The Interrogation
The Room
In a dark room, where nothing but a single chair with a light flashing down upon it, a man in a black tuxedo entered in. His hair was pulled back in a pony tail and he had a silver hoop in his left ear. He looked almost peculiar in the suit. He stood, tall and emotionless, his hands behind his back. Behind him, entered two rather large men, holding down what appeared to be a helpless little blond girl. They strapped her down to the seat, though she didn’t appear to be struggling. One of the men handed the man in the black suit a remote of some sort. He took it and nodded to the man, waiting for the two to leave.
Once the door was shut, the man walked up slowly to the girl, his steps making an echo around the room that seemed to go on for forever. “Do you know why we’re here?” he asked her once he was a proper distance away.
“You’re here to question me and I’m here to answer, or least, that’s what you think. But I am not going to answer anything unless you answer my questions as well,” she stated bluntly.
He raised his eyebrows at her slightly, circling her chair. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands,” he murmured as he looked down at the remote.
The blond girl rolled her bright blue eyes. “It’s the only way you’ll ever get information out of me. You can try shocking me all you want, but you know as well as I do that if you use it enough times that I’ll get immune to it,” she said confidently.
The man thought about this for a moment before shrugging and facing her again. “Very well. We’ll play it your way--” but before he could say more, she interrupted.
“Wait. We each have to tell the complete truth and we’re only allowed two passes to the questions,” she said, looking into his eyes.
He laughed under his breath and shook his head. “Alright. Fine. Two passes. I get to ask first though,” he said, pausing to see if she would say anything else. When she didn’t, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Rosalyn Elizabeth Smithies III,” she answered at once. “Same question.”
The man nodded his head. “Pleasure to meet you Miss Smithies--”
“Even in such unpleasant circumstances?” she asked.
The edge of his lip twitched into what seemed like he was going to smile but it returned back to his emotionless and neutral face. “One question per turn.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she pointed out.
“Peter. Peter Baker,” he answered.
“Funny. You don’t look like a Peter Baker,” she commented.
He ignored her and went on. “Did you or did you not kill Mr. Gregory Jameson?”
“I did,” she nodded. “But there’s more to the story if you’re willing to listen. But you’ll have to ask another question to know that. First my question. Did you or did you not kill Mr. William Anderson,” she asked.
Peter paused for a moment, wondering how in the world she could have possibly known that. He figured that since she had told the truth about the murder, he might as well say it. “I did. But there’s more to the story. For now, it’s my turn.”
Once the door was shut, the man walked up slowly to the girl, his steps making an echo around the room that seemed to go on for forever. “Do you know why we’re here?” he asked her once he was a proper distance away.
“You’re here to question me and I’m here to answer, or least, that’s what you think. But I am not going to answer anything unless you answer my questions as well,” she stated bluntly.
He raised his eyebrows at her slightly, circling her chair. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands,” he murmured as he looked down at the remote.
The blond girl rolled her bright blue eyes. “It’s the only way you’ll ever get information out of me. You can try shocking me all you want, but you know as well as I do that if you use it enough times that I’ll get immune to it,” she said confidently.
The man thought about this for a moment before shrugging and facing her again. “Very well. We’ll play it your way--” but before he could say more, she interrupted.
“Wait. We each have to tell the complete truth and we’re only allowed two passes to the questions,” she said, looking into his eyes.
He laughed under his breath and shook his head. “Alright. Fine. Two passes. I get to ask first though,” he said, pausing to see if she would say anything else. When she didn’t, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Rosalyn Elizabeth Smithies III,” she answered at once. “Same question.”
The man nodded his head. “Pleasure to meet you Miss Smithies--”
“Even in such unpleasant circumstances?” she asked.
The edge of his lip twitched into what seemed like he was going to smile but it returned back to his emotionless and neutral face. “One question per turn.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she pointed out.
“Peter. Peter Baker,” he answered.
“Funny. You don’t look like a Peter Baker,” she commented.
He ignored her and went on. “Did you or did you not kill Mr. Gregory Jameson?”
“I did,” she nodded. “But there’s more to the story if you’re willing to listen. But you’ll have to ask another question to know that. First my question. Did you or did you not kill Mr. William Anderson,” she asked.
Peter paused for a moment, wondering how in the world she could have possibly known that. He figured that since she had told the truth about the murder, he might as well say it. “I did. But there’s more to the story. For now, it’s my turn.”