Too Late
Zion Jones let out a gust of air as he shut his dark brown eyes, right after looking at the black clock on the wall, as if that would ever bring him any comfort. He only had a few more minutes until his day of work at the Miami Interrogation unit would finally end, although the Everest-like pile of papers that coated his desk said something different. It was Friday, the end of the week, and there was supposed to be a hope for him and his wife and children to have a weekend of time spent with him, but he had bid that hope farewell too extensive an amount of time to remember ago, right before he was up to his eyeballs in paperwork on a new case. He knew too that he should not have any vain hopes such as this too, he was an interrogator and if he did not do his job right, it could always be worse. Much, much worse. The sheets that lay before him were all that he yet had on a burglary-gone-wrong, and he trusted that though all of his work appeared overwhelming, it wasn’t even the half of a...