Pulses

"I didn't do it."

"But you were there."

I say nothing.

"You were there," the man says again. He pushes a large photograph across the table. "We have you on camera."

The man uses a fingernail to swivel the photo around. I cast my eye over it but keep my mouth shut.

The man cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. With the same fingernail he taps the head of the woman in the picture. He thinks I haven't quite understood.

"That's you," he informs me.

It looks like me alright. A dim lightbulb illuminates my face as I step from a door into an alleyway. I look furtive, checking if anyone has seen me. I had on the same jacket when I was brought here.

The man loosens his tie and leans back on his chair. He's had a long night.

But then so, I feel, have I.

The room is a white box. No windows. A fluorescent light hums in the ceiling and the air is stale and smells of of bodies. The table and our chairs are metal, and bolted to the floor.

"That's not me," I say.

The man laughs. A fleck of spittle lands on the photo. He turns to the woman sitting next to him, and smirks.

"She says that's not her."

The woman's tight ponytail stretches her forehead. Her blue eyes try to look friendly.

"Right," she says. "So... What? You have an identical twin?"

"Sometimes. You should be looking for her," I say.

My chair is hard. The handcuffs attaching my left wrist to it are making my wrist sore. My free hand lies limp on the table. My little finger twitches.

The man and woman roll their eyes and shake their heads at each other. The woman opens a folder and pretends to read. I can see a small passport photo. I'm upside down. And young. She talks to me like an indulgent parent.

"Nope. Nothing here about an identical twin sister."

"You don't know everything," I say,

"And I suppose you do?"

"I know I have an identical twin."

Her turn to tap the photo. "And that's her?

"Yes. Identical."

She points to the date and time signature in the photo.

"So where were you, then? While your—" she coughs into her hand, "–identical sister was exiting that door?"

I say nothing. Because I don't know. My twin sister is always doing things I don't remember.

The man takes over again. He leans forward, pulls the folder towards him and flips a few pages.

"Tell us what happened."

"You'll have to ask her."

"I'm asking you."

I say nothing. What's she done?

"It says here you've been in and out of institutions all your life."

"We both have."

He takes a deep breath. "Look. You've had a difficult life. I get that. It'll matter a lot in the courts. How about saving us time?"

He waits. I'm still not giving him what he wants. The woman tries a smile. She reaches over and touches my arm. Lovely manicured fingers.

"We can help,' she says, locking eyes with me. 'We know he was a shit. Everybody will know he must have deserved it."

I pull away. "Wasn't me."

They sit back, folding their arms in unison, like they'd practised. Why can't I remember how I got here? How long have I been sitting in this chair? I'm feeling cold and irritable.

"You're not listening. You should be looking for my—"

The woman butts in. "Never mind your sister."

The thin shadow of a vein runs down the side of her long neck. My fingers twitch. I'd like to touch it.

"If you weren't there, tell us where you were," she asks.

Where was I? I'm sure I know. Or could remember if I try hard enough. Could I have been at home? But - Saturday night? I'd probably been high somewhere. I can't say. I hang about with a lot of weird friends.

The man breaks into my thoughts. "What happened to the blood?"

"What blood?"

"Exactly. What blood."

What's she done? My sister. I can't remember the last time I saw her; we have different friends. She was always the secretive one, making introverts look like party people. It's true, we're indistinguishable. Always wearing the same clothes, ever since we were children. Never hesitating to take advantage.

"What time is it?" I ask.

The man frowns. "What?"

"What time is it? No windows. Is it still dark?"

"Who cares! Look," he checks his watch, "it's three in the morning. Yes, it's still dark. And I'm tired," he rubs his temples and looks at his partner, "and she's tired. And you are in big trouble."

I say nothing. What did you do, my sister?

Tension in the man's jaw. The peppery stubble on his cheeks reaches around and down his neck. I don't like it. Not something I'd touch.

He nods to the woman. "Explain it again to this young lady, will you?"

Patronising. And the woman knows it. She tries her smile again. I almost like her.

"The camera has you leaving that door, minutes after his girlfriend found him." The woman looks at her notes. "Hardly two hours ago. He was exsanguinated." She pauses. "That's what the SOCO doc said. I had to look it up."

The vein on her neck is pulsing. A dark blue ripple on her white skin.

I look blank.

"For chrissakes," she says. "The guy in the store at the end saw you coming out of the alley. You live around the corner!"

"Do I?"

She slaps the table, making me jump. "What? You don't live around the corner? How do you think we found you?"

"I keep telling you—"

"Heard you. Not buying it." The woman drums her fingers. The hooves of thoughts come to her rescue. "Right now, forensics have your clothes. Nobody loses that much blood without it showing up somewhere."

The way she glares at me is arousing. I'm not cold anymore. Too hot, if anything. I'm restless. There isn't enough air in the room.

"Did you know him?"

It's the man speaking. His question catches me off guard; I'd been tuning out. Or, rather, tuning in. To the woman's smooth neck as she speaks; as she swallows.

I bite my thumb. It worries me, this sense of being half here, half remembering.

Half awake.

The man has pushed another photo across. A mug shot. Smooth, skinny face. Cheekbones. Bags under the eyes.

I pick up the photo and squint. Do I know him? One of my dealers? He has the look of someone that no-one cares about. But perhaps I did, care about him in some way. I can't say and drop the picture back on the table.

The smear of blood on its edge confuses me. My thumb is oozing red from a fat pin prick in the end.

I go to suck the blood off.

One of my teeth is a thorn.

The man and the woman catch me looking at my hand. Before they can say anything, the door opens. A man in uniform hands a slip of paper to the woman and hurries away.

She reads it, frowns, and passes it to her partner.

They look at each other. Then at me.

"What?" I ask.

The man scoffs. "They think your twin was at it elsewhere earlier."

I smile.

The man gets up awkwardly. He has forgotten; his chair is also bolted to the floor.

"I'll check this out," he says to the woman. He leaves us alone.

The woman leans back again, blue eyes fixed on me, trying to look friendly. The vein in her neck pulses like a thin bruise.

She folds her arms, prepared to wait.

I fold both of mine.