Chapter Thirty Three #2
“Is Kenneth okay?” I ask, thankful for the distraction. I don’t know how much longer I can hold my tears back. I’ve been through an onslaught of emotions and it’s not even lunchtime.
“He will be. Someone at the café swapped his lacto-free milk with full-fat dairy. I had to cream the rashes he couldn’t reach on his back.
” Clay shudders and I wind my arm into the crook of his with an understanding nod.
There’s no doubt in my mind that someone intentionally messed with Kenneth’s milk.
He’s prime bullying material, and I should have been more present.
Kenneth was there for me when Clay left, but I haven’t repaid the favor.
After I’ve gotten through today, I’ll make more of an effort to hang out with him.
As if by magic, and no doubt a little threatening from Rhys, a door across the lobby swings open and two men in standard slacks and shirts beckon us.
After quick introductions, PC Haynes and Detective Steiner lead us toward an elevator.
My head sways slightly as we head thirteen floors up and step into a hallway.
The air is quieter up here, conversation fading into the distant click of keyboards as we pass rows of glass cubicles.
Steiner gestures toward one near the window, dropping into his leather chair.
Haynes fetches an extra seat and sets it beside the two already facing the desk.
“Thanks for coming down,” Steiner starts.
We take our seats, me in the center. Haynes perches on the edge of the desk, his expression kind.
He’s young, possibly late twenties with a light smattering of hair lining his tanned jaw.
The complete opposite to his partner, who’s an older gentleman with no hair to speak of and pale skin.
“It’s our understanding you are….um, that you may need an interpreter?” Haynes edges carefully. I give him a wobbly smile, lifting my hair briefly for him to spot my receiver.
“That won’t be necessary. Please, just tell me what you can about the fire? I need to understand why it happened.” I turn to Detective Steiner, figuring he is the lead on the case. The older man links his fingers over his rounded stomach and sighs.
“Unfortunately, we haven’t managed any answers to any of those questions. It was only by the fingerprints we managed to salvage on the bathroom door handle that we were able to get a match. The why is unknown so far, as he only wants to talk to you.” My pulse kicks up a beat and I swallow hard.
“So you need me to get a confession,” I conclude. The boys on either side of me tense while the officers share a hopeful look. Standing, PC Haynes gestures for me to follow him.
“I can go in for you,” Clay quickly offers, but I shake my head.
Rhys also starts to argue, his voice a low growl.
I shut him down with a look too. I decided on the way over that nothing will keep me from that room, from hearing what he has to say.
Feeling Rhys and Clay breathing down my neck, I leave them and their reservations with Steiner in the cubicle as Haynes leads the way.
Stepping into a darkened room, the young officer keeps my attention on him.
“I’ll be right here behind this one-way mirror. Anything you can get out of him, we’d be grateful for. Don’t go beyond your comfort zone. We can charge him based on the evidence we’ve already got, but a full confession is the easiest way to prosecute.”
As Haynes steps aside, my eyes land on the view beyond the mirror.
The breath evaporates from my lungs, a burn filling my chest as it’s unable to rise and fall.
I imagined almost this exact image, but the figure slumped across a metal table still surprises me.
I take a step back, bumping into Clay’s hard chest for his arms to circle me.
Haynes has his hand on the handle, a reassuring smile on his face.
“Remain by the door and knock when you’re done. I’ll get you straight out of there.” I take a steadying breath, nodding slowly. The door is pulled open and I step inside.
“Professor Peterson?” My whisper cracks. His head jerks up, the chains around his wrists rattling as he tries to get to his feet. I flinch at the clattering sound, briefly disorientated and Haynes shouts through a hidden speaker.
“Remain in your seat,” he barks. Peterson complies, lowering back down.
He looks wrecked. His glasses are missing, his eyes wild as they search my face for I don’t know what.
Dark circles are embedded below, his frown lines more visible.
In summary, he looks almost haunted, but also slightly relieved.
“I’m so glad you came. Thank you,” the professor dips his head.
I frown, remaining rooted to the spot, all my questions dying at the sight of him.
I’d figured he would be transformed into a monster, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted curses at me, finally revealing his true hatred.
Instead, the desperation in his eyes jars me.
“Wh-why did you ask for me?”
“To explain. Please let me explain, I’ll tell you everything.
” Peterson begins to sob. Actually sob, tears streaming from his eyes.
The man before me is broken, hanging his head low.
Slowly, I edge around the room and pull the metal seat opposite him all the way back to beneath the mirror before sitting on it.
I can hear Rhys’ voice in my head, telling me to get back by the fucking door.
“Okay. Explain it to me.” Peterson goes quiet other than his occasional sobs. I don’t want to pity him, nor do I want to notice the soreness circling his wrists. As the lack of response continues, I decide to settle for an easier question. “Did you start the fire?”
“Yes,” he finally lifts his head to address me. His red eyes beg for a forgiveness I’m unable to give.
“Do you…want to kill me?” I raise a brow, hiding my trepidation behind sass. That’s how I usually get by in life, and in here it’s no different. Peterson’s head shakes frantically, his hands shifting into a prayer.
“No, no! I never wanted to hurt you.” At my confused look, Peterson shuffles the chair closer to sit upright and takes a long breath.
“I’m being blackmailed. It’s been going on for months.
Someone hacked into my computer and….caught me with Melinda.
” I remain silent, my face conveying I don’t know who that is.
“Melinda Hargreaves, the physiology teacher,” he supplies.
“We’ve been having an affair, and a recording was somehow made.
At first, it started small with asking for money.
But after a while, the real demands began.
I was ordered to hand over one of your microphone clips and then the talent show…
I’m so, so sorry. There were threats to show the recording to my wife.
I have two daughters. I’ve been so worried about going home. I’ve been sleeping in my car.”
I hold a hand up to stop his rambling. I’ve heard enough. A coldness churns in my stomach, but it’s no longer from nerves. Peterson descends into full-on crying once again as I make my way toward the door.
“No, wait. Please don’t go!” he begs. I stop and turn back to eye the pitiful sight before me.
His nose is running and he desperately tries to wipe it on his shoulder.
I’d been so worried about stepping into this room, but now all I feel is disgust. He’s a coward who was cheating on his wife, and instead of admitting it, he attacked me. One of his students.
“Do you know who’s been blackmailing you?
” I ask. Peterson hangs his head with a shake, unable to speak or look me in the eye.
“Then there’s nothing else you have to say that I want to hear.
You were so consumed by the fear of losing your wife, you put my life in danger.
I could have died. Now, your wife will learn the truth and you’ll be stuck in a cell.
Great job Professor, I’ll give your fuck-up an A+. ”
Rasping on the door, I ball my hands into fists until Haynes appears on the other side.
“I hope you got what you needed,” I mutter and take off down the hall without waiting for a response.
As the elevator pings open, Rhys and Clay step in by my side as I knew they would.
My silent sentinels follow me inside and wait for the doors to slide closed before their arms latch around me.
I gasp, shocked by my own reaction as the adrenaline fades and the tremors begin.
Rhys buries his face into my neck, Clay rests his cheek on my head.
Safe in their embrace, I let a single tear roll down my face.
The floor numbers tick down slowly, the hum of the machinery filling the space that’s closing in around us.
Three bodies, one bitter realization. We thought we’d caught him.
We thought the nightmare was over, but Peterson’s confession only confirms what I’d already begun to fear.
He’s not the one pulling the strings. He’s just another pawn on the board.
Whoever’s behind this, whoever’s watching us, they’re still out there.
And the next move is ours.