14
1155 Words
PERFECT SHADOWS 14
Detective Jaco sat across from Selene Marlowe in the interview room. She was eating a chicken wrap and sipping a mocha like she was at a café, not inside a correctional facility. The steam from the cup rose slowly between them. Jaco watched her carefully. Selene wiped her mouth neatly and looked at him.
“I realised there was only one way to be free,” she said quietly. “For me… and for everyone else.”
He did not respond.
“I had to kill them,” she said plainly.
The words were soft. Calm.
“No one wanted to help me anymore. One sister wanted me dead. My own twin was helping traffic young girls.”
She paused.
“Luckily Sloan ran long before that. Now she wants to look me in the eye like she didn’t know.”
Jaco leaned back slightly but kept his eyes fixed on her. Selene took another sip of her mocha.
“I pulled everyone’s schedules,” she continued. “Studied them for a month. I needed to be sure when I could get them all in one place. Together. Relaxed. Unaware.”
Her voice did not shake.
“My silence bothered no one,” she said. “They thought I was broken. Weak.”
She looked down at her hands for a moment.
“In the second month, I went to the shooting range.”
Jaco’s jaw tightened.
“I practised,” she said. “Then I went to the police station. Again.”
He felt that word. Again.
“I reported everything. The trafficking. The abuse. The girls. I begged them to listen.”
Her eyes met his.
“They didn’t even want to hear me.”
The room felt smaller.
“I told them I was getting good at handling a gun now. I said soon I would have my licence. I asked them, ‘Can you please just help me before I do something?’ "
Her voice dropped. Selene looked… tired.
“For the time being, I trained,” she said. “Every day.”
She swallowed.
“Twenty-two days until I got my licence.”
She lifted her eyes to him.
“Twenty-two days I begged the police not to let me kill anyone.”
Silence filled the space. Jaco did not interrupt.
“I ordered hydrochloric acid,” she said calmly. “And antifreeze.”
He felt his stomach turn.
“I fed them antifreeze,” she continued. “Small amounts. Enough to make them sick. Weak. Confused.”
Her fingers traced the side of her cup.
“The Marlowe family trusted traditional remedies,” she said. “They always consulted the family doctor first.”
She gave a small smile.
“I hacked his email.”
Jaco’s eyes flickered.
“I sent messages saying it was food poisoning. He replied with instructions. Things they had to eat. Soups. Mixtures.”
She shrugged slightly.
“Of course, I prepared them.”
She leaned back in her chair.
“They all started feeling the same symptoms. Nausea. Pain. Dizziness.”
She paused.
“I invited my sister too. She said she was experiencing similar symptoms. I acted worried.”
Selene’s face softened.
“I pretended to be sick as well,” she said. “Just… recovering faster.”
The silence in the room was heavy. Jaco stared at her. Every step had been slow. Measured. Planned. No rush. No explosion of rage. Just patience. Selene looked at him again.
“I gave them exactly what they trusted,” she said quietly. “Family. Care. Remedies.”
She picked up her wrap again and took a small bite. Jaco realised something chilling. She had not snapped. She had transitioned. Slowly. Carefully. And by the time anyone noticed. It was already too late. Jaco sat very still. He let a few seconds pass before he spoke.
“What was your mental state during all of this?” he asked quietly. “How did you really feel… knowing you were going to kill your own biological children? Your husband. His brothers. His mother. Your sister.”
The room went silent. Selene did not answer immediately. She looked down at her mocha cup, turning it slowly in her hands.
“At first,” she said softly, “I felt guilty.”
Her voice was low now. Not proud. Not sharp.
“That’s why I went to the police. More than once. I needed someone to stop me.”
She lifted her eyes.
“I wanted someone to take it out of my hands.”
Jaco watched her closely.
“No one cared,” she continued. “They told me to go home. To fix my marriage. To gather evidence. To be patient.”
Her jaw tightened slightly.
“I went home with guilt sitting in my chest like a stone.”
She paused.
“Then something changed.”
Jaco did not interrupt.
“My feelings started disappearing,” she said plainly. “Slowly.”
Her face became distant.
“I couldn’t cry anymore. I couldn’t feel fear the same way. Even the guilt became smaller.”
She swallowed.
“And then… I couldn’t wait.”
The words hung heavily between them.
“I couldn’t wait to be free.”
Jaco felt a chill move through him.
“My heart stopped trying to recover,” she said. “It stopped hoping. Something new replaced it.”
“What?” he asked quietly.
“Clarity.”
She leaned back slightly.
“They were all under one roof. Under my mercy.”
Her eyes were steady now.
“They were sick. Weak. Complaining. But still doing the same things in front of me.”
Her mouth tightened.
“They didn’t change. Not one ounce.”
Her voice grew colder.
“They were still making jokes. Still whispering. Still planning. Just… sicker.”
She shook her head slowly.
“I got to experience it all without panic this time. Without tears. I watched them.”
Jaco felt the weight of her words pressing into the room.
“I realised something,” she continued. “Nothing was going to fix them. Not prayer. Not therapy. Not exposure.”
Her gaze locked onto his.
“They had no intention of stopping.”
Silence followed. Jaco studied her face. There was no hysteria. No unstable trembling. Only a terrifying calm. He understood something then. This was not temporary insanity. This was not a sudden break. It was progression. Systemic failure. Ignored reports. Dismissed warnings. Institutional indifference. The law had been present. But it had not acted. And in that gap. She had stepped in. Jaco leaned back slowly in his chair. He realised something heavy. There was no easy defence here. No clean narrative. The law would condemn her. But it had also played a role in creating the path she walked. And that truth sat between them. Uncomfortable. Unavoidable.
- Writer
