Chapter 2

I walk into the department and I see people who are, surprisingly, not all dressed in their police outfits, in fact they seem quite normal; but then again, so do I.
A rounded man with a goatee and a brown colour hat walks my way, he smiles warmly to me "You must be Miss Zammit, this way, I'm Detective Angel Batista"

Unlike the encounter with my boss, I force a more-genuine smile. "Call me Rain, what's the killers' name?"

The detective rises his eyebrows at the sound of my name but doesn't make a comment. "His name is Charlie Cassar, he's been arrested for murdering and burning prostitutes along Miami coast, we've been struggling with translation, he speaks no word of English."

"It's okay" I say. My eyes track around the room and surprisingly no eyes on me. The first time I thought I'd enter Miami homicide, I thought I'd be in cuffs, but no one is even looking at me. But as I continue to follow Angel Batista my eyes latch onto another pair of eyes through a glass window. I don't recognise his face, but I recognise that dull look in his eyes. I feel a flip in my stomach as I realise he can probably recognise that look in my eyes too.

But before I can look into it anymore I am down the corridor and being directed into a room. Sitting at the table is a man, with a similar complexion to myself, sits in hand cuffs and opposite him is a women with a strong jaw line, and pretty brown eyes.

"About fucking time" the woman cusses standing up, she shakes my hand abruptly. "You're the translator right? I'm Detective Deb Morgan, this asshole's name is Charlie."

"I'm Rain"
Detective Deb gives me a sceptical look and directs myself to the chair in-between both herself and the criminal.

"Translate everything I'm saying and make sure you translate every-damn word this fucker says, we want him to confess as fast as possible."

I nod but my gaze is staring at the double mirror in the interrogation room. My green eyes glisten, they even reflect a shimmer of light, yet they are hollow; just like my chest.

"You ready?" Deb questions. I nod, my eyes deterring away from my reflection; it's true, beauty can hide a lot.

"Tell him we've found items of burnt women's clothes in his apartment" Deb doesn't even look at me, she stares directly in the eyes of the killer. Well, one of the killers in the room anyway.

I twist in my seat and I repeat the exact same words.

Charlie's hollow eyes squint and he smirks, he looks at me and then at Deb, quickly speaking in his native language.

I bite my lip, hearing the words of another killer isn't as satisfying or interesting as I thought it'd be, it's kind of… boring. I mean setting their prey on fire? Could you be more easy to catch?
"Uhh…" I mumble

"What did the fucker say?" Deb hisses.

"He said…he said that he is picturing your skin burning on his fire." I cough, trying to create a face of disgust, "he says he wants to singe your hair."

Deb angrily glances to Charlie and then to me. "I'll be right back." She slams her fist on the table before rushing out. I sigh bored, I gaze at the open file of the 'Fire Killer'. What idiot leaves so much evidence behind?

"You'd be nice on my fire" he whispers in Maltese, he puckers his lips and inhales deeply. Automatically, I look at the camera which has a red light flickering on its side. I ignore his comment casually leaning back into my chair, crossing my legs. "There is something about your pretty little eyes" he leans forward, his breathe smells of cigarettes.

"Back off" I threaten quietly in his language.

"Or what? You'll set me on fire?" he laughs.

"Actually my chosen method is stabbing" I openly admit, my eyes glaring into his. For a moment I imagine him in my bed, his naked body over me, him thinking that it is a moment of passion. I imagine his eyes looking into mine when I drive the knife through his heart. I shiver at the thought of the blood, adrenaline running through my core.

Suddenly the door swings open, reminding me of reality and both Detective Morgan and Batista storm in. I stand defensively, as I had done something wrong, but they throw a piece of clothing in a plastic bag in the middle.
"Forensics have found his DNA all over the burnt victims' bodies, tell him." Deb snarls

Swallowing quickly, I repeat her words and the Fire Killer's eyes open wide in sudden fear. Is that genuine fear? I wonder if I will feel that when I get caught, if I ever get caught?

"That bitch is lying!" Charlie shouts louder "No DNA! No DNA!"

I smirk, the fucker is going down.

"I think you're done for now Miss Zammit, we have enough evidence to charge him." Angel states, and I exhale with relief and grab my bag which was underneath the table. Deb thanks me, but it's Angel who directs me out of the room.

"SHE'S A KILLER TOO! SHE'S A KILLER TOO!" I hear Charlie, the Fire Killer, yell in the background. I hide a smirk. Are all killers able to recognise other killers? Do we have an innate inner calling?

I walk out into the corridor seeing the same eyes I saw coming into the department. I think the answer is yes. I think we killers do.