counts of destruction of property". Whinney blinked, not understanding. Now she knew that these people had the wrong person. "That's not true!", fear mingling with anger, "I've never hurt anybody! And I haven't destroyed anybody's property". "C'mon, Wilheminia, we won't hurt you," The woman said from behind her, the hand on her shoulder now gripping her. "I'll tell you a secret," she whispered, "I'm just like you". What is that supposed to mean? As far as Whinney could tell, there was nothing similar between them. That said, she felt her anger simmering down slightly. "I want you... to help us". Shiver. "... Why?". Why was she still gripping her shoulder, and why wouldn't Whinney break loose? "Won't you come with us? It really is for your own best". "But I'm not the one you're looking for!". "Then come with us and we'll prove your innocence". Whinney couldn't say why she was suddenly considering this woman's words, but for some reason, she wanted to appease this woman. "Is this really necessary?". "Yes, it really is". Whiney's knees felt weak, and her body felt slow and soft. She had lost all will to fight. "...Alright".
Whinney was led out and into the back of a black car. If this were a kidnapping, this would have been the point of no return. Actually, who's to say this wasn't a kidnapping? Whinney hadn't even gotten their names. As if prompted, the man who was now driving looked at Winney in the mirror with his wide-open, never-blinking, gross eyes. "My name's Emet, and this is my partner Aeshma". "Ok, and you're police?". "No, not quite. We are part of an international group that specializes in cases like yours". "Interpol? I thought this was about assault". "No, not interpol. We are part of the S.O.F. You will learn more if we judge you to be of use". "Of use! What the hell is this? I thought I was being arrested!". "You are being arrested, but we don't really care about your violent tendencies". This wasn't good. She had no clue what was going on now. Had they tricked her? Was any of what they had told her true? Why had she agreed to step into a car with strangers? "Let me go!". "Can't do that, Wilheminia, but I wasn't lying when I said that we want to help you. The part about you hurting people was true as well, and we know that you were the one who did so, even though you might not". Whinney's head was spinning. "Be still, you are safe for now".