I can see three cameras pointed at me. The woman tells me where two others are that are hidden. It makes me wonder if there are any more that she hasn't told me about that are analysing my every move. Maybe there is a lie detector that records everything I say and chooses If I'm telling the truth or not. What if I'm wrong? What if it says I'm lying? What do I do then? Maybe I forget something really important and he goes free because of it?

The box room feels like it is closing in on me. They've tried to make it look like I'm in a ordinary room. Chairs. A little table. A bright lamp. But ordinary rooms don't have cameras in them do they? I see the voice recorder in her hand, and hear the tinny sound of it playing. I suddenly feel claustrophobic. My hearts beating really fast. I can't breathe properly. I feel dizzy. I can feel my chest rising up and down; can hear the rasp of my shallow breaths reverberate almost as if mocking me. I watched the clock's hands jerk forward shakily as each second ticked by. It was smiling at me. Leering. Its smile reminded me of...I shrink backwards into the chair in horror. Why was everything about HIM?

Woodenly, I turn my head and my eyes meet this woman's. She purses her lips for a moment as she studies me, then looks down onto her clipboard. My eyes follow. Already there are words on it. I haven't even started talking yet! Maybe she thinks I'm making it up. Maybe she thinks I'm crazy. Or a LIAR.

'Can you confirm that your name is Hannah Smith?' She asks me but it's more like an order. See, I know I have to answer. I nod. Then clear my throat.

'Yes.' I hesitate. 'Yes, I am Hannah Smith.' But am I Hannah Smith? Really? Me and Hannah Smith feel like separate people...like separate worlds. I'm Hannah Smith but I'm not anymore, you know?

'Your date of birth?'

'Twenty second of March. 1997.' I reply croakily.

'And that would make you how old?' She fires back the question easily, as if she's done it loads of times before. I have the urge to call her stupid, I mean it's not exactly difficult to count from 1997 to now is it? I decide to bite my tongue.

'Fifteen.' She scribbles on that clipboard for a minute before looking up at me again. She has this smile plastered to her face. I wish she wouldn't. Smile, I mean. It got me nervous. I look quickly at the clock then back at her.

'So...Hannah, shall we get comfortable first? Tell me a few things about yourself to get us started.' Again, trying to get personal with me. Hannah. Did I mention how much I hate that name?

'Like what?' I blurt out. I immediately wince at the harshness of my voice. I glance at the camera again. I can see my reflection in it. I look AWFUL. A white hollow cadaverous face with blank eyes stares back. Hannah Smith didn't look like that. Maybe I wasn't her. Maybe I was a crazy person pretending to be her. Maybe Hannah Smith is dead. Lucky.

'What do you like doing in your spare time? Hobbies?' I shrug. What do I like doing these days? These days... I'm in box rooms. My room. These rooms. Hospital rooms. Places I hate. Places I want to escape.

'None.' She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She clears her throat.

'What kind of things did you used to do?' She asks carefully. I can feel her eyes searching mine. Probing. Invading.



'I can't remember.'

'Ok...' She pauses, before clearing her throat significantly. 'Do you know why you are here?'

'Yes. I'm here because... of him.' I might have been crying. I don't know. I don't really care. She hands me a tissue. I wipe my eyes. When I stop the tissue is wet. So maybe I was crying.

I expected this question. I was still unprepared when it came though.

'So… I think you know what I am going to ask you next.' She pauses and clears her throat.

'Who is 'him'?'