Emma carefully set the steaming cup of tea onto the side table beside her study chair and collapsed into a crumpled ball on the soft cushions. Her feet came up and tucked themselves into the side of the chair, her knees resting just under her chin. Her back curved in a long round ball folding her breasts into her stomach. It was an action reminiscent of when she heard her mother died.
The female detective had walked awkwardly into the interview room, holding two styrofoam cups, translucent steam appearing in short bursts over the rim. Avoiding eye contact with Emma, the detective set the cups down, hot liquid tipping over the edge scalding her fingertips. She swore softly sticking the finger in her mouth for a second before finally glancing up and looking at Emma. The plainly dressed woman with the severely tight hair style let out her breath slowly and sat down. Hands slowing the process by bracing her body weight against the metal table. Emma ignored the cup and stared at the strange woman waiting. Dreading. Hoping.
"Hi," the woman said, wrapping her hands around the cup. Her dark blue eyes looked directly into Emma's for the first time. "I'm sorry I have to tell you this, your mother is dead."
Emma's head filled with a roaring sound. The woman was still speaking, she could hear the words pinging like cold coins against the sterile walls and dirty tiles, they were individual and jumbled. Emma put her hands on her chest, the heel of one hand on top of the other pushing into the sternum. Fingers wrapped around her neck. Thumb jammed against her throat preventing her from breathing; or crying. Feet lifting off the floor to push her knees against her chest, tucking her arm behind them, instinctively trying to keep the emotions inside.
Every since that day Emma would curl into a protective position in the face of something terrible. Something even she could not understand. Today, that thing was the Shadow.
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