CHAPTER 13 - Madeline #2
In this cold, white room, Deimos isn't just testing my loyalty to him. He’s testing the one thing I have left to give: my trust. And the truth is, I have none.
Not for the police, not for the justice system I used to believe in, and certainly not for the man whispering in my ear.
But I’m trapped. If I falter now, we both go down.
I have to bet my life on him. Because the alternative is letting the man across the table destroy me.
I stare into Miller’s eyes, searching for a flicker of a lie, but his face is a mask of seasoned authority. My mind is screaming.
What if he isn't bluffing? What if Deimos, for all his god-like arrogance, missed a hidden microphone? If Miller plays a recording of Deimos’s voice, I’m not just a suspect anymore, I’m an accomplice to the most wanted man in the city.
DEIMOS: “Madeline. Listen to me. I don’t make mistakes. He’s looking for a reaction. Don't give him the satisfaction of a single blink. Call his bluff.”
His voice is so calm it’s terrifying. It’s the voice of a man who has never failed, and that’s exactly what scares me. But I have no choice. I’m already in the lion's den. I can’t play it safe anymore.
I lean forward, my chest nearly touching the edge of the cold table, and I let a slow, mocking smile spread across my face.
“Play it.”
Miller’s eyes narrow. He wasn't expecting that. He expected a flinch, a stammer, a confession.
“If you have a recording of a man in my office, Detective, play it right now. Because I’d love to hear what my 'shadow' has to say. Or are we going to wait for you to find a voice actor to match your anonymous tip? Because so far, your evidence consists of a dry flower and a ghost story.”
Silence stretches between us. I can hear the hum of the fluorescent lights, the muffled voices of officers in the hallway, and the heavy, rhythmic thud of my own heart. Miller doesn't move. He doesn't reach for a recorder. He just stares at me, and I realize Deimos was right.
He has nothing.
DEIMOS: “Checkmate, little storm. Now, finish him. Tell him you’re leaving.”
“I think we’re done here, Detective. Unless you’re planning on charging me with 'suspicious floral arrangements,' I have a morgue full of actual cases to attend to. My lawyer will be expecting your call if you find anything that isn't a fabrication.”
I stand up, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. Miller remains seated, his hands clenched into fists on the table.
“You’re just a puppet. And when he’s done with you, he’ll leave you exactly where we found Jake. In the dirt.”
I don't answer. I turn my back on him, a move that feels like walking a tightrope over a pit of fire, and walk toward the door. My legs feel like lead, but I keep my head high.
DEIMOS: “Walk straight. Don't look back. The driver is at the side entrance. You did well, Mali. Better than I expected.”
As the glass doors of the station shut behind me and the cool air hits my face, the adrenaline finally begins to ebb, leaving me shaking.
I made it out. But as I climb into the back of the black sedan, I realize Miller was right about one thing. I am a puppet. And the man holding the strings is currently whispering praise into my ear like it’s a love song.
The afternoon sun is still high, casting long, harsh shadows across the precinct’s parking lot. It feels wrong. After everything that just happened in that cold, windowless room, the world outside is moving along as if nothing has changed. People are walking their dogs; traffic is humming.
The driver, silent and stone-faced, pulls away from the curb immediately. My hand is trembling as I reach up to my ear. I want that device out. I want to be alone with my thoughts, away from the man who just forced me to become a liar.
But before my fingers can reach it, his voice returns. It’s no longer the sharp, instructional tone he used during the interrogation. It’s dropped an octave, becoming something more intimate, something that makes my skin prickle.
DEIMOS: “You were exquisite there, Mali. The way you looked him in the eye and lied for me... it was almost better than a confession. But don’t think for a second that removing that earpiece makes you alone.
I don’t need a wire to hear your heart racing for me.
Go back to your dead. I’ll be watching every cut you make this afternoon. ”
The line goes dead with a soft, final click.
I rip the earpiece out, my heart hammering against my ribs exactly as he described. I stare at the small piece of plastic in my palm, feeling exposed even behind the tinted windows. He isn’t just watching through cameras; he’s watching me.
The car pulls up to the familiar gates of the mortuary. The afternoon light hits the brick building, making it look almost peaceful, though I know better.
The driver finally speaks, his voice raspy and devoid of emotion.
