Chapter 13: 4.5 Days

Doug looked over at Hanson. They were standing outside the interrogation room and Hanson was staring at Frisk through the one-way glass. Hanson pulled an item out of his pocket and looked at it. Then it was gone, pulled out of his hand unceremoniously.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Doug half whispered, half yelled.

Hanson swung his head up to look at Doug holding the gun that had just been in his hand. "What the hell are you doing? Give it back to me!"

"Are you crazy? No way. Uh, uh. I'm not giving you nothing!" Penhall spit.

Hanson stomped his foot and held out his good arm. "I'm not going to do anything. It's empty. Check it yourself," he argued through clenched teeth. Hanson glanced behind him to make sure Fuller and the shrink were still engrossed in some conversation that he was sure was about him.

Doug looked over as well. They didn't seem to have noticed. He shook his head and checked the cartridge and barrel to make sure they were empty. Hanson pursed his lips together and felt a pang in his chest. Doug didn't trust him. Doug eyed him then slowly handed the gun back over. "You know how many rules this is breaking, right?"

Hanson shrugged his shoulders then winced as his arm gave him a little warning throb. "They know," he said as he took the gun and put it back in his pocket.

"Who knows what?" Doug whispered loudly, his eyes growing wide.

"Hanson, you ready?" Detective Stafford asked as he walked up to them. "Just remember what we need, okay?" Hanson nodded his head, gave a little glare at Doug then opened up the door to the interrogation room.

It felt a little surreal being in the same proximity with Amy's killer again. The second he walked in the room, Frisk froze but then his mouth formed a stupid ass, cocky grin. Hanson had been prepared for this but it still hard to keep a neutral face, especially when he knew it was obvious to everyone, even Frisk that he looked like shit. Hanson repeated to himself a few times that this was just another interrogation, nothing else. He walked to the table and slowly pulled out the chair opposite of Frisk purposely making the legs screech loudly against the tile floor. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on Frisk's face but let out a smile of his own when he sat down carefully.

"I don't have nothing to say to you," Frisk spit.

"I figured," Hanson said shrugging his shoulders being careful that he didn't give away how much it hurt his arm. He pulled out Stokes' watch and carefully placed it on the table in front of him. Frisk eyed it warily but didn't say anything.

Hanson stared at and twirled the watch long enough for him to start to see Frisk get uncomfortable. He stopped when Frisk started to fidget and looked up. "Why'd you kill her? Why not just take the money and run?" Hanson asked as sincerely as he could.

Frisk's face melted into another smile and leaned forward. "I thought she had a gun. I was pro-tec-ting myself."

Fury boiled through Hanson but he kept his exterior cool. "I see. I'm sure that was true for the others too, huh?"

"What others?" Frisk asked and sat back in his seat smiling. He pointed his chin at Hanson's hands. "What's with the fucking watch?"

"Oh, something someone gave me as a memento. I'm pretty sure whoever owned this was killed a long time ago. Crazy, right, to carry a dead person's piece of junk around with you?" Hanson looked up at Frisk even though he didn't really expect an answer. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiger he'd found in Frisk's stuff and put it next to the watch. The smirk on Frisk's face disappeared. "Found this one in your stuff. Belonged to a Miss. Carolyn Harrison, killed 14 months ago. That's a long time to keep track of a piece of trash. Was she a friend of yours?"

Frisk's eyes burned into him.

Hanson picked up the tiger and Frisk's eyes moved quickly between it and Hanson's face. "I see. Did you keep this as a souvenir from your first kill? Something to remind you about how much you loved seeing her sputter and beg for her life as she died?"

"I….didn't….kill…her," Frisk seethed through clenched teeth. He looked like he was about to pounce.

"Oh?" Hanson asked with feigned innocence. "She had a bullet in her stomach and was missing a measly $40. Sounds like your M.O."

Frisk clenched his entire body. "You don't know shit."

Hanson leaned forward putting his good arm up on the table. "No? Then tell me how you got this?" he stated holding up the trinket. "Miss. Harrison had this little tiger on her the last time she was seen alive. And, honestly, why does your secret matter anymore? You're going to burn for killing Amy Petersen and for shooting the clerk on Dockside and 3rd. Giving a few families some closure might make the judge take it a little easier on you."

Frisk relaxed and the smile returned. "What a fucking loser of a cop you are. What the hell do you know? I thought you were going to pee your pants the night I killed your slut."

Hanson ignored the attempt to make him lose control and instead reflected Frisk's posture but then turned serious as he stared at the tiger. A missing piece clicked in his head. "Yeah, you're right. I should have killed you that night. For some stupid reason, I didn't think you'd pull the trigger on an unarmed, innocent woman and I froze." Hanson paused and sighed. "Things are going to be shitty with that hanging over me for the rest of my life. Reliving it all the time, I mean constantly. Over and over and over again. I couldn't face her family. Didn't talk to them. Didn't even go to the funeral. I just hid in my apartment drinking for days until I heard about where you were. You know how close I was to killing you the other night and just giving up? I still might, you know."

