The shaking and trembling man was escorted into the dark and impersonal interrogation room at the police department downtown. The room was bare, with only a metal table and three chairs placed around it in a way that made the man know that it was set-up to maximize the success of an interrogation of a suspect. The art of closeness that sometimes got a suspect talking without them even realizing it. It was a technique he had been briefed on by his father, who used to be an officer in the very department he was now walking into. Looking down at his hands, he saw they were shaking and sweating. Shifting his gaze to the floor, he saw it was almost too dark in the room to see it.

Taking a seat where he was directed by the friendly-enough woman, who looked to be in her thirties. He adjusted his position on the metal chair that dug into his sore back after a long day at his construction company. He was the assistant manager-a promotion that had only recently happened after his manager assumed he would be perfect for the job. He had so much to look forward to in his life-everything seemed to be going great-but then that night happened. That night Caleb Rivers returned home after working a long shift, and found his wife, the love of his life, dead. The words could not even make it past his shattered mind before an involuntary sob worked its way past his defenses. She was dead. Murdered. By what? He had no idea, but only a sick person would be capable of committing the horror he had seen.

Shaking his head, trying his best to shake the images from his mind, as though it would be possible, he took another look around the room he was sequestered in, and saw a strange rectangular mirror that he knew was a two-way for the officers to look into while the subject was being interrogated. Growing up with a father as a respected member of the law enforcement community, Caleb knew things that others did not about the way these rooms worked, and how the people in charge of them, used them for their line of work. It was a delicate thing, interrogation a suspect after the death (or murder) of someone close to them. His father had been an excellent interrogator during his time, before he moved to on-the-call jobs that rarely resulted in anything too outlandish.

It stunned Caleb to think that he was now the one in the 'hot seat' of interrogation. He understood perfectly that as someone close to his wife, he had to be the one who they first interviewed so they could rule him out as a suspect. In truth, he had no idea why they would seriously suspect him after their talk: He had been at work after being called in to cover a shift for an MIA employee-it was an alibi that anyone could have accounted for had they been asked. In ruling him out, Caleb knew they would have no choice but to cover their tracks and check into everything. It was the part of the police business that Caleb liked the most: the investigative part of it. The part where the police and detectives crossed all their T's and dotted all their I's.

Still, he could not believe that he was the one in the position of being talked to by the police after the most impossible thing happened to him. Scrubbing a hand over his tired eyes, he could feel the moisture collecting behind them and he tried his hardest to keep himself from falling apart like he was sorely tempted to. It would not help him keep himself controlled enough to answer the prying questions of the interrogators. Clenching his teeth, his eyes unwillingly fell on his wedding band. It did not seem real that his wedding was nearly four years ago. A time when everything had been much simpler and happier. A time when he swore he could conquer the world. When he was in love, and he and his precious wife were on top of the world.

He was not able to stop the tears that fell past the guards in his eyes. Furiously swiping his fingers through his eyes, they ached almost as much as his heart did. It did not seem realistic that the human body could hold so much pain and grief without the person collapsing from the weight of it. But he was enduring it, and he had no idea how he was, either. The shock of what he found in his home, numbed him to a certain point, but not enough that he could shove away what he saw. He wished he could wake up in his home, with Katie by his side, and have it all be a stupidly horrific realistic dream. But, as he was quickly realizing, it was not a dream.

Turning his head to look over his shoulder when the door opened with a creak that resounded in his ears, it was only the same woman who had brought him there. She was back with a Styrofoam cup of coffee that she set down in front of him. Pausing to give him a look of sympathy, she made a hasty exit for the door. Her position probably did not allow her much time to socialize and communicate her sorrow for the loss of life people were going through. She had probably seen many people like him come in for late night chats like this one. Taking the cup in his hand, it shook. Inhaling some of the lukewarm coffee, it slid down Caleb's throat, creating a comforting burn.

Hours earlier, he was enjoying his first coffee of the day in the security of his own kitchen that he helped build. The house had been a project from the beginning. Katie loved the idea of bringing new life to a place that had been dead for so many years. Even with his background as a construction worker, the project was a massive undertaking that required many capable hands working on it with them. The result had been a home that bore no resemblance to the house they took on as a fixer upper. The kitchen and bedroom were his favorites to unwind and relax after a long day.

Looking at the swirling contents of the coffee, he choked down some more of the energy giving drink. It was too black and needed sugar and cream. Katie liked to joke that he often drank more cream than coffee. It was unfortunately true. Adjusting his position in his chair, he tried to allow himself to feel some amount of comfort that whoever killed his wife, would soon be brought to justice. There was simply no way that anyone in the force would allow a killer to remain free.

