Ten minutes after Keaton 's departure, an old thin man with long beard and white hair entered inside the interrogation vault. He looked like he was hungry for a couple of years and never had combed his hair. The old man was dressed in black shirt, loose denim and was barefoot.
The old man looked around first and then saw man whom everybody called Célestine D'Amares – a French misanthropist who had been caught in USA under strange circumstances.
The chair which one belonged to Keaton was now his. He calmly sat down, looked at mirror and discovered himself looking like a Middle Eastern beggar dressed in rags.
"I – I was there." The old man pointed at mirror, trying to tell him people were eying them from the other end, "There's a room inside this looking glass. Patrick Turner." He introduced himself while D'Amares didn’t even glance at him, "And I am not a cop."
"I don’t care who you are. I – I – I'm just," he didn’t opt to speak for a while, "I am not D'Amares. I am Allan. Allan O'Connell."
"You know what, the microphone affixed on you collar has been deactivated. They can't listen to what you speak," Truner pointed at his shirt and looked down at his clothes, "and I don’t even have mic attached anywhere on my clothes."
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Those men shared awkward silence for sometimes. Turner couldn’t imagine sharing awkward silence with same sex could also be this much of an embarrassment.
"Can you tell me what exactly happened to you?" Turner broke the silence.
O'Connell glanced at him, "Is this new interrogation technique or what?"
"No, of course not! Believe me or not but I'm also here due to an unexplainable occurrence. It's true…" Turner spoke fast but slowed down, "You're not alone…"
"I don’t care."
"You don’t believe it? Why would they let us communicate inside an interrogation room instead of being put inside solitary? Haven’t you got any idea yet?!"
"What do you want?" O'Connell, at last, looked convinced.
"A piece of information…that's it. Maybe I can help you in this case. Trust me. Maybe this event which had happened to me is relatable with yours." Turner persuaded.
"You mean to say the reason behind your arrest is somewhat linked with mine?"
"Maybe it –"
"You've got no idea had been through –" O'Connell interrupted.
"A mystic female?" Turner hurried, "Isn't it a link?"
O'Connell froze and looked at him for a long time by deciding if he should be telling about the event to a complete stranger or not. But the mention of a feminine link convinced him to share the reason he was arrested.
O'Connell took a long breath to start.