Frisk eyed him warily.

Hanson breathed in slowly to try to keep his composure. That confession had hit him more than he had expected. Shit. He had to keep it together. He looked up at Frisk and saw a look of triumph on his face. He was enjoying this.

Hanson smiled back and pulled out the gun and placed it on the table so the muzzle pointed at Frisk. "Would make a damn good story, shooting you with the same gun that you killed Amy with, the same gun that killed Carolyn and that you used to kill her killer, Michael West? I got that right, right? Right?" Hanson asked feigning excitement at his own prowess.

Frisk stared at the gun then up at Hanson with his mouth open, his face going pale.

"Only problem is that killing you would put me down the same path as you. Well, except that we're already in jail so I couldn't really do the whole downward spiral killing spree thing."

"Fuck you," Frisk growled rising from his seat and throwing his arm out to reach for the gun.

Hanson grabbed the gun out of reach and held it. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. It's empty and there are a lot of people watching you right now."

Frisk slowly sat down but didn't take his eyes off the gun.

"Does that mean I'm right?"

"He made her do him." Frisk said through clenched teeth. "When she begged to be let go, he shot her in the stomach so she'd bleed out slow. Long enough for me to find them before she died. I wasn't going to let that bastard get away."

"So you killed him?"

"Hell yeah, I killed him. Watched him bleed to death too. He deserved it. She didn't do nothing."

"Neither did Amy," Hanson said.

Frisk finally dragged his eyes away from the gun, sat back and chuckled. "Who the fuck cares?"

Hanson shook his head. "Why didn't you call for help if you cared so much?"

Frisk glared at him but Hanson could tell the question bothered him.

"Let me guess. You were afraid to be found in a drug house, afraid to lose your supply, so you let her bleed to death."

Hanson watched as Frisk eyed the tiger now. Sweat started to shine on his face and his body began to twitch. Hanson knew these were signs of withdrawal but the look in Frisk's eyes told another story.

"How many more have there been?" Hanson asked quietly.

"How many more what?" Frisk spit.

"How many more people have you killed besides Carolyn and Michael?"

"I didn't kill her!"

"You may not have pulled the trigger but you let her die."

Frisk leaned forward, "Maybe. But, who the fuck are you to judge me? Huh? You fucking coward. At least I had the balls to pull the trigger."

Hanson sat silently for a moment. "Okay, you're right. So, let's look at this situation realistically. I expect that you know that you're not going to see the outside of a prison ever again. You may even earn the death penalty and be bounced around between solitary confinement and death row for the next decade or two. Prison is tedious and people are going to forget you pretty quickly with just a few deaths under your belt." Hanson leaned forward. "But, if you're the grief induced sociopathic serial killer that I think you are? Journalists and criminal experts will be begging to get access to you."

Frisk shook his head and snorted. "Why the fuck are you here? You must be out of your fucking out of your mind if you think I'm going to believe anything you tell me."

Hanson waved his good hand and sat back in his chair again, "Suit yourself." Hanson picked up Stokes' watch again and started to play with it again then stopped and looked at Frisk. "Curious to know who else we think you took out?"

Frisk shook his head again. "Sure, why the hell not. You all have your heads up your asses blaming me for everything in the city. Can't wait to laugh my ass off."

Without taking his eyes off Frisk, Hanson motioned to the door. Stafford walked in holding the stack of case files and placed it on the table. Stafford began to sit down but Frisk held out his arm.

"No fucking way. You want this, cop?" Frisk grinned and pointed at Hanson and himself in turn. "Then it's just you and me." Frisk sat back again like he owned the world and his smile got even wider.

Hanson felt fury building in him. He really, really didn't want to be in the room with Frisk anymore. His energy level was waning. The room was getting smaller and smaller and Frisk seemed to sense it. He stared at Frisk while he told himself over and over again that Frisk was just another piece of shit in the world. He was used to dealing with them. If Frisk needed to feel in control in order to talk….well, Hanson was just going to have to play along. He looked up at Stafford and nodded his head. Stafford sighed, put the chair back and closed the door quietly behind him.

Hanson reached with both arms to pull the files in front of him and instantly regretted it. His arm protested loudly and Hanson let out a small gasp before he could stop himself.

Hanson tried to ignore Frisk snickering across from him and picked up the top file with his good arm.

"I get something else too," Frisk stated before Hanson could open the file.

Hanson closed his eyes and wished that Frisk would just explode in a cloud of dust. When that didn't happen, Hanson knew he'd have to take the bait. "What?" he asked in a defeated voice.

"I want to see the tape. With you."

It took Hanson a moment to process what Frisk had said but when it did, he froze. It seemed like an eternity to get his mind to work enough again to sputter out a weak, "What?"

"The tape of the shooting. We both get to watch it one time for every person you show me in that pile."

