Interrogation Room 2
1257 Words
Interrogation Room 2
The room was cold. Stark. A single metal table. Two chairs. One camera in the corner. Dim lighting.
Aaron sat with the careful posture of a man used to being in control of a room like this. He folded his hands over his knee, body open, casual, but every muscle subtly tensed.
Marquez entered alone.
She closed the door with a quiet click and didn’t sit right away. Instead, she circled slowly, arms folded, eyes scanning him like she were reading pages only she could see.
Aaron broke the silence.
“You’re looking at me like I’m a suspect.”
Marquez didn’t smile. “I’m looking at you like someone who vanished right before a man was stitched up with black thread in his bed.”
Interrogation Room 2
The room was cold. Stark. A single metal table. Two chairs. One camera in the corner. Dim lighting.
Aaron sat with the careful posture of a man used to being in control of a room like this. He folded his hands over his knee, body open, casual, but every muscle subtly tensed.
Marquez entered alone.
She closed the door with a quiet click and didn’t sit right away. Instead, she circled slowly, arms folded, eyes scanning him like she were reading pages only she could see.
Aaron broke the silence.
“You’re looking at me like I’m a suspect.”
Marquez didn’t smile. “I’m looking at you like someone who vanished right before a man was stitched up with black thread in his bed.”
Aaron tilted his head, the bandage above his brow catching the dim light. “Coincidence.”
“Convenient,” she said, sitting down.
Aaron leaned back. “You’ve seen the terrain out there. Slippery, isolated. I was hiking solo. Always do when I need to reset.”
“Yet no one saw you leave. No one saw you return.”
“I keep to myself.”
She pulled out a file. Let it rest in front of her, unopened.
“You know how this looks,” she said quietly.
“I know how everything looks,” Aaron replied. “That’s my job.”
Marquez tapped the folder. “Then you’ll understand why I’ve reopened a background check on you.”
Aaron’s eyes didn’t flicker. “Go ahead.”
“No family. No medical history on file between the ages of thirteen and seventeen. Parents both deceased in a house fire—no charges, no follow-up. You enrolled in university with a fabricated address that can’t be verified.”
Silence.
“I’m starting to wonder if the man who joined this department… ever really existed.”
Still, Aaron stayed calm.
Marquez finally opened the folder.
Pulled out a photo.
Mr. Howard Johnson. Face drained of blood, throat bruised, GUILTY stitched across his chest.
“You gave a lecture last year on signature-based murders. You described this exact scenario.”
Aaron studied the photo for a moment. No emotion.
“Fascinating case,” he said finally.
Marquez’s voice turned sharp. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’ve read the reports.”
“You weren’t here to read them.”
Aaron shrugged. “I caught up this morning.”
Marquez leaned in. “You were the first to identify the Black Thread Killer’s psychological signature. The first to name the morality-driven method. Now someone’s copying the same kills—down to the stitching style—and you’re always two steps ahead.”
Aaron finally met her gaze fully.
“Are you accusing me, Detective?”
“I’m interrogating you, Mr. Cole. That’s the difference.”
A long beat passed.
Aaron exhaled softly. “I understand the suspicion. I do. But the truth is simpler. You’re chasing someone who wants you to look at me. They know my profile. My methods. They’re using them against me.”
“A copycat of a copycat,” Marquez muttered.
“Exactly.”
Marquez stood, slow and deliberate. “We’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”
Aaron smiled, polite and professional.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
---
Outside the Room
Jessie stood in the hall, arms crossed, watching the exchange through the one-way glass.
Her stomach twisted.
Because for all of Marquez’s pressure, all her questions—Aaron hadn’t cracked. He hadn’t flinched.
He’d walked back into the lion’s den wearing a sheep’s smile.
And now… he knew her name.
He had her scent.
And Jessie knew—he wouldn’t run.
He’d wait.
He’d watch.
And then, when the moment was right...
He’d strike.
Aaron tilted his head, the bandage above his brow catching the dim light. “Coincidence.”
“Convenient,” she said, sitting down.
Aaron leaned back. “You’ve seen the terrain out there. Slippery, isolated. I was hiking solo. Always do when I need to reset.”
“Yet no one saw you leave. No one saw you return.”
“I keep to myself.”
She pulled out a file. Let it rest in front of her, unopened.
“You know how this looks,” she said quietly.
“I know how everything looks,” Aaron replied. “That’s my job.”
Marquez tapped the folder. “Then you’ll understand why I’ve reopened a background check on you.”
Aaron’s eyes didn’t flicker. “Go ahead.”
“No family. No medical history on file between the ages of thirteen and seventeen. Parents both deceased in a house fire—no charges, no follow-up. You enrolled in university with a fabricated address that can’t be verified.”
Silence.
“I’m starting to wonder if the man who joined this department… ever really existed.”
Still, Aaron stayed calm.
Marquez finally opened the folder.
Pulled out a photo.
Mr. Howard Johnson. Face drained of blood, throat bruised, GUILTY stitched across his chest.
“You gave a lecture last year on signature-based murders. You described this exact scenario.”
Aaron studied the photo for a moment. No emotion.
“Fascinating case,” he said finally.
Marquez’s voice turned sharp. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’ve read the reports.”
“You weren’t here to read them.”
Aaron shrugged. “I caught up this morning.”
Marquez leaned in. “You were the first to identify the Black Thread Killer’s psychological signature. The first to name the morality-driven method. Now someone’s copying the same kills—down to the stitching style—and you’re always two steps ahead.”
Aaron finally met her gaze fully.
“Are you accusing me, Detective?”
“I’m interrogating you, Mr. Cole. That’s the difference.”
A long beat passed.
Aaron exhaled softly. “I understand the suspicion. I do. But the truth is simpler. You’re chasing someone who wants you to look at me. They know my profile. My methods. They’re using them against me.”
“A copycat of a copycat,” Marquez muttered.
“Exactly.”
Marquez stood, slow and deliberate. “We’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”
Aaron smiled, polite and professional.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
Outside the Room
Jessie stood in the hall, arms crossed, watching the exchange through the one-way glass.
Her stomach twisted.
Because for all of Marquez’s pressure, all her questions—Aaron hadn’t cracked. He hadn’t flinched.
He’d walked back into the lion’s den wearing a sheep’s smile.
And now… he knew her name.
He had her scent.
And Jessie knew—he wouldn’t run.
He’d wait.
He’d watch.
And then, when the moment was right...
He’d strike.
- Writer
