CHAPTER X: The Boy With The Hands
The detective slammed his fist on the metal table. The seated man, who's hands laid on the surface bound by the metal cuffs, barely winced.
"Why don't you say something, dammit?" he demanded. "Are you too damn shocked by your own crime to even speak? Even make eye contact?"
The man remained silent in the cold, brick-walled room. He sat like a rock; a stubborn one at that.
"DAMN YOU!" the detective let out.
"Weiss, take a breather." a male voice spoke through the loudspeaker mounted in the far left corner of the wall.
Weiss walked towards the door, but he gave the suspect one final glare before he stepped out; a cold glare.
"The son of a bitch just sits there. I wonder if he'd talk if I used a taser."
"Let me give it a shot."
"Angela, it's useless."
"He'll have to talk eventually, Weiss. Let me see if I can get something out of him."
"Alright." he sighed, finding a little comfort for his restless hands inside the warmth of his pockets.
The man waiting inside of the interrogation room was expecting another cop to slip inside the boundaries of the door.
He lifted his stare from the cuffs about his wrists partially, just enough to see her torso.
"So," his voice was gruff beneath his beard, this middle-aged, battered-looking, southern-talking man. "You must be the good cop." He sounded taunting.
"Maybe." she replied with confidence. "It depends on how good you cooperate."
So far he had managed to at least utter a sentence to her. That was already more than what Weiss had gotten out of him.
"Mr. Donahue, We know you murdered your wife."
"I didn't murder her."
"The evidence was clear as day; the fingerprints, the knife; there's no point in denial. Just tell me why."
"I wouldn't kill my wife, dammit. I loved her."
Angela shook her head in dismay and tightened her lips with frustration. She slid her arms out before her, stretching them upon the table's cold, metal surface just before returning them to her face to fold her hands beneath her chin.
"I'm very tired Mr. Donahue, and I know you are too. This interrogation has been going on all day; but if you like, we can continue into the hours of night."
"I was possessed. I was possessed dammit!"
The man was holding back his rage, his longing to reach out and strangle every cop around him; the woman sitting across the table and the prying eyes that hid behind the glass.
"Possessed huh?" doubt was settled in her hazel eyes.
"Mr. Donahue, you've got a criminal background. Assault and battery, drug use and three robberies. You also shot a black man in a liquor store. The odds are pretty much against you."
"But I never killed anyone."
"Attempted, and yes you did actually. Even with all of the possessions that have been going on in this city, it's likely you could be using this as an escape passage for your crime. But just so you know, you're the first supposedly possessed victim who's committed a murder."
The man flung upward in his seat, throwing the chair to the floor. The bright light that hung in the middle of the ceiling seemed to reflect off his bald head in an almost mirroring affect.
There was a look in his bloodshot eyes that unnerved Angela, an essence about him that denied her any likelihood of trust.
"You want an answer? Huh? Do ya?" his tone was sharp and infuriating in it's loudness and it seemed to bounce about the room like a bullet.
"Ask the boy! Ask the fucking boy! He knows! He's the reason it happened! The little freak!"
Four cops burst into the room, piling themselves around the violent man as they forced him out.
As they struggled to walk him past Angela, his crazy eyes were still upon her, his shouting vocals still raging on.
"Go on, detective! You want to interrogate? It's the boy you need to question! The crazy boy at Ravenscar! Dammit! He's the one who should be blamed! If he were never born, none of this shit would have happened!" his rage echoed on down the hall, until she could hear him no more.
Angela sighed and closed her eyes, bearing her head into her hands.
Weiss placed his hand on her shoulder, and his touch brought her eyes to his.
"Personally I think he needs some time at Ravenscar." he said.
"I need to pull up those records on his son now." Angela stated.
"Follow me." Weiss said, leading her out of the room. She was glad to leave that cold dwelling.
They paced down the hallways and through the open reception room, walking past other cops and a few handcuffed criminals. There were victims of family members sitting in waiting chairs and others telling their stories to the detectives who were there to listen.
The office seemed to shelter them from the activity you saw in the Los Angeles Police Department; but you could still hear ringing phones and the few people that stepped outside of the door.
"Whatcha need?" asked the red haired woman sitting behind the desk.
"Marie, I need you to pull up the files on Gavin Donahue; William Donahue's son." Angela said.
"Hold on."
The middle aged woman began plundering into the computer files, searching for the name like a blood hound on a trail.
Between clicks, she sipped her mocha, never leaving her stare from the bright screen of the computer.
"Let's see, I've got a lot of Gavin Donahues her; about eleven of them."
"He's at Ravenscar." Angela said, hoping the small piece of information would narrow the search.
"I think I've got him."
She clicked the mouse three more times, and then the printer began shooting out printed files.
Marie organized the stack and then handed it to the two detectives who held the files together as they scanned the information and the picture of the boy.
"Yep. He's got his father's eyes." Weiss said.
"Maybe not his nature." Angela hoped.
"Alright then." Weiss glanced at his partner and then back at the file. "Let's go then."
Angela parked the SUV and she and Weiss made their way into Ravenscar.
"I hate coming here." Angela said, acknowledging the cringe she felt in her stomach.
"You'll be fine." Weiss said, knowing that the horrible memory of Isabel's death still plagued her.
