I used a random writing prompt I found on a website to inspire this scene. Enjoy.

“Sir? Sir, this man here is Victor Gleason, our Security Director, he’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Good Afternoon Mister…Nicolas, William Nicolas,” Gleason was looking down at a scrap of paper handed to him moments earlier from the store clerk. The name William Nicolas was scrawled in blue ballpoint pen above a series of numbers. He turned his attention back to the young suspect standing in front of him who appeared to be no more than twenty-five years old; he was nearly six feet tall, clean-cut, physically fit, and at this moment distracted. “Mr. Nicolas you may be in some serious trouble here. I’m going to need you to follow me to the office so I can ask you some questions.”

Nicolas, who wasn’t Nicolas, sheepishly followed SD Gleason through the electronics store towards the stock room office. People, products and signs entered and exited his line of sight as he walked leaving only impressions of color behind. The only image that persisted was of twelve digits etched in plastic above the name William Nicolas. Who is William Nicolas and how did I get his credit card?

Gleason worked like a Good-Cop/Bad-Cop hybrid, a technique he proudly developed in 1997 interrogating a sixteen year old girl caught stealing underwear at the West Chester Mall Victoria’s Secret. His scripted performances played like a one-man show, all that changed was the location and audience. Gleason sat at the Store Manager’s desk and made small talk, which he followed up by standing over the perpetrator, his moist stale breath trapped in the space between their two faces, asking questions like, “Are you prepared to spend the next twenty years of your pathetic life in prison?”

“Can I please explain?” Nicolas’ sagging expression begged SD Gleason for an opportunity to tell his story. He didn’t want to be William Nicolas anymore. He just wanted to explain everything that happened that day and get out of there.

Security Director Gleason straightened up and took two steps backwards. He kept his eyes locked on Nicolas’, careful not to break the stare (a trick this time he learned at a security training seminar), and with a wave of his right hand motioned for the young man to continue.

The next words out of William Nicolas’ mouth were, “My name is Brandon Spencer.” To this Gleason did not betray his surprise, but this case had just taken a turn that he wasn’t expecting.