BETWEEN WORLDS
Less Than Little Time
Sabina Green
www.sabinagreen.com
First published on Amazon in 2021 by Sabina Green
First published in paperback in 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Sabina Green
Translation Czech to English by Radka Weberova
Editing by Dagmar Digma Cechova
Book Cover by Rica Cabrex
Cover photo by Deva Darshan and Velizar Ivanov
The right of Sabina Green to be identified as the
Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance
With the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those
clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without
the prior permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise
circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which
it is published and without a similar condition including this
condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN 978-0-6451267-0-9 (Paperback), 978-0-6451267-1-6 (Kindle)
Printed and bound by Amazon.
Contents
Connie
Mark
Connie
Frank
Connie
Frank
Connie
Mark
Connie
Mark
Connie
Mark
Connie
Mark
Frank
Connie
Mark
Connie
Frank
Connie
Frank
Connie
Mark
Connie
Frank
Connie
Frank
Connie
Frank
Connie
Frank
Connie
Mark
Connie
Frank
Mark
Frank
About the Author
Author’s Note
Connie
Mondays and Wednesdays have always been my least favourite work days. You’d think that weekend evenings would be much worse, but here’s the thing: on Fridays and Saturdays, things are expected to get out of hand. People let loose at parties, drive drunk, there is one crash after another, fights break out. The phone never stops ringing and the doors to the police station never fully close before someone else pulls the handle. But those cases are more or less manageable though some crashes aren’t pretty, especially when someone loses their life. But they are accidents.
What I found abhorrent about Mondays and Wednesdays were two facts. First, all of the weekend dramas led to a lot of paperwork which needed to be dealt with at the start of the following week, on top of all our standard work. Second, these two days meant direct contact with a string of more or less repulsive individuals released on bail, who came to our station to be sighted and signed off.
Like so many times before, I was grateful for the protective glass separating my desk from the entrance hall. It had just caught a huge gross gob of phlegm which slowly started making its way down. I had no doubts that if it wasn’t for the partition, this guy would have me in a chokehold. His face turned an angry shade of red. The vein on his forehead throbbed and his dark eyes turned into two narrow lines.
“How dare you talk to me like you’re something special, you filthy bitch?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. If I had a dollar every time someone said that to me I could dive into a pile of money like Uncle Scrooge. I’d never stoop to treating anyone, however questionable, with arrogance, but there was something about being at the station which made my tone more reserved. The way our “clients” interpreted it wasn’t something I could control. Either way, in this particular case, the guy standing in front of me just wanted to go crazy, so he found himself a good-enough reason. He would have called me a filthy bitch even if I’d been giving him a bright smile and a hot drink.
“I need to see your ID,” I interrupted his monologue about the kind of respect he thought he deserved, holding my breath and counting to ten.
I know what you did, I thought to myself bitterly and looked up from his file. You beat up your wife so bad both her legs are broken and she has a concussion. And you want more respect from me?
But I couldn’t say that out loud. It might be true, but also unprofessional. I wasn’t there to judge anyone, even if I couldn’t help myself sometimes.
The guy was still gesticulating wildly and spouting profanities which would make a sailor blush, but eventually he pushed a driver’s licence in my direction. I glanced at the growing line of people behind him with a sigh. Today’s lunch would be a short affair.
“You’re lucky you can clock out at two,” my colleague and friend Emma whispered my way from the adjoining desk, reminding me that my shift was going to be shortened by two whole hours.
It was a joy to work by her side. Emma’s kind nature usually managed to fill the whole room, and made dealing with criminals a little bit easier. Normally I’d be ecstatic to leave this parade of walking violence and cruelty early, but this time, I’d give anything to be able to stay. I’d rather go through several more rounds of being called a filthy bitch than go to the hospital.
My doctor’s receptionist had phoned that morning to back me in to give me the results of my tests. How could they have come in so quickly? He said it’d be at least a week, and twenty four hours haven’t even passed yet… The lady on the phone didn’t say urgent, but she might as well have, the way she urged to squeeze me in today, that the doctor insists on it.
“Dammit,” I heard myself say as a wave of fear swept over me. Since that phone call my hands hadn’t stopped sweating, I had to keep wiping them on my trousers. All my old memories of essentially living at the hospital came rushing back. But that was all meant to be over!
So far I’d managed to keep my recent health issues secret, even from Dad who I lived with. I wasn’t going to start talking about them at work and couldn’t admit to Emma just how unappealing my shortened shift was to me.
The guy in front of me eventually signed his papers, swearing and complaining as he did so, the line wasn’t getting any shorter, and time was running away from me.
At two I got up in a daze, said goodbye to Emma, the sergeant and my other colleagues, and walked out into a sunny autumn afternoon. Even though I knew
