The Interrogation Room: A Narrative Fiction

“I'm willing to speak.”
“On a double homicide?”
“Ha! Yes, officer.”
“That you refused to tell anybody else about?”
“Make your eyes any bigger and I could pop them out.”
“Why?”
The boy fixed them with a grisly stare. His head leaned as he slumped into the hard plastic chair. “I'm… I guess I just want to. It's like, telling someone something to make conversation.”
“That’s real ugly, son.”
“You're ugly.”
“Nice jokes you got there, kid. Back to business. The homicides.”
The boy looked around. His voice was critical, “Wait, where even are we?”
“Interrogation room.”
His jaw worked, “No.”
“No?”
“This is a cellar. Smells like wine in here.”
The interrogator smirked slightly. The boy frowned and rose his chin to the challenge.
“Why did you drag me out

of my holding cell?”
“I had questions. Important questions.”
“Not about the murders, huh?” he chuckled.
“Kinda’,” the interrogator whispered playing bashful.
“I believe my profile, that, that thing in your hand tells you, after all my time dealing with the police, that I don't like it when my cops beat around the bush.”
“Oh yes!” The interrogator’s voice now had a patronizing lilt, highlighted by a jagged nail being stabbed into the manila folder. “Says here you like playing mind games to get what you want.”
“Yea-”
“I want something. So I wanna’ play games too.”
“Are you trying to seduce me?” he snorted. “I wouldn't believe you’d be a fan.”
“Why not? ‘Cause I put the most effort into having you caught? ‘Cause I advocated for you to be put in the chair despite all the controversy?” the interrogator smiled dashingly.
“Which you failed at, but yes. It's, ah, far from a change of heart with you, though. That I know,” the boy replied snidely.
“It's quite fair to think so.”
“Huh.”
“What if I just wanted to be near you?”
“Oh please! Where are we?” he snapped.
“What? You don't recognize your lil’ dungeon without all its,” they waved their hands around with dramatic elegance, “Accessories?”
The boy sniffed harder.
“Am I wrong?”
He didn't answer.
“I thought the scent of plum wine and Chateau Lafite would make you-”
He grounded out his reply, “What. Do you want?”
The interrogator’s lips slid into a considerate frown. Nodding the interrogator says, “You to suffer.”
“Suffer?”
Another pause,“Yes.”
“Why me in particular?”
“Why not you?”
“You expect me to believe this is the ‘frustrated cop blowing off steam’?”
“Um, you mind explaining that?”
“That ‘vigilante, anti-hero type stuff’?”
“Ha! Ahem.” The interrogator lips folded as if they were being scolded.
“ ‘All these hmphf! Nasty killers everywhere. There is no real justice. I can do the justice’,” the boy mocked.
“Hm.”
The boy waited.
“Not even close, Smarty.”
The boy’s head cocked in confusion, then his realization had him jerking in his chair.
“What? I'm not suppose to call you that? Only Jax?” the interrogator chortled.
“What have you done!”
“Well, I couldn't very much get you down here without some help.”
He sat still, “My mom is above my head as we speak.”
“You are exactly right, Smarty.”
The file slapped against the cheap little table.
“Which do you hate more? Men or women?”
“Why does that even matter?”
“You had one of each down here.”
“Yes, the men first and the women second.”
“Was the man a spur of the moment type deal or you just wanted to experiment?” the interrogator asks softly.
“You’re far too close for my liking.”
“Well, I mean you ain't really care when you were,” they cringed humorously, “fondling folks on crowding trains.”
“Eat me.”
Distracted the interrogator replies, “I'd rather not.”
He hesitated, “Are you a man?”
The interrogator winked and moved to their place at the other side of the table.
“What are you?”
“I'm someone, let's leave it at that. I'm questioning you.”
“You have to be a woman.”
“I have to be?”
“Only women play games like this.”
“Only! I'm only doing what you did when wouldn't tell the others why the victims had patches of skin ripped o-”
“Don't forget the cheap suede collars that had Daddy’s Doggie stitched on the side, that I put around their necks.”
“Disgusting.”
He feigned hurt, “I thought my embroidery skills were very nice.”
The interrogator sighed, “Look- wait. What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That. Old cement doesn't squeak.”
“Wouldn't I know?”
“Yes, you've, gah! Lived here all your life, right?”
“Yeah I… Dear christ! Don't open the grate!”
“Oh my God!”
“Hehe! HA! A few more years to my life sentences is it?”
“Oh! Oh my god no! There was only one of each!”
“Ah ah ah! I said men first, women second.”
The interrogator had let out an indiscernible sound.
“I know, ack, that smell is ugly, but you could get used to it-”
The interrogator slammed an open hand down on his cheek. The boy went silent.
“Did you like that?”
The boy’s green eyes shone.
“Oh look at you! I guess I won't be doing that again.”
The interrogator’s knuckles cracked while closing the sewer.
“I did. I did like it, officer.”
“Christ. No, I-I’ve let this go on far too long.”
The boy was frantic, “Oh no! It-it was getting good! It wa-was getting fun!”
Pause. “Did… did you do this, for fun?”
“Not-not entirely.”
“Entirely?”
“Call it ‘indirect revenge’.”
“These people were your surrogates. Your replacements for the real deal.”
“Until I built up the courage for the real deal, officer.” He tossed his brown hair innocently.
“They didn't, they didn't have to die.”
“But they did.”
“I should beat you to death.”
“Mm. Do it to me uncuffed.”
“Do you want to die?”
“It wouldn't bother me if I did. Hey! How about the guessing game?”
“No. I want to talk about the girl you murdered.”
“The new one?”
“That's what this was about.”
“I would've never guessed. Whatever for?” he murmured.
The interrogator didn't answer.
“Tell you what! You play the guessing game with me, figure out my reasons. Then you'll tell me why you wanted ta’ talk just about that girl.”
“Sounds… fair. Of course, that's what you're aiming for.”
The interrogator slumped into their chair.
“Yay! Okay we are guessing… who I was using these people as substitutes for!”
“Jesus.”
“Yes! Now start with hair. All the girls were blonde, the guys? Brown.”
“It could've been a staff member, tutor has red hair and your friends have unnatural colors.”
“Nice.”
“Next?”
“Age.”
“The girl wasn't a girl. She was a woman. The man was forty. Two years younger than her.”
“Who in my life is that old?”
“You never gave a limit to your questions.”
“I actually want to get somewhere.