Caleb heard the footsteps outside the door before it opened. From what his trained ears could pick up, it sounded like two pairs of footsteps. It gave him time to prepare for the onslaught of questions that would come his way. He wanted this to be over with so he could go somewhere and pick up what was left of his life. Looking over at the door when it opened, he got his first glance of the investigators who would be interviewing him. They both wore looks of concern, and both looked to be eager to get the job over with.

One of them, balding and gray in the visible areas of his hair, looked to be in his mid-to-late fifties. He confidently approached the table Caleb was seated in, and shook his hand in a firm grasp. Caleb assumed he would be the one leading the investigation. Directing his focus to his partner, he was met with a younger man who looked like he might be in training, based on the uncomfortable approach he took. His father had trained him to recognize these subtle details. Leaning back in his seat, he waited while they took their spots across from him.

"Caleb Rivers?"

A nod in answer. The older man reached behind him, and switched on the overhead light above the table. The sudden rough light was enough to momentarily blind Caleb, before he adjusted to the sudden brightness in the room. It helped to be able to focus on something other than the perpetual darkness he had been in.

"I'm Detective Allen." The detective gestured to his younger partner. "This is my partner, Detective Reynolds."

Caleb nodded at them, acknowledging their presence. They seemed to be expecting a reaction from him that he could not understand. Did they expect him to show enthusiasm at finally meeting them when it felt like he had been waiting for hours? Trying to reign his emotions in before he did something stupid, he took a steadying breath, and forced himself to try his response again.

"Hi." He was shocked at how raw and cracked his voice sounded, and how dry and achy his throat felt. The result of not drinking anything apart from the coffee, and the tears he had shed since earlier that evening. Gauging their reactions, he saw nothing but professionalism, and sympathy for his plight.

"I apologize to you for the wait," Allen said. "We were in a bit of a time crunch trying to obtain witness statements, and check in with the crime scene team." He reached for a manila folder that was already thick. "It says here that Officer Abrams was the first responder on the scene. Do you remember talking with him?"

Caleb shook his head, taking another gulp of coffee. "I can't even remember my own name right now."

He was sure he remembered the first officer on the scene. He came before the rush of ambulances and police cars, and had quickly secured the area and made sure that Caleb was not in the way of what the crime scene team would be doing. He recalled the man perfectly, but not his name. He had been kind to him, had tried to reassure him that they would do everything they could to find the killer responsible for his wife's death. At the time, Caleb had nodded numbly, too shell-shocked to say much else.

The events of the night had left him shocked that he was still standing upright, and wasn't buckling from the weight of the pain that was quickly eclipsing his heart and soul. He used to watch murder mysteries with his parents and wife, and never thought that the misfortune that came down on innocent souls, would ever happen to him. This kind of thing was not supposed to happen to them. He didn't have any enemies. Neither did his wife. Both kept to themselves, and didn't draw attention.

Allen nodded slowly, looking down to write something in the impressive folder he had already accumulated with evidence. "It's understandable. It's been, for lack of a better word, a hell of a night. We'll try to wrap this up quickly so you can go."

That was a relief to know they did not intend on keeping him there longer than necessary. There was no way that he intended on going back to his home. Even if he wanted to, it was a crime scene. He had options for where he would go, and that was all that mattered. Not that he entertained the thought of getting much sleep when he was sure that he would be assailed on all sides by nightmares.

"I appreciate it." Stretching his sore muscles, he noticed how shaky his hands still were.

"This questioning that we do is standard for any...investigation of this sort," Reynolds explained. "I'm sure you understand." He nodded at Caleb. "We have to grasp the dynamics at play here, and get a clearer picture of what might have transpired."

Caleb nodded, already way too familiar with this from the TV shows he had seen, and from the firsthand knowledge he had gotten from his father. It was hard not to take offense that the police were already wanting to speak with him, but he was happy to steer them away from him and on to whoever was cruel enough to take his family from him. As the husband, he would be the prime suspect until otherwise cleared. "I do."

"How long were you and your wife married?" Allen asked pen poised to write his answer down.

"Three years," Caleb replied, once he was aware he had yet to answer their question. It was hard to remember to speak when his mind was beginning to play a highlight reel of the happiest day of his life when he watched his wife walk down the aisle. It had been a blissful day that he wouldn't trade for anything.

"Did you have a long courtship?"

Caleb shrugged, shaking his head. "About a year of dating, and then about six months of planning the wedding."

Allen smiled, trying to get Caleb to loosen up. "It can be pretty stressful planning a wedding, am I right?"

Caleb shook his head, perfectly recalling the stress of creating the perfect wedding that would make Katie happy. It wasn't about him-he would have been happy to get married in jeans and a t-shirt-but she wanted something more. She wanted her princess wedding, and he was happy to oblige that.

"She wanted this big wedding, and how could I say no to that? It would have been great to get married in what I'm wearing right now, but she wanted the whole ordeal."

"Was it a happy marriage?" Reynolds asked, taking a sip of his own coffee.

