Two chairs.
A camera in the corner.
— Sit down.
I sat down.
He closed the door behind us.
The noises from the airport have disappeared.
Just the light hum of the air conditioning.
« I’ll call my supervisor, » he said. « And security… but not the kind involving your son. »
He paused.
— The one who checks sensitive situations.
Sensible.
The word almost made me smile.
My phone vibrated again.
Number unknown.
“Good. Don’t sign anything else.”
“Speak slowly. Look them in the eyes.”
“Your granddaughter didn’t have time to explain.”
My heart sank.
« Who are you…? » I whispered.
No response.
Just one last message.
“Look for the black square.”
The black square.
The drawing.
The house.
The window is barred.
And this square.
I opened my bag abruptly.
The file.
The papers.
My wallet.
And then…
stuck in an inside pocket that I never used…
A small object.
Noir.
Square.
A USB key.
I remained motionless.
I had never seen her before.
Never.
The door opened suddenly.
A man in a suit entered.
Behind him, a woman in uniform.
And even further back…
my son.
« Mom, » he said immediately, approaching her, « you scared me. »
He reached out his hand towards me.
I didn’t take it.
« She seems disoriented, » he added, turning to the others. « It’s been happening a lot lately. »
Often.
Lie.
The woman in uniform looked at me.
— Madam, do you know where you are?
I looked up at her.
Then to my son.
Then towards the USB key in my hand.
And for the first time in a very long time…
I did not lower my eyes.
— Yes, I said. I am exactly where he didn’t want me to be.
Silence fell.
My son smiled.
Slowly.
« You see? » he said calmly. « She’s been talking like that for a few weeks now. Sentences… without logic. »
It makes no sense.
The woman took a step towards me.
— Madam, we’re just going to check—
— Look at that, I interrupted.
I placed the USB key on the table.
Little.
Noir.
Silent.
But suddenly…
heavier than everything else.
My son’s gaze has changed.
No anger.
No surprise.
Something colder.
« Where did you find that? » he asked softly.
Too gently.
I didn’t reply.
The man in the suit took the key.
— Can we read it here?
— Yes, said someone behind him.
A computer was brought in.
Laid.
Branch.
Every movement was slow.
Almost ceremonial.
It was as if everyone sensed that something was about to change.
The key has been inserted.
A case has been opened.
Then another one.
Then…
A video.
The screen lit up.
One piece.
A fixed camera.
A chair.
And a voice.
— Test. March 14. Subject still cooperative.
My breath caught in my throat.
The camera moved slightly.
And the person sitting in the chair raised their head.
It was me.
More…
not me.
My eyes seemed empty.
My voice…
when she spoke…
did not belong to me.
— I understand. I have to sign.
Behind me, someone let out a sigh.
The video continued.
And just before someone stopped him…
We heard another voice.
My son’s.
— One more session, and she won’t ask any more questions.
The room became icy cold.
I didn’t look at my son.
I didn’t need it.
Because at that precise moment…
I heard the discreet click of a door locking behind us.
And the woman in uniform whispered:
— Nobody leaves here.
Who had really called these people…
And since when did they already know everything?
What would you have done in my place, at that precise moment?
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