Lonely Reflections

Nights are bad, some worse than others. Tonight, she can't sleep. She longs for the summer, for the stillness of remote countryside, for the court case to end and the media interest to cease. Tomorrow, she will appear as a witness for the Prosecution.  

The wind enters the bedroom through a crack in the windowsill, wintry like ice, freezing her hands and toes. Outside, a sprinkling of rain has turned to snow, grey and cheerless like the February sky.

Tonight, she keeps seeing it: the dark echoing space of the abandoned warehouse, the outline of soggy boxes visible only in the torchlight, the light settling on a piece of machinery by an elevated platform. A metal object like a spanner drops to the floor and boxes collapse in a remote corner of the abandoned building. Then, a shout.  A remonstration while the torchlight threatens to go out. A piece of cloth catches light and falls.  She needs to escape, but he has blocked all the exits, leaving her trapped in the building.