Now tell me who.”
“Your butler and you-”
“Yes? Yes! Who!”
“Your parents.”
“Ding ding ding ding!”
The interrogator found the strength to break his nose.
“How could you do this! How could you plan this! You're fifteen! You. Are. Fifteen! Fifteen!” the interrogator screeched, wringing them by his dingy dress shirt.
“Hold- hold on there, officer!” the boy stuttered gleefully
“They are your blood!”
“I still have to tell you about your girl!”
The assault eased. “My girl.”
“Yes yours. Before you beat me to death, of course.”
“I would like to know,” The officer said disarmed. “I would. I would.”
“Then take a seat… Cool, now tell me why.”
“ ‘S hard to the explain,” the officer muttered.
“I'd be willing to understand.”
The officer talks as if the boy hadn't said a word, “I was just sitting there at my desk looking at the report, analyzing things, then I look at her in the pictures. Lifeless, mangled, but beautiful.”
“I'm sorry. You said beautiful?”
“So, so beautiful. Marked, but even in this dirty basement, she was so clean. I was all about her life and I realized the details from the files wouldn't be enough.”
The boy's eye face crinkled in distaste. The officer looked passed

them.
“I go and be a detective, trying to figure out everything about her, but she’s was an elusive one. A nut to be a cracked, a puzzle to be solved. I was so, so, so-“In love,” he said bewildered.
“You loved that dead girl.”
“I wouldn't judge seeing as everything you did to her was what you wanted to do to your mother.”
“Oh, but I wasn't judging, officer.”
“Mmm.”
“I guess I should be. She’s the reason you tried to have me killed.”
“Close your mouth.”
His mouth snapped shut. The silence was thick and heavy like wet sand.
“Someone is knocking, officer.”
“Is it over? Officer Langley? Is it done.”
“No,” the officer muttered too low.
“Can I speak with my boy?”
“Absolutely not!”
“I would listen to the officer, mother. No telling how I'd react if I saw you!” the boy crowed.
She let out a shuddered breath.
“Away she went. Charming isn't she?”
The officer rammed their knuckles into his nose again.
“God!”
“Say something worth saying, boy.”
“I'm surprised my blood is so warm on my tongue, haha!”
The officer rose their fist again.
“But!”
The officer waited.
“Will you lover her?”
“Ha, Love her?”
“Love my mother for me?”
“Why?”
“Well she kinda’ is the dead girl in the file, officer. I pretended she was that girl, anyway. ”
“Really?”
“My substitute, remember? Lovely smile, by the way. Does it hurt?”
“I’ll love her, but not for you, Smarty.”
“Alright, that's fair… let me give you, uh, a real quick way to her heart before this is all over.”
“Oh. By all means.”
“I've been through mother’s stuff,” the boy grinned. “Ask about colors. She likes peaches, corals, mauves, taupes and deep, deep magenta.”
“Hm. Thank you, kid.”
“No pro-”
The office slammed their fist into his temple, knocking him out cold. He looked as if he were dead, the boy was so pale. The officer wished it was true when checking his pulse, just to be sure. Still rich and pumping, then the officer noticed their hand. The officer took one look at its bloody bruised, knuckles and took a quick glance up the stairs as if his mother would be standing there looking down at them, shadow cast over her face, but raging disapproval in her stance. The officer made a decision then. Gingerly, they began to uncuff them.
“Ya’ know what, Smarty. I'll take you back,” they said to the unconscious form. “I'll take you back to your holding cell.”