Hanson managed to finally raise his eyes and what he saw made him sick. Frisk's face was distorted into a smile that reflected pure joy. Hanson still hadn't moved but he felt the familiar fury rise in him. He was about burst when he heard yelling and shuffling outside the interrogation room door. Apparently, Penhall was ready to do what Hanson wanted to do – beat Frisk into a bloody pulp. That seemed to snap him out of it. "No," Hanson answered.

Frisk sat back in his seat and smirked. "Well, if you won't, then you can get me a lawyer because I ain't saying nothing more without one."

Hanson slumped his shoulders. Fuck. How the hell did Frisk know that he'd watch the tape of the shooting repeatedly managing to slowly drive himself insane? Again more shuffling behind the door. Well, Hanson thought, he'd watched the tape hundreds of times. He knew every microsecond of it. What were a few more times to see if he could get a full confession? And the whole situation was so messed up already. Adding one more warped element probably wasn't going to change much. "Fine. I show you one file. You tell me everything. When, where, how, why."

Frisk's eyes twinkled. "Sure, then we get to see the tape."

Hanson shook his head, "Why are you so interested?"

Frisk kept up the smile, "You said it yourself. I'm stuck in here for good. Might as well have a little fun."

"Forget it. All you want to do is fuck with me. You're just going to talk without it meaning shit. You'll either lie or later claim you lied." Hanson started to rise from his chair. "You're not worth it. I'm not going to waste my time."

Frisk abruptly sat forward in his seat. "I'm not worth it?! Fucking asshole. You're just like the rest."

"The rest?" Hanson asked honestly confused by Frisk's reaction.

"All they had to do was help me out. That was all. But, no. No-one ever did. They all treated me like shit, like I was nothing."

Hanson stopped moving and stared down at Frisk. "Like who?"

"My fucking bitch of an aunt. One example. All I needed was a few more dollars and instead of helping me out, she pulled a knife on me. What was I supposed to do? Let her punch a hole in me?"

What Hanson wanted to say was yes, he should have let his aunt slit his throat but that would have gotten them nowhere.

"Maybe she was afraid of you," Hanson said feigning like he cared. "Or afraid of how crack made you act. Maybe she had 'helped' you out so many times and you kept coming back for more, abused her so much, that she felt hopeless and didn't know what else to do."

Frisk looked taken aback by Hanson's assessment but then he hardened hissing as he sat back in the chair. "What the fuck do you know?"

Hanson slowly sat back down. "So tell me what I don't know."

"Nu-uh. Not until we get the tape."

"Why? Why is that so important?"

"I'm curious," Frisk responded snidely. "I want to see you crack."

Hanson pointed to his own face knowing he looked like shit. He'd looked at himself in the mirror that morning and the face staring back at him terrified him. "This isn't enough?"

Frisk chuckled. "Nope."

Hanson was pretty sure he wasn't going to crack like Frisk expected him to. He'd seen the tape so many times he was pretty immune to it now but if it took him acting like it was driving him insane to get Frisk to talk, well, that would be pretty easy to convey.

"Fine," Hanson said and raised his good arm to show that the group outside the room needed to take some action. There was a long pause while Hanson waited for them to decide whether to go along with the plan or haul him out of the room. Finally, there were three small taps on the door meaning that Stafford was going to get the AV equipment and tape. Good, at least one observer was gone.

Hanson leaned forward and moved the gun under the table. He raised his injured arm so it was resting on the table and whispered low enough that he knew the others couldn't hear him, "I'll play your game and give you what you want but I expect the same from you. You have nothing to lose by telling me about what happened to these people and why. I'm tired and it's taking everything from me to sit in the same room with you but I promise I'll stay and listen as long as you talk. But, if I find that you're lying to me and wasting my time and, honestly, my sanity for nothing," Hanson opened the palm of his free hand and showed Frisk a bullet that fit the gun then put that hand under the table. "I will shoot you in the balls so I can watch you bleed out while you hold your prick. My colleagues will probably save your life meaning you'll be living in prison as a eunuch. With breasts and an easily accessible backside, you would make an ugly but convenient bitch."

Frisk's smile fell and he glared at Hanson who glared right back.

"You'll be right there with me, pretty little thing," Frisk growled.

Hanson shook his head, "Nah, I'll be under psychiatric care."

Frisk didn't say anything in response, just continued glaring, until Stafford showed up rolling a squeaky stand loaded with a TV and VCR. Neither Hanson nor Frisk moved while Stafford plugged in and turned on the equipment. He hit play then pause where the robbery began and gently placed the remote in front of Hanson. Frisk finally moved and shifted his eyes around nervously when Stafford set a tape deck on the desk, put in a fresh tape and hit record. Stafford paused a moment and Hanson could feel him staring at him, could feel the indecision emanating from him. Finally, though, Stafford moved towards the door briefly squeezing Hanson's shoulder on the way out.

Hanson rapped his knuckles on the table twice to get Frisk's attention. "It's just you and me, just like you asked. Do you need another show of good faith? How about we watch the tape first, then you'll tell me about your aunt?"

End of Chapter 13