Angela gave him a weak smile as they approached the receptionist.
"Can I help you?" asked the kind old black woman.
"I'm detective Weiss…"
"…and I'm detective Dodson. We need to speak with Gavin Donahue about a matter concerning his convicted father."
They slipped their badges back into their pockets.
The old woman bent over to the other side of her desk.
"I need a nurse up front please." she said over the loudspeaker.
They were following a male nurse now, through an elevator and a long hallway on the twelfth floor.
He slipped the card into the door numbered 2412 and pushed it open, giving way for them to step inside.
"He's a very special patient." he said in an almost warning kind of way.
The detectives stepped inside of the room. The nurse remained outside of the open door.
It looked cold inside, but the lighting, the large window and the colorful assortment of simple toys and two superman posters gave a little warmth and comfort to the room.
The little boy sat in the window seat, gazing out over the city and the rain clouds that wanted to dampen the day.
In his hand was a plush bear. Beside him was a brightly painted wooden airplane and behind him was a small Christmas tree that displayed a few dim little lights and a paper star on top.
There was a table across from him that was covered with scattered crayons and drawings.
Angela stepped over to the artwork, picking it up picture after picture and finding herself frightened by what the boy had drawn. They were drawings of winged demons flying over the city, harming and chasing innocent people and animals.
Even though the pictures were drawn by a not-so-artistic child, it was not difficult at all to make out what they represented; and the last one said something about the boy that terrified Angela beyond anything. She folded the last picture, and held it in her hand as she and Weiss stepped closer to the child who had not yet acknowledged them.
"Hello Gavin," Angela said.
"Hi." he uttered back, glancing at her with no interest at all in talking.
She gave him a smile, and the child tried to give her one in return before returning his stare to the outside world, though his smile was very small.
"That's a nice airplane." Weiss said, "Did your dad make that for you?"
The boy glanced back at them, shaking his head.
"I made it." he said, returning his eyes to the window again.
"Gavin, we're from the L.A.P.D." Angela said at length.
"I know." he uttered, turning himself around to entirely face them. "You're Angela Dodson and you're Diego Weiss."
"…Angie, he knew our names." Weiss whispered back, amazed by the boy.
There was a peaceful nature in this boy that made him so different from the way his father had described him. He was solemn, soft spoken and quiet; and his round face seemed so full of grief and fear, though he clearly wanted to hide it.
His black hair was shaved, and his thick eyebrows drew attention with his frightening blue eyes.
"Gavin, can I ask you about some of the pictures you draw?" Angela questioned.
The boy nodded.
"I see things in my dreams, and I draw them on paper." he said.
"Well, what about this picture here?" Angela held the unfolded piece of paper before him.
It displayed a horrific drawing of a bearded man slaying a crying woman on a kitchen floor, a knife in his hands and demons all around him as if rallying him in the murder attempt. The dashes of red crayon marks represented a gory presentation of blood.
"I know what my dad did." he said.
Gavin turned himself to look out the window again, as if seeking from shelter from the image.
Angela handed the picture to Weiss and carefully took a seat next to the child.
"You're files say you're eleven years old."
The boy sighed.
"Gavin, I spoke with your father today. Was he, by any chance, abusive to you or your mother?"
The boy was silent.
"Gavin, I really need you to tell me the truth."
"Dad was always bitter and mean. He lost his job as a truck driver when I was nine. Since then he took up drinking and robbery; but dad never made a good criminal…he wasn't much of a hero either."
"Tell me why your parents put you in Ravenscar."
"It was my dad's ideal. Mom didn't have any say, and I told her to go along with it so he wouldn't hurt her."
"Why did he place you here?"
"Because when I'm angry, I can hurt people…One day after school, I walked in and heard mom screaming in the kitchen. He was beating her, throwing things at her and calling her hurtful things. I was afraid that he'd kill her and…I don't know how to explain it but, I pulled him off from her, threw him to the floor and I formed a cross with my two index fingers and placed them on his forehead. It kind of stunned him and his skin seemed to burn. After that he had me put away, and I've been here since."
"Why a cross? Did you think he was possessed?"
"No, I just thought he was evil."
"Did your mother ever try to leave, take you out of the hospital?"
"He kept her prisoner at home. She only got to see me a few times. Last week was the last I saw of her; she brought me a Christmas tree. She mainly called."
"I see." Angela said.
She stood up from the seat and the boy watched as she walked over to Weiss.
"Is my dad going to go to prison?"
"I'm afraid so." Angela said.
"Good." Gavin replied matter-of-factly.
"…Well, it was nice talking with you Gavin. We appreciate your cooperation." Weiss reached out to shake the boy's hand.
"I can't touch people with my bear hands; they'll burn your skin. It's been like that ever since I was eight."
Weiss exchanged a glare with Angela that seemed to say: What?
Angela on the other hand believed the boy.
"Oh, Well, we'll keep in touch, by visitation." Weiss replied, still a little stunned by what the boy had said about his hands. It just sounded too over-the-top for him to take seriously.
Gavin nodded.
"Merry Christmas, Gavin." Angela said, holding a heavy heart for the boy's situation.
"...Merry Christmas." he replied.
TO BE CONTINUED…