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She Lied.



She Lied

“What’d you say?” her voice didn’t tremble.

“Where were you, when he died?” his voice was soft, but still overly fatherly.

He glanced down at her feet to see if there is any nervousness. Often the best liars keep their cool with their face. The eyes are relaxed, the voice is smooth, but the nerves still move. They have to go somewhere. The nerves. They want to hide, and the liar is an expert and controlling the bubbling nerves that travel throughout their body.

Honest people have no control of their nerves. If they try, they fail, but the liars?


They’ve never told the truth. To them honesty is the worst policy. It’s something that makes them feel ill. It’s something that doesn’t belong in them. It’s like a illness for them. It makes them sick to be honest.

As she sat perfectly still he was quietly impressed by her ability to act like the wooden seat on the chair wasn’t affecting her back, legs or circulation. The chair with a wooden seat is the perfect companion to an interrogator because it has the ability to make people more uncomfortable than the sometimes hammering questions designed to purge the truth

So there she sat. On the wooden seat. Her shining black shoes remained still. perfectly aligned and tucked next to each-other, like kittens taking a nap.

Almost too cozy.

Her eyes follow him as he steps to one side. He hangs his head and then tilts left, then right as if performing a lazy yoga type of exercise for his stiffened neck muscles. He lets his feet slide as he approaches her.

His hands are clenched.

“I don’t think you know how to keep your cool.” She grins and lets him feel her imposed embarrassment by expressing her confident observation with a snarky laugh. She keeps her eyes focused on his now unfurling hands.

He steps closer to her and bends over. Their noses briefly touch. He slams his palm down on the table with such force that his hand slips and catches the corner and breaks it off.

“What?” she says so coolly that’s attached to a shitty grin, and that arrogant little laugh that ignited his apparent sudden outburst of anger.

She looks at her own hand and plucks at each finger nail then studies them. She hovers her hands just above the surface of the table. They are perfectly still.


Like a placid lake.

Not a ripple of movement.


“Get out. Your free. For now.” He growls at her. Then looks at the blonde haired woman as she stands up. She playfully winks at him before she exits the small room with only one light, and a now broken table and a man who stands rubbing his chin as he watches his unflinching suspect walk out of the room.

A he walks by the chair she was sitting in, he notices something on that wooden seat. He grabs the dangling light and pulls it over the chair.

“Liars keep their cool, but they still sweat.”

He reaches down and swipes three fingers over the seat and can faintly see three separate lines from where the lovely liar sat.

“Cool, but not honest.”

She Lied.

An interrogator wants the truth, and he uses tactics to unsettle her nerves, but nothing seems to work and he doesn't realize how nervous she was until after she leaves.

  • Author: Von Kambro
  • Published: 2017-05-13 06:05:07
  • Words: 542
She Lied. She Lied.