Chapter 17 - The Interrogation Room
Three weeks later,
the physical bruises on my skin had faded into pale,
yellowish shadows,
but the emotional armor I had forged in the damp,
freezing darkness of the mountain cave had only grown stronger,
thicker,
and absolutely impenetrable.
I stood behind the thick,
heavily tinted,
bulletproof glass of the federal interrogation viewing room,
my hands resting calmly on the cold metal counter,
staring into the stark,
white room on the other side of the glass.
David sat at the metal table,
dressed in a bright,
fluorescent orange jumpsuit,
his right arm heavily casted and suspended in a thick medical sling,
his leg braced with heavy steel rods,
a pathetic,
broken shadow of the charming,
handsome sociopath he used to be.
He looked older,
haggard,
his perfectly styled hair now a greasy,
tangled mess,
his arrogant,
piercing eyes darting nervously around the small room,
searching desperately for a weakness,
a loophole,
a way out of the absolute nightmare he had created for himself.
Claire stood right beside me,
her arms crossed tightly over her chest,
a small,
victorious smile playing on her lips,
watching the monster squirm under the intense,
unrelenting pressure of the federal investigators.
"He requested to speak with you,"
Agent Reynolds said softly,
standing by the heavy steel door,
his hand resting casually on his holstered weapon,
"He claims he will sign the full confession,
waiving his right to a trial,
but only if he gets five minutes alone with his wife,
with me standing right inside the door."
"Do not do it, Sarah,"
Claire warned immediately,
her lawyer instincts flaring up,
protecting me from any further emotional manipulation,
"He just wants to exert control,
to plant one last seed of doubt in your mind,
let him rot,
we do not need his confession,
we have enough evidence to bury him a hundred times over."
I stared through the thick glass,
watching him nervously tap his uninjured fingers on the metal table,
and a cold,
hard resolve settled deeply into my chest,
replacing any lingering traces of fear or hesitation.
"I want to see him,"
I declared,
my voice devoid of any emotion,
sounding like a stranger even to my own ears,
"I want to look the devil in the eyes,
and I want him to know that he failed,
that I am entirely,
completely free."
Claire hesitated,
searching my face for any sign of weakness,
any lingering trauma he could exploit,
but she found nothing but solid,
unforgiving steel,
and she slowly,
reluctantly nodded her head.
Reynolds opened the heavy steel door,
stepping inside the interrogation room,
his massive frame blocking the exit,
while I walked slowly,
deliberately across the linoleum floor,
pulling out the metal chair across from my husband,
and sitting down with absolute,
unshakable confidence.
David looked up,
his eyes widening slightly in genuine surprise,
expecting the timid,
scared,
battered wife he had controlled for seven years,
but finding a fierce,
unrecognizable warrior sitting across from him.
"Sarah,"
he whispered,
his voice a pathetic,
gravelly croak,
attempting to summon that old,
manipulative charm,
forcing a sad,
regretful smile onto his pale,
haggard face,
"You look beautiful,
I missed you so much."
I did not blink,
I did not smile,
I just stared at him with cold,
dead eyes,
letting the heavy,
suffocating silence stretch out between us,
forcing him to confront the absolute void where my love and fear used to live.
"They are lying to you, sweetheart,"
he continued frantically,
leaning forward as far as his heavy chains would allow,
his voice rising in desperate,
manic pitch,
"Harrison set me up,
he fabricated the insurance documents,
he killed Evelyn,
I was just trying to protect you,
I took you to the shed to hide you from him!"
The sheer,
unadulterated audacity of his lies was almost breathtaking,
a testament to the profound,
incurable sickness rotting inside his brain.
"Stop talking, David,"
I said,
my voice low,
quiet,
but cutting through the room like a razor-sharp blade,
slicing effortlessly through his desperate,
pathetic illusions.
He froze,
his mouth hanging slightly open,
shocked into absolute silence by the commanding,
authoritative tone of my voice,
a tone I had never,
ever used during our entire,
miserable marriage.
"You do not control the narrative anymore,"
I continued,
leaning slightly forward,
my eyes locking onto his soul,
stripping away every single layer of his fake,
charming mask,
"Mia recorded you,
Harrison confessed,
and the FBI found the blood money in the offshore accounts,
there is no grand conspiracy against you, David,
you are just a common,
greedy,
pathetic murderer."
His face flushed a violent,
angry shade of crimson,
the charming mask slipping entirely,
revealing the feral,
hateful beast lurking just beneath the surface.
"You are nothing without me!"
he spat violently,
spit flying from his lips,
rattling his heavy chains against the metal table,
"I gave you everything,
I made you,
you were a pathetic,
penniless loser before I took pity on you!"
"And now I am the woman who put you in a cage,"
I replied smoothly,
standing up from the table,
brushing a piece of invisible lint from my elegant,
tailored coat,
refusing to absorb a single drop of his toxic,
desperate venom.
I turned around,
walking toward the heavy steel door where Agent Reynolds was waiting,
leaving the broken,
screaming monster behind me.
"Sign the confession, David,"
I said,
not bothering to look back over my shoulder,
the chapter of my life containing him closing permanently with a loud,
satisfying click of the heavy lock,
"Or don't,
it really does not matter to me anymore,
May you like
because as far as I am concerned,
you are already dead."
