The Missing Piece: Part 4

A fictional story written by students

January 25, 2017


Credit: Pexels

Written by Isabela Salinas

Terror gripped at my heart, my stomach churned, and my lunch threatened to resurface. I glanced around the room I was in, taking in the gray uninviting walls and plain, monochrome decorum. The only thing that immediately caught my attention when I entered the interrogation room was the whirring recording machine, a little out-of-date but still carrying out its purpose efficiently enough to maintain relevancy. A heavy cough broke my trance and I started to talk, almost on the verge of a panic attack. The detective who uttered the sound made a soothing hand motion, attempting to calm me down.

“It’s okay son, I just need you to tell me what you were doing in the museum after hours, you’re not in trouble.”

I knew from the heavy pause that he was going to say that I wasn’t in any trouble… yet. And I knew it was ridiculous that I was nervous, I hadn’t done anything wrong, my heart still raced with a dread I couldn’t seem to shake off. I retold the events leading up to that day, careful not to leave out any detail.

“I had an essay due for my photography class, we had to write a 20 page paper of an important art piece that impacted the French society at the time,” I stammered, trying not to sound as frightened as I seemed.

I quickly finished off my story, “I had woken up late that day, luckily I didn’t have any classes that I had to go to. I spent the whole day relaxing until I realized that I still had to write a paper for my class. I panicked, I looked up the nearest museum, which happened to be a few blocks down my apartment and I relaxed, until I noticed that it closed in less than ten minutes. Racing down the street, I managed to make it into the building just as the last few people exited. I quickly found the exhibit I was looking for and took a few snapshots of French aristocrats laying on a field or drinking from dainty cups. I guess I must’ve lost track of time because the next thing I know I’m looking up to the face of a Goliath of a security guard. Needless to say I got kicked out of the museum very quickly, but before I left, I could’ve sworn I saw movement out of my left eye towards the center of the museum.”

The detective wrote down a few notes on his yellow pad as I finished telling my story, making some very pointed underlining in a few areas. “Much to my relief, I was quickly dismissed from the dismal interrogation room to continue and go about my day.”

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