Glancing at the clock, Caleb saw that it was pushing midnight. He had been sitting in the interrogation room for over two hours, and had come home only hours earlier to find the horrific bloodbath that awaited him when he walked inside their home. Scraping the tears from his eyes before they could regain control over him, he thought about the question that had been posed to him. Shoving back the indignant response that was tempting him, he tried to look at it rationally.

"Yeah, it was," Caleb spoke honestly. It was hard not to feel offended at their pointed questions, but he knew these people had a job to do. "We were very happy."

Happiness was actually an understatement. Everything had been going great for them. They had secured a new home months previously, and had then spent a small fortune remodeling it from the fixer upper status they had found it in, to something suitable for a married couple. Then came the joyful news in their own life that was making this tragedy even more of a blow to him.

"You got a new job?" Allen prompted, looking down at his detailed notes.

"A promotion. I was just moved up to assistant manager."

The promotion could not have come at a better time in their marriage and lives. He had put in for the job, but after so long of not hearing a word about it, he had started to think that it was all for nothing. A week before the murder took place, his boss had called him into his office to deliver the news in person. To say that he and his wife were ecstatic, had been the understatement of the century.

Reynolds nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "And your wife? What was up with her?"

Everything and anything she could get her hands on. A new home that needed her expert attention to detail, and then organizing their lives around his newest promotion only the week before. It was tough for him to handle the stress of the new things in their lives, but she seemed to handle it like nothing ever phased her. Which he knew had to be a complete lie when he thought back on it.

"She was into everything. We just got a new house, and she put herself in charge of redecorating it."

"Wouldn't let you near it?" Allen pressed.

"Not unless I wanted to lose a hand." Caleb laughed, it felt forced. "Especially near the bedroom. That was her little safe haven. It was both of ours."

"Anything else that would be pressing and could create some stress?"

Caleb nodded; he did not think that this would be a source of stress, but he knew that it was something that had to be mentioned to the detectives. "She was-we recently found out that she was pregnant." It was one of the most shocking and euphoric moments of his life when Katie presented him with the pregnancy test. Even to his untrained eye, he knew it was something good judging from her giddiness. Their entire lives, especially recently, had turned out to be a victory.

This was information that they were clearly not privy to before he divulged it. Exchanging looks with each other, Allen wrote it down in the notes section that was already getting more than enough attention. Caleb was interested what they were writing, which direction they were taking with the investigation. Resisting the urge to look, he focused on the gentle tick of the clock, and the scratching sound of the pen on the paper.

"She was pregnant?" Reynolds asked.

"She was," Caleb quietly confirmed.

It chilled him to the bone to think of the unknown murderer breaking into his home for the express purpose of murdering his wife and unborn child. The thought of it made him want to vomit the empty contents of his stomach. To lose his wife was absolutely heartrending, but to lose the child that he wanted for so long, was about more than he could bear.

"How far along was she?" Allen asked, trying his best to handle the subject as delicately as he could.

"Four months." They had just gone to the doctor for her four month checkup. Everything had gone well, and he had even gotten a chance to see his baby on the ultrasound screen. The images were blurry, but he could see his baby and hear the heartbeat. It was strong, and reminded him of his or her mother. Katie was strong when he wasn't, and losing that strength was mind-blowing.

"Was this a planned pregnancy?"

"One hundred and ten percent."

It made Caleb cringe thinking of the hours and days spent wondering why they were not getting pregnant when they both wanted it so badly. That had been a dream they did not wait on after they got married. They both wanted kids, and they both were crushed when it did not happen until nearly two years after their wedding took place.

"Were there any issues with money in regards to the baby?" Reynolds asked.

Caleb shook his head. "None."

"No pressure to get promoted in order to make more for the baby?"

"No, that wasn't the reason I went after the promotion."

He had done it to make more money for them to have after the baby was born so he could take time off to be with them. All the hours spent decorating the nursery with the perfect neutral colors had been in vain. All the hours of labor Katie had poured into choosing outfits, even though it was months before she would get to use them, had been for nothing. It was heartbreaking when he thought of the lives that had been cruelly ripped from him for no reason.

"We understand that sometimes when a woman is pregnant, and there's extra financial responsibility, it can create some unforeseen stress. It happens that sometimes people just end up snapping."

Caleb did not like where this line of questioning was headed. He knew their tactic was to smoothly slide into the part of the interrogation where they would launch into their theory as to what his possible involvement was. Still, it was horrifying that they were even considering him to be a part of her death when all evening he had tried his best to portray them as the couple he thought of themselves as. Opening and closing his mouth several times to gain clarity before responding, he ignored the painful throbbing sensations his heart was making.

"That wasn't the case with us." He knew that to be fact, and he comforted himself with the knowledge that he had truth on his side.

"Did you argue right before for any reason? It could be for money?" Allen prompted.

