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“You can’t keep me here.” The handcuffs, fed through a metal ring bolted to the table, chafe your wrists. A thin trail of smoke curls up from the detective’s cigarette as he watches you. “I want to talk to my lawyer.”
The detective takes a long drag and grins. “Why don’t you just confess and make it easier on everyone?” he asks casually. “We know you did it.”
“I didn’t kill anyone!” you shout, banging on the table for emphasis. The interrogation room seems too small, the walls too close together. You take a deep breath to calm yourself.
The detective stubs out his cigarette and leans back in his chair. He motions toward the one-way mirror set into the wall, and a few moments later a burly police officer pokes his head through the door. “The suspect is being uncooperative,” the detective says.
The officer smiles and walks into the room, closing the heavy door behind him. It clangs shut with a finality that sends chills up your spine.
“I know my rights,” you say, trying to sound tough. “Let me make my phone call.”
The detective and the officer share a laugh. “It seems I’ve got a confession to make as well,” the detective says. He leans forward conspiratorially. “You see, we never actually booked you when we brought you in. That means you’re not in the system, which in turn means that nobody knows you’re here.”
He pulls a Swiss Army knife from his pocket. “So if something were to ‘happen’ to you, not a soul outside this room would know about it.” He opens the miniature saw blade. The jagged, serrated teeth make you think of pumpkins and Halloween.
The police officer walks behind you and places his hands firmly on your shoulders, pushing you down into your chair. The detective comes around to your side of the table. He grabs your wrist and absently rests the saw blade against your pinkie finger. “Let’s play twenty questions,” he says matter-of-factly. The blade bites slowly into your flesh as you struggle to move your hand. “First question. Are you ready to confess?”
You stare at the knife pressing against your finger, unable to believe this is happening. The detective shrugs and starts sawing.
You know it won’t do any good, but you scream anyway.
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