"This is damn frustrating!!" Isla exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. "Who the hell is messing with me?" She lamented after she got herself a cup of water from the kitchen. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat, but it did little to calm her frazzled nerves.
"How will I get out of this hell?" she asked herself, staring out the window into the darkness. "Only when the case is solved or I withdraw," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Isla couldn't help but burst into laughter at the thought of withdrawing from the case. "I'll never withdraw!" she declared, assuring herself.
But then, a nagging thought crept into her mind. "Wait a minute, why can't I remember this car plate number?" She took another gulp of water to clear her mind, hoping that the refreshing liquid would jog her memory.
The first therapy that she knew about was from her mom. She would tell her, "Daughter, whenever you're troubled, just take a glass of water." It has been her routine that she subconsciously does anytime she's troubled with a lot of things.
As she stood there, sipping her water, something suddenly clicked in her mind.
"Yes! Pictures," she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She remembered that the crime scene must have been captured on camera, and knowingly or unknowingly, the car must have been captured also when it was there.
Without hesitation, Isla picked up her phone and dialed Andrew's number. "I'm sorry I'm calling you this late," she said, apologizing for disturbing him.
"It's fine," Andrew replied, standing up from his bed.
"Did you have all the pictures from the crime scene with you?" Isla asked, her voice filled with anticipation.
"All the pictures are in the office presently," Andrew replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Actually, I was looking at the possibility of the car being captured, we could easily check the plate number from there," Isla explained.
"Wow! Miss Isla, I never thought about it this way," Andrew exclaimed, impressed by her quick thinking.
"I know, right," Isla beamed with a smile.
"You can come over tomorrow morning so we can check together."
"Alright, thank you so much, sir," Isla repliedefore the call ended.
"You sent for me, Sir," James said, his voice filled with respect.
"James, these people are having a lead," the figure replied, using a mediated voice changer to disguise their identity. Even though the wooden boundary didn't allow them to see each other, their communication was intimate, as though they could reach each other's expression.
"I have a plan in mind, sir," James said confidently.
"Really, tell me about it," the figure replied, curiosity evident in his voice.
James explained his plan in detail, and as he finished, both of them burst into loud laughter. The sound echoed through the room, a stark contrast to the seriousness of their conversation.
As the laughter died down, the mysterious figure spoke up again.
"Are you observing your prayers, James?" He asked.
"Sure I am," James responded convincingly.
"I make it a point to pray five times a day, as is obligatory for a Muslim."
The mysterious figure nodded, even though James couldn't see him
"That's good, James. It's essential to stay connected with one's faith, especially in times of uncertainty."
James nodded in agreement,
As the conversation came to a close, James left the room, feeling more determined than ever to carry out his plan. He knew that it wouldn't be easy, but he was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.
The other person talking with James watched him leave, he knew that James was a capable and resourceful individual, and they had no doubt that he would succeed in his mission.
The game was on, and only time would tell who would emerge victorious.
Andrew dropped his phone on the bed, his mind wandering back to the case they were working on. "Isla is a passionate lawyer" he said, and her dedication was inspiring.
He admired how she poured her heart and soul into every detail, leaving no stone unturned. As he thought about her, he remembered how he lived his life working all the years.
He had always been the target of bullying by his colleagues, who would often mock him with hurtful names. At first, he tried to brush it off, telling himself that their opinions didn't matter.
However, over time, their words began to seep into his subconscious, shaping his self-perception. He started to doubt himself, wondering if he was indeed the weakling they claimed him to be.
As he lay on his bed, he realized that he had been unconsciously internalizing their hurtful comments. He thought about how he wanted to prove them wrong, to show them that he was more than what they thought.
"No matter what, I will prove to them that I'm not a pushover," he declared to himself, with burning assurance.
As the night wore on, he shifted his position on the bed, lying sideways and curling up into a ball. He wrapped his arms around his knees, holding himself tightly as if trying to shield himself from the world. His eyes slowly closed, and his breathing deepened as the weight of his thoughts began to lift. The softness of his bed enveloped him, and the darkness of the room cradled him into a restless sleep.