“We’re here, Doctor. Have a productive shift.”
I don’t thank him. I just step out and walk toward the entrance. My shift is just beginning, and for the first time in my career, the silence of the morgue feels less like a sanctuary and more like a trap.
I push open the heavy door to my office, expecting the cold comfort of silence and the scent of sterile paper. Instead, I’m met with the sharp, floral sting of the lilies on my desk and a presence that makes the air in the room vibrate with tension.
Lucy is sitting in my swivel chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She isn't crying, but her face is flushed, and her eyes are wide with a mixture of terror and white-hot fury. She looks less like my best friend and more like an interrogator who actually gives a damn.
“Where the hell have you been, Mali?”
Her voice cracks, jumping an octave.
“I’ve called you twenty times. Twenty! I went to your apartment, I checked the lab... I was ten minutes away from reporting you missing.”
I close the door behind me, the click of the lock sounding like a death knell. I need to be careful. My mind is still echoing with Deimos’s warnings, his obsessive possessiveness lingering in the back of my throat.
“I was at the precinct, I told you when you called me Lucy,” I remind her, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.
I walk toward the coat rack, peeling off my blazer with trembling fingers.
“Detective Miller wanted a follow-up statement regarding Jake.”
Lucy springs out of the chair as if it were on fire. She stalks toward me, her heels clicking aggressively on the linoleum.
“The precinct? Alone?”
She grabs my shoulders, her grip bruisingly tight.
“Mali, look at me. You’re white as a sheet. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, or like you’re becoming one. What did they say? What did they ask you?”
I look away, unable to meet her gaze. I can’t tell her about the earpiece. I can’t tell her about the man who watched us through the cameras. If I tell her the truth, I’m signing her death warrant.
“It was just a routine. They found some... inconsistencies at the scene. They’re just shaking trees to see what falls out.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
Lucy screams, the sound echoing off the sterile walls.
She lets go of my shoulders.
“First Jake turns up dead close to this mortuary, then you start acting like a stranger, and now you’re being hauled into interrogation rooms? Who is he?”
My heart stops.
“Who is who?”
“The man!”
Lucy’s voice drops to a frantic, terrified whisper.
“The one you’re protecting. I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you look at your phone. I’ve felt the way you freeze up when we’re alone. Is it him? Did he kill Jake?”
The secret becomes too heavy. The wall I built during the interrogation finally crumbles. I grab Lucy’s wrists, not to push her away, but to steady my own trembling hands.
“I can’t tell you his name. Knowing it is a death sentence,” I whisper, my eyes darting to the security camera in the corner.
“But you’re right. He’s the one who did it. He’s everywhere. In my head, in my phone, in this building. But you weren't there that night, Lucy. You didn't see what happened in that private lounge at the masquerade party.”
Lucy freezes, her breath hitching.
“Jake was drunk, he was screaming... he shoved me hard. I thought he was going to kill me right there. But then, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a message from him.”
A lone tear escapes, racing down my cheek.
“I didn't think. I just ran. I didn't see what happened after the door closed behind me.
I didn't see the struggle, I didn't see the blood.
.. I didn't see anything until Jake was found.
He saved me by letting me escape the monster I was in the past with, and he took the darkness onto himself so I wouldn't have to. How am I supposed to hate a man who gave me my freedom the second he saw that I was in danger?”
Lucy pulls back, her eyes wide with horror.
“Mali, he’s a killer. He’s stalking you! This is Stockholm syndrome, he's breaking you down until you think his cage is a sanctuary.”
“Maybe,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against hers.
“But when I was in that room with Miller... when I heard his voice in my ear... I didn’t feel trapped. I felt protected. And God help me, Lucy... when he calls me his, a part of me believes him. Because he was the only one who listened when I was desperate for help.”
Lucy shakes her head, backing toward the door, looking at me like I’m a stranger.
“I can’t just watch you fall in love with a psycho who has blood on his hands. I came here to save you, but you’re already gone, aren't you?”
She slips out of the office, leaving me alone with the scent of lilies and the terrifying weight of my own confession. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving a silence so heavy I can practically feel it pressing against my lungs.
I stand there, frozen, staring at the spot where she was just standing. My own words ring in my ears, mocking me. I didn't even know I felt it. Not until it spilled out of me like blood from a fresh wound.