Left To Die

John moved further down the hall until he reached Interrogation Room Six. Then he fished a key from his pocket. He tried the door handle, which wouldn’t turn. He nodded in approval, humming quietly to himself—the same tune that served as his ringtone. Then he inserted a small key, turned the door handle, and pushed it open.

He glanced up and down the hall, only further adding to the burden of unease on Adele’s shoulders. As the door opened, she was assailed by a strange, fruity smell. She’d been to vineyards before, and the odor of fermentation in the basement was overpowering.

John inhaled it, though, like a matron coming home to fresh-baked cookies. He stepped into the room, and, reluctantly, Adele followed. She scraped past the rusted metal frame and stepped into a room that was entirely dark. A second later, the door slammed shut, sealing off even the illumination from the hallway.

Adele felt her heart lodge in her throat. “John?” she barked. “This isn’t funny.”

She heard chuckling from the darkness, but then, a moment later, there was a quiet clicking sound. Lights sputtered into being above her, illuminating the enclosed interrogation room.

Except, instead of a metal table and cold chairs, there was a large, oversized couch pressed up against the back wall. A small distillery leaned against the wall, set on a wooden plank table that looked to have been handcrafted. A couple of pictures hung on the wall opposite the distillery, and miniature wooden barrels were stacked in the far corner, next to a sealed blue plastic tub with a thin layer of duct tape circling the lid. The fermentation smells came from this pile of barrels and the rectangular plastic container.

Adele saw a couple of bags of sugar, some clear tubing, and two hard corks on the ground as well as some other ingredients that she knew went into making wine and moonshine.

“You’re joking,” she said, staring at the place.

John whistled a cheerful tune and retrieved a couple of glass cups from on top of the window ledge. The window glimpsed the adjacent interrogation room, but it was too high for Adele to see much.

“Glasses are clean, don’t worry,” he said.

“By the smell of it, this stuff is strong enough that even if they weren’t clean it wouldn’t matter.”

John raised an eyebrow at her, then gestured toward the couch. “Has a reclining lever on the side. TV’s over there—turn on whatever you want. Actually, second thought. If it’s not sports, you won’t be able to find it down here.”

Adele wasn’t sure what to make of all this. Somehow, John had managed to build himself a secret mancave in the basement of the DGSI headquarters. By the looks of things, and the number of glasses, he either used it regularly, or he had guests over on occasion.

“Do you bring all the girls down here on their first day?”

John snorted, but any retort was interrupted by the sound of liquid trickling into a cup.

“You in for some sangria? Or would you prefer something from the distillery?”

Adele hesitated, then said, “The hardest thing you’ve got.”

John nodded in appreciation, and after a moment, he returned with two cups. Both held clear liquid.

Adele accepted her glass from John. She leaned back in the couch and pulled the handle on the side, sighing as the footrest lifted up and the back of the chair reclined.

John sat on the couch, also, but preferred the arm, his boots on the cushion of the couch.

John faced Adele and leaned against the wall. He grabbed a remote lodged between the back of the couch and the wall, and pointed it toward the small screen attached to a swinging arm in the middle of the room. He clicked the remote, and the TV sputtered to life, filling the room with French commentators chattering about some recent soccer game.

“Do you like football?” said John.

Adele shrugged. “I played a lot of sports growing up, but I was never particularly interested in watching them.”

John tutted, sniffing in mock offense.

Adele inhaled the contents of her glass and winced as a powerful odor assailed her, clearing her nostrils and raising the hairs on her neck. She could feel John’s eyes on her. She pressed the glass to her lips, tilted it back, and swallowed a gulp.

Immediately, she regretted this decision.

The moonshine scorched her throat and filled her mouth with a strange, gingery taste. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was powerful.

She felt the burning sensation turn to a tickling one, threatening to elicit a cough. She clenched her teeth, refusing to give John the satisfaction of seeing her react to the liquor. Her eyes watered, but she managed to keep the drink down. A small victory.

Adele glanced over at John, who had already downed half his glass.

“Good, isn’t it?” he said with a smirk.

Adele shrugged and leaned even further back. Above her, she spotted a couple of the pictures she’d initially noticed from the door. Both photographs displayed men with guns and wearing uniforms.

She stared. “Were you part of the Commandos Marine?”