Slender, near skeletal. Hair a dull brown, ratted in a wild bird's nest. Eyes like coals sunken into insomniac sockets. The man before me was a maniac. Those eyes were predatory, a wry smile full of secrets grew across his face as he sat across from me at the interrogation table. Spindly fingers sprouting like malnourished limbs from his hands, curling, stretching. He was impatient. I was too. I bet he could smell the warm stench of sweat at my neck.

"You look like you've got something to tell me detective?" that voice was unnerving. It's like if nails on a chalkboard had a hot cousin. You know that rasping cold sound is that of a murderer, but it dripped with a strange sexual appeal. He could smell my sweat as it dampened my collar, "Found another? Perhaps they've decided to off me, put me on death row first class...," I spun my chair around and sat on it backwards, leaning over the back feigning a casual air.

"Death row? Heh," a smirk graced my face, "You're undeserving of death. You and your family of bozos are going to live long and miserable lives tucked away from the world. You're going to help me put them away, all of them,"

"I would indeed like some company in these hollow halls," had I done it?

"So you'll help us? We have your word?" the maniac's grin became wide and toothy, laughter seeped through the cracks in his yellowed teeth.

"They must live with me detective," he leaned back a mirror of my motions as I had in frustration leaned across the table, "A family man like yourself surely know how it feels to be...protective of those you love," I felt my jaw clench, veins tight like strained wires beneath my skin. That tongue threw darts. I lunged further forward and that damn table creaked. I was moments from wringing that son of a bitch's neck.

"I'm not sure a man like yourself knows love," I was nearly forehead to forehead with this creep, eyes boring holes in his. I was nearly forehead to forehead with him...

That was my final mistake.