"Or just the stress of it all," Reynolds added.

This was not good. Not good at all. Were they trying to create a motive for her murder that was based off money? Or stress? In his right mind, Caleb knew that was likely not the sole reason they were asking these kinds of detailed questions, but it was difficult to steer his mind in a sane direction.

"I was at work all day."

"What about before?"

"There was no arguing. We were in bed, and then she got up to make breakfast."

That image of her making breakfast for the two of them, smiling over her shoulder at him as he entered, was the one thing he chose to remember about that day. Right before he had gone off to work and left his pregnant wife without any defense.

"Where do you work?" Allen asked. His eyes bore into Caleb's, almost as though he hoped to gain the truth from reading his mind.

"Miller Construction. It's a smaller firm on 8th Street."

"What about your hours? Are they pretty consistent?" Reynolds asked, directing his questioning to something lighter.

"It depends. Usually pretty regular."

It was a cruel twist of fate that he had to stay later that night to cover a shift for an employee that had not showed up to work. If it had not happened that way, Caleb knew that he would have been home on time to spare his wife from the murder that took her life. Tearing his thoughts from the pointless what-if questions that assaulted his mind, he focused back on the interrogation at hand. Their questions, he knew, would not get any easier. In fact, he knew from seeing it happen, they would only get harder.

"When you got home did you notice anything out of the ordinary?" Allen asked, adjusting his glasses on the his nose.

Caleb shook his head; it was eery to think of how perfectly calm and smooth everything looked when he first pulled in. "Everything was fine."

"No windows were broken? Garage door was down?"

"Yes, and yes."

Katie was not a stupid person. She would not have let a random person into her home without him there. That was what did not make sense about any of what had taken place that night. The very fact that nothing had been broken to gain entry into the home. No windows were smashed, no doors were kicked in. It was almost as if the assailant had walked right in.

"When you first walked in, what did you notice?"

These were the hard questions he had been dreading. He was sure the memory would be seared into his memory forever. "Nothing at first-"

"When did you first notice something? And then what did you do?"

"It was when-" Caleb paused long enough to regain control over his tears. He hated to cry in front of people, and he hated that his eyes were pushing tears out of his eyes like bricks. "It was when I was walking into the kitchen."

"What direction would that be from?" The two detectives were both furiously writing notes now.

"From the dining room. The kitchen was just about adjacent to there. I noticed a smell, and I just thought something had cooked wrong. I never thought-"

"Did you walk in the kitchen?" Reynolds interjected.

"Yes."

"Did you find her there?" Allen asked, taking over.

Caleb nodded. "Y-Yes."

"What did you do then?"

"I grabbed the phone, and called 911." Shouldn't it be obvious that was what he had done?

"Did you do anything to try to revive her?"

"Of course I did."

The detectives both nodded. "Did you notice anything missing?"

"No."

Not that he had time to search the place and determine if anything had been stolen. His main priority had been his wife.

"We recovered a weapon at the scene that we believe was the one used in the attack."

That was new.

Caleb had no idea that the police had already zeroed in on a possible murder weapon. It made the entire situation even that more real, and it was absolutely horrifying to him, as he forced himself to remain calm, and not let himself pass out like his body was trying to tell him to do.

"You did?" he finally said, mustering up the strength to speak.

"Yes."

Pulling out a large, clear evidence bag they laid it flat against the table. Leaning foreword, Caleb tried to look past the blood stains, and at the knife in general. It was one of theirs. It was a knife Katie had been using to make some kind of crock pot dinner when he had been about ready to leave for work.

Tearing his eyes away from the hideous object, he couldn't stop the tears that trailed down his face as he raised his hand to his mouth, trying as hard as he could to pull it together for the rest of the interview.

"That's ours," he choked.

"It is?" the detectives asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Yes. I saw her with it this morning before I left for work."

"We had it tested for fingerprints, and we should get the results back fairly soon."

"Thank you."

"In the meantime, is there anyone that can verify that you were at work during the hours that you mentioned?" Allen pressed.

"Excuse me?"

"We need an alibi from you so we can begin the process of ruling you out as a suspect. Who can we speak with that can account for your location?"

"Um...you can speak with my boss."

"Was he there tonight?"

Caleb shook his head. "No."

"We need someone who can physically confirm your location during the time the murder happened, and when you say you were at work," Reynolds clarified.

"You can speak with any of the employees there. They can tell you," Caleb said tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Are you looking at me as a suspect?"

"Right now we're looking at everyone as potential suspects," Allen explained, "and it's our job to clear as many people as we can."

"I have nothing to hide," Caleb said with a shrug. "I'm not a liar, either. Call the store, talk to any of the people there that you want to."

"We will do that."

"Can I leave now?"

"Yes."

Rising from his seat, he was somewhat surprised that he still had function over his frozen limbs.