The anxiety of a detective on the verge of his 'reveal'.
Alistair read again through his notebook, running his long bony pale freckled digit down the page containing his small neat words. The small black notebook had special meaning for him being a gift from his local police force. Contained on each line within the small black unassuming notebook was information about each person involved within this crime. It was his bible of deduction. Looking at his book and his words, Alistair felt his heart beat begin to decline from its greyhound racing pace to something a little more sedate.
The art of looking at his small writing and holding his dark pad with its solid creamy pages always soothed his ragged nerves. They would all be looking at him, expectantly, ready to argue, to shout and scream. Their faces looking into his for clues of what he is going to say and how he will say it. Who is to blame? They will argue and they will demand. It all made him feel sick, his heart again began to beat a violent tattoo as the bile began to rise within his throat. His clammy hands clutching the notepad closer to his heart.
He tried to further reassure himself by reminding why he was a detective. He knew he had a strong sense of right and wrong, possibly at times too strong. He knew that those who had done wrong had to be punished and society had to see good triumph over bad, especially in these times. The drama of the reveal was important for those who have been touched by crime.
He wished that he enjoyed speaking in public, he knew he was a nervy, anxious person who preferred solitude and his cello instead of being around people. He did not really like people, they were loud and they shouted and he could not understand why. They often made no sense to him, their body language screamed one thing and yet their mouths calmly stated the reverse. It all made no sense, it made him feel anxious and scared.
It often struck him as odd that his livelihood was ‘people’. He had once tried to explain to Ben, Constable Lewis, his reasoning behind his deductions, that he could ‘see through’ all their lies and deceit and circumvention. He tried to explain the patterns that were evident if you just looked. Ben had only looked puzzled and a more than a little worried about Alistair. Alistair had not tried to explain again.
Alistair stood outside the room, attempting to breath slowly and steadily in an attempt to ward off the bullying panic attack before it smothered him. He could do this. He could put on his mask like everyone else. He took a deep breath and entered the room.