Chapter 8: Interrogation Room Chaos
The Observation Room
Detective Jack Hunter—most people called him "John"—stood in the dimly lit observation room, his tie loosened, and his fists clenched. His partner, Frank Carter, stood next to him, sipping coffee and staring through the glass. On the other side of the two-way mirror, the leader of The Fallen sat in one room, his face cocky despite his handcuffed wrists. In the next room over, his bride lounged casually, a twisted smile on her pale face.
"These them?" Frank asked, taking another long sip of coffee.
"Yeah," John said, his voice tight as he rolled up his sleeves.
Frank glanced at him sideways. "How are we playing this?"
John didn't hesitate. "You're the bad cop."
Frank smirked, raising his cup. "And you?"
John's eyes darkened. "They killed the mother of my children. I'm the worst cop." Without waiting for a response, he reached up and flipped off the camera recording the room, the red light winking out.
Room One: The Leader
John walked into the room like a storm cloud, his heavy boots thudding against the concrete floor. The leader of The Fallen, a wiry man named Louise, leaned back in his chair, his skeletal makeup smeared from earlier struggles. He raised an eyebrow as John approached.
"What's this about, copper?" Louise asked, his voice dripping with mockery.
John didn't answer. He crossed the room in three long strides, and before Louise could react, John's fist connected with his face in a powerful haymaker. Louise's head snapped back, blood spraying from his mouth as he grunted in pain.
"Jesus Christ!" Louise spat, blood dripping from his lips as he stared at John with wide eyes. "What the fu—"
John's fist came down again, smashing into Louise's cheek. The gang leader groaned, his head lolling forward as he blinked through the haze of pain.
"You didn't even ask me anything!" Louise said, his voice high with disbelief. "Why are you hitting me?!"
John raised his arm again, but before he could deliver another blow, Frank walked in, grabbing his arm.
"John, go have a smoke," Frank said calmly, but his tone carried the weight of an order.
John exhaled sharply, glaring at Louise before nodding and heading for the door. Louise groaned, his head lolling back against the chair.
"That guy's crazy," Louise muttered, wincing as he spat blood onto the floor. "I want to report him—"
Before he could finish, Frank slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing in the small room.
"Yeah, no. We're not doing that," Frank said casually, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from him. "Now, I've got some questions for you."
Room Two: The Bride
John left the observation room and entered the second interrogation room. The bride, dressed in tattered leather and makeup smeared to resemble a decayed corpse, looked up with an unnerving grin. Her white wig was slightly askew, revealing dark roots underneath. She didn't flinch as John sat down across from her, wiping blood from his knuckles with a rag.
"Your boyfriend's blood," John said, tossing the rag onto the table.
The bride giggled, her pale fingers reaching out to grab John's hand. Before he could pull away, she ran her fingers over the blood-stained knuckles, smearing the red onto her fingertips. She brought them to her lips, licking the blood delicately before running her tongue along her lips. Her eyes gleamed with sadistic glee.
John's jaw tightened, and in a flash, he grabbed the front of her dress, yanking her across the table. "Don't try that crazy shit with me," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm not in the mood."
The bride didn't flinch. Instead, she grabbed his hands, her grip surprisingly strong, and forced them down to her neck . She tilted her head, staring at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. "If you're going to threaten me with a good time," she whispered, her breath hot against his face, "you might as well hurt me a little."
John's grip tightened around her neck, and the sick smile on her face widened as she gasped for air. Her eyes rolled back slightly, her lips parting in some twisted pleasure.
"What do you know about the Helen Hunter murder?" John demanded, his voice sharp.
"The science broad?" the bride rasped, her smile never wavering. "Not a thing."
"Bullshit," John spat, tightening his grip further. "You had an altercation with her son earlier that night. What happened?"
The bride's bloodshot eyes gleamed as she laughed, her voice hoarse but amused. "We lost him," she said, licking her lips again. "I was really sad about that. He was cute. I wanted to play with him."
John's jaw clenched, his rage barely contained. "What did you do after your little street race?"
The bride's breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling as she whispered, "We went to T's spot. It's an old fire station on the east side of town."
Her body shuddered, and her head lolled back, her breath hitching as if she were in some kind of trance. "Such a fun night," she purred. "Too bad we couldn't play longer."
"John!" Frank's voice cut through the haze, pulling John back to reality. He released his grip on the bride's neck, and she slumped forward onto the table, gasping for air. A twisted grin spread across her face as she looked up at him, her lips stained red.
"You're fun," she whispered, licking her lips as her gaze locked onto his.
Back in the Observation Room
John and Frank reconvened in the observation room, both looking worse for wear. Frank tossed his now-empty coffee cup into the trash while John rubbed his temples, his frustration boiling over.
"What'd you get?" Frank asked, raising an eyebrow.
John shook his head, pacing back and forth. "Nothing. They went to T's after the scuffle they had with JJ."
"And the bride?" Frank pressed.
John clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "She's just as twisted as her boyfriend. Didn't give me anything useful."
Frank sighed, leaning back against the wall. "So, what now?"
"I don't know," John muttered, slamming his hand against the table. The force knocked over a spare coffee cup, sending it clattering to the floor.
Both men turned to look through the two-way glass. Louise sat slumped in his chair, groaning as he leaned his head back against the wall. But it was the bride who caught their attention. She was no longer sitting; instead, she stood inches from the glass, her head tilted at an unnatural angle. Her eyes seemed to bore straight through the glass, locking onto John with a predatory grin.
Frank shivered slightly. "You ever get the feeling she can see us?"
John didn't answer. He just stared back at the bride, his jaw tightening. The room felt colder, heavier, as the bride lifted her hand and pressed it against the glass, her smile widening as her bloodshot eyes gleamed with twisted delight.