— "I don't understand anything anymore, really," he complained in a careless, tired voice to his friend.
— "Andrew, why are they even accusing you? Do they have any reasons at all?"
— "I don't know… I don't know anything…"
— "Are there at least any witnesses?" his friend asked eagerly.
Andrew made an uneasy face and hesitated for a moment.
— "Hm… actually there was one woman…," he answered thoughtfully.
— "What woman?" his friend asked impatiently while biting into an apple he had found in a neglected, long-forgotten fridge already covered in layers of dust.
— "Well… the secretary," Andrew answered and stared at the apple, where his eyes caught a tiny worm just peeking out. His thoughts began to fade away.
— "Aaaaaa! Ugh!!" the boy suddenly gagged, then threw the rotten fruit into the sink. "What secretary, you said?" he spat out the juice with disgust on his face.
— "For God's sake, Sam. My secretary," Andrew replied, annoyed by his tactless behavior.
— "What did she say?" Sam wondered.
— "Honestly? Some nonsense," Andrew frowned unhappily.
Sam gave him a meaningful look.
— "Well… just about how strange I am," Andrew continued reluctantly and paused for a moment. Sam kept staring at him, his eyes full of questions. "She said that… I always look tired."
Sam didn't even raise an eyebrow.
— "And that I'm unfriendly… even though I always greet her," he added firmly, before pausing for a moment. "She also said I'm not even on the staff list."
With every sentence, his eyes wandered around the room in despair, searching for stability — to the window glass with cars roaring past outside, to the muted TV under which dust was slowly settling, and to the hands of the clock, lazily ticking away the long minutes.
— "Jesus…," Sam breathed, focused on his words. A long silence followed. "Three years isn't really that much," he finally broke the sudden quiet.
Andrew looked at him with wide-open eyes, not expecting such a reaction.
— "You don't even know if you really did it," Sam said softly, avoiding Andrew's gaze. "Maybe if they accuse you, they have a reason?" he added, looking at him closely.
— "Do you really doubt whether I did it?" Andrew burst out harshly, unable to bear his words. "Do you think I don't have control over my own actions?"
— "No…" Sam began, but he was cut off by another explosion of Andrew's anger.
— "Are you saying I'm incompetent?"
— "Of course not!" Sam tried to explain quickly.
— "Go away. Please." Those were the last words Andrew spoke to him.
Right after, the conflict grew into unusual force and character. Andrew felt a strange, almost abnormal pulsing in his wrist, which suddenly quickened and grew stronger. Through the intense movements that drained all of Andrew's nervous strength came excited and restless shouts and arguments.
— "Police! Get down on the ground! You are under arrest!" echoed along with a faint siren, quickly approaching, its piercing tone stabbing at the ears.
Across the street a voice immediately rang out: "Leave the house at once! Come out with your hands above your head!"
Andrew was surrounded by a crowd of police cars, their flashing lights shining against the front of the house. Through the windows, a sharp blue and red beam cut inside, reflecting in the glossy glass.
The man stood stunned, not moving for a moment.
— "You are surrounded! Cooperate, and no one will get hurt!"
In his memory, wrapped in a heavy, impenetrable fog since the police arrived, there was only the wind rushing and flashes of something he could not grasp.
With a weariness that quietly wrapped around him and crushed all words, he stood outside in front of the house.
A strange weight and sadness suddenly fell upon him, so that even the repeated police warnings and the wailing sirens no longer seemed important.
— "You are under arrest on suspicion of committing a crime. You have the right to remain silent, the right to a lawyer, and the right to be told the reasons for your arrest," a voice rang somewhere in the distance, but he heard only the sharp hertz of sirens and the piercing whistle in his ears, which muffled all other sounds.
His sober mind woke up right in a place that felt familiar, where something known was happening.
— "The time when he took up the position – if you can even call it like that," she remarked with a touch of irony, "I haven't been around yet. But in the five years that I've been working here, he always made me suspicious."
Andrew turned and saw a strange scene: the whole room was filled with people in official clothing. In the center, his colleague was giving testimony. Next to her sat an older man with a serious, grumpy look on his face.
Right beside him sat Lyle.
— "Are you ready?" she whispered softly, full of hope.
— "What? For what?" he asked in confusion, trying to adjust to what was happening around him.
— "For the closing statement. You will defend your innocence now," she said with calmness.
In Andrew's mind, thoughts swirled that he had long wished to release forever—whether they were meaningful and fitting, or confused and unclear. He did not resist. He did not fight back, because the idea, at that moment, seemed surprisingly promising.
When both woman and man stood up, they exchanged a brief, meaningful glance, in which a spark of hope flickered.