Bill dropped his hands. It was confusing, but he did not mind not feeling the cold metal on his wrists. He stared at the constable, then nodded. "Yes sir..." he muttered and began to walk in the direction the constable indicated, careful not to walk too fast or slow.

The room he was led into was a room for questioning, but at least it wasn't a cell. He could breathe, just a little.

He sat down and stared at the coffee. Surely no constable had ever offered him coffee. The smell seemed to revive him a little.

But his eyes darted to the door, the windows. There were bars. The door had not been locked.

What had happened at the pub? Did he remember it? He knew what had happened, but he couldn't reach it through the fog in his mind. "I... don't know..." he said, the words coming out raspier than he had expected, due to a shaky breath. His eyes flashed to the constable - his fingers clenched into a fist - then darted to the door. There had been two of them back then. "I..." he shook his head. "... got into a fight. I'm sorry. I had too much to drink." He wanted to go back to his cell. Then he realized he didn't.