A/N: Every murder story has to have an interrogation scene :D Enjoy!


Will sat in the metal chair across from a stone-faced woman in a police officer's uniform. Her mouth was turned down as she sifted through the pages of a folder in front of her. Her name plate glinted in the fluorescent light of the room – C. Sigurdson.

"What is your position at McKinley High?" she inquired, leaning on her elbows and regarding Will with a level stare.

Will glanced at the tape recorder that was documenting every noise in the room. "Um, I'm a Spanish teacher and coach for the Glee Club. I also run a student-body charity for handicapable kids."

She seemed unimpressed. "And as coach of the Glee Club, you never suspected that one of your students had murderous tendencies?"

"None of them do," he countered immediately.

She pursed her lips and produced from the folder two photographs – one of the note that had been removed from Finn's forehead and one of the message smeared across the choir room floor. "Do these messages mean anything specific to you?" she asked, but Will got the feeling that she already knew the answer.

He swallowed at the image of the loopy calligraphy in blood he knew belonged to Puck. "Uh…" He rubbed his hand over his jaw in agitation. "Sweet Caroline was a solo that Puck sang in the Glee Club."

"Puck?"

"Noah Puckerman."

"Ah. And the other?"

Will frowned at the photographed note paper. "Uh…nothing in particular, no."

"Finn Hudson was six foot four at age sixteen. Am I correct in saying that he was often teased by his friends about his height?"

"Uh, yeah, but it wasn't meant to be cruel; he understood that—"

"And several months ago, your Glee Club hired choreographer Dakota Stanley, but quickly fired him after he ridiculed the members for their various nonconformist qualities?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do—?"

"According to all of your students I've interrogated so far, Mr. Stanley apparently nicknamed Mr. Hudson 'Frankenteen'," she said.

Will stopped, confusion creeping across his face. "You think it was Dakota—?"

"No, Mr. Schuester, my point is that the term 'Frankenteen' is something that only a Glee member would know and understand, as is the 'Sweet Caroline' reference." She sat back, adjusting her uniform over her bulky frame. "The students in your Glee Club were bullied on a daily basis, correct?"

"Yes, they were."

"So it's not entirely implausible to think one of them may have snapped?" she suggested. "To get back at those who hurt them?"

"Look, none of my kids would ever—"

"Answer the question, please, Mr. Schuester."

Will sighed, running his hands through his hair in agitation. "No, I suppose not," he finally said. "But listen, none of them would go this far."

"Mr. Schuester," she said, her tone almost warning. "You must understand that all the evidence points to your Glee Club. All four of the McKinley victims had an extensive history of bullying the kids in Glee, despite the fact that two of them were members. The content of the messages on Finn and Noah's bodies were both direct references to things that only a Glee member would know. And Jesse St. James was an opponent of the club. There's enough evidence stacked up to put any one of your kids away."

Will gulped audibly.

"Mr. Schuester, are there any members of your club that you think would be more likely to commit murder?"

Will thought long and hard about the answer to that question. And he finally understood that, no matter how often he'd tried to facilitate a healthy, happy learning environment in the choir room, once the kids walked out that door, his protective bubble popped and they were the most vulnerable kids in the school. He thought about Rachel singing Gives You Hell, a musical attack directed at Finn, and he thought of Mercedes and Santana coming within an inch of tearing each other's heads off when Mercedes was dating Puck. He thought about the boys leaping up, ready to beat the crap out of Jesse after he egged Rachel, and he recalled Kurt's expression when he'd turned down the opportunity to sing Defying Gravity. He remembered hearing about Tina suddenly turning to scream at Artie in the middle of the crowded hallway for womanizing her, and he could easily imagine Artie's face upon learning that Tina had lied about her stutter. He thought of Mike's expression when he pretended to pay attention to the kid's offer to pop 'n lock. He thought about Quinn glaring at Finn and Puck every time they did something that put her down, whether it was checking Rachel out when they thought Quinn wasn't looking or making idle commentary about Hall of Fame MILFs. He thought about Brittany's upset face every time he handed her back a test with See Me written in condemning red pen, and the bird corpse that'd been discovered in her locker. And he'd overheard Matt muttering furiously to himself on many an occasion about the bullying his fellow football jocks had been dishing out day by day.

How had he not noticed the spiking anger levels in the kids he saw the most often?

"Mr. Schuester?"

Letting out a long, steadying breath, Will finally answered.


"Mercedes, are you coming over or not? I'm making dinner for Dad and Carole, and the sheer amount of cholesterol in this room is giving me a headache. I desperately need moral support."

Mercedes giggled, holding her cell phone between her shoulder and her ear. "Relax, girl, I'm coming. I'm just changing."

"For the third time today? Impressive."

"Well, just because I'm gonna be hanging at a mechanic's house doesn't mean I can't look damn hot," she reasoned, pulling on the jacket Kurt had given her two days before.

"Darling, that's the law I live by," Kurt said with approval. "I'll see you in ten."

When Mercedes arrived, the kitchen smelled heavily of burgers. "Damn, Kurt, since when do you make meals with fatty meats?"

Kurt flipped a beef patty over in the frying pan. "Since Carole's been too grief-stricken to make dinner," he answered simply. "It's become my job."

Mercedes' smile slid off her face. "Right. And how are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he said. Wiping his fingers on a dishtowel, he smiled consolingly. "Don't worry about me."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks, 'Cedes." The oil in the pan popped, drawing Kurt's attention back to the stove. "You can go join Dad and Carole in the dining room if you want. I'm making another burger for you."

"What are you eating?" Mercedes asked as she headed out of the kitchen.

"Oh, I'm just having salad."

"Okay, but you'd better be getting some nutrition or someth—" Mercedes stopped short when she entered the dining room.

At first glance, there was nothing wrong. Had the sight been a photograph, she would have thought nothing was out of the ordinary. But Burt and Carole sat at their respective seats at the dining room table, absolutely and completely silent.

They weren't smiling.

They weren't blinking.

Mercedes screamed.


A/N: What can I say? I have a thing for cliffies. Please review!