“Why are you hating on the yoga, Dunc? Maybe our guy here likes that stuff.”
‘Dunc’ shook his head, his eyes moving over me, head to toe. “Doesn’t strike me as the type. You’re not the type, are you, bud? Or maybe you’d do it to win over a girl, but you wouldn’t do it for yourself?”
My mouth stayed shut.
“Maybe he’s a fag,” the older guy chimed in. Short sentences that cut in, jerking my attention away, much as the constantly moving pen did.
“Are you a fag, buddy?” the interrogator asked. “Do you prefer sausage to the taste of fish?”
Rationalize it, Blake. Figure out why they’re doing what they’re doing. They wouldn’t stick these guys in a room with you if there wasn’t a very clear, concrete reason for every single action.
They were nettling me. Obviously. If I were gay, I’d be hurt or annoyed at the use of ‘fag’. If I wasn’t, they’d be provoking me to defend my sexuality.
Thing was, I was in the middle. I wanted to protest the use of ‘fag’ for the sake of my gay friends, for Joel, but not so much that I’d speak before my lawyer arrived. I was straight, but I wasn’t exactly practicing straight. I liked girls, I liked the way girls looked, but I didn’t actively pursue sex, didn’t invest a lot of my own identity in my sexuality.
I was able to relax, get my bearings, knowing they were on the wrong track, the nettling wasn’t working-
A hand settled on my knee. I jerked, pulled out of my thoughts, moving my leg to break contact, my hands bracing themselves against the mirror to one side, the desk to the other.
The room was still for a few pounding heartbeats.
“He didn’t like that,” the guy to my right said.
Dunc moved his hand back to his lap. “Nope. I was just going to say, if you are gay, it’s cool. No judgement here.”
“Say anything you want,” I said. “But say it without touching me, please.”
“Kind of cocky, giving orders in your situation,” the guy behind the desk said.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Dunc said. He smiled that ever-so-friendly smile of his. “Here, let me move closer, so I can hear you better.”
He scooted his chair forward, until we were sitting with one of his feet planted between mine. Invading my personal space, making it impossible to move my legs the way I wanted to without bumping into his.
I’d just given them an in. Stupid, stupid. A crack in my defenses, so to speak.
“I’m not gay, in case you were worried,” Dunc said. He let the statement hang in the air.
More bait. More stuff said to invite a response.
“I’ve got a wife and kid. You?” he asked. “Anyone we could call?”
“He didn’t say anything about dependents, when we were filling out the arrest sheet,” the other officer said. “I listened to it all, while you were talking to the captain.”
Each time Dunc asked a question, it was left out there for a moment before the other guy formed a response. It made for a kind of stilted dialogue, one that someone might have itched to fill in. I had little doubt that if I started talking, I’d be rewarded with a very natural conversation.
“Doesn’t sound good, then,” Dunc said. “A single guy, when you’ve got a dead kid in the woods? Our guys looked at the tracks in the snow, traced them back. You meandered a little, but you seemed to know where you were going. If you stopped and changed direction, well, it looks an awful lot like it was because you were looking for landmarks.”
“Telling,” his partner said.
“Doesn’t like being touched? That’s a story unto itself. Another point against the man, as far as I’m concerned. I wonder what the hatchet and knife were for.”
“Twine too.”
“Cut up the poor little dead kid, tie it all up with twine?” Dunc asked, leaning forward, further into my personal space.
His gaze didn’t waver as his eyes locked with mine. Cold, accusatory.
“I think that sort of fucked up speculation suggests an awful lot more about you than it does about me,” I said.
He smirked, then leaned back. “You’re not joining in on the small talk, so I don’t have much else to do to while away the time except try to figure out what you did, what you were planning, and why.”
“Speculations like why are you out walking out in the woods tonight? Woods a long way from home? Woods that just so happen to have a dead boy crammed in under some large rocks?”
“Coincidence,” Dunc said. “Eh? Just random chance?”
I needed a way out, and they weren’t giving me a chance to string thoughts together.
I had… quite possibly less than twenty four hours to get the last demon bound and handed over to Conquest.
I needed more time to talk to the astrologer, to get my ducks in a row so I could actually do something once the demon was captured and handed over.
“They found blood on the hatchet. Five second test to do, not a good result,” Dunc said.
“Yeah?” his partner said.
“Captain said so,” Dunc said. He stood, which put his body a foot or so away from my face, and stretched. Well inside my personal space.
Blatant, but it worked. It bothered me. More than a little.
“Don’t fidget,” the cop to my right said, his voice low. “Doesn’t look good. Makes you look guilty.”
I was bouncing my knee. I stopped.
“You really need to calm down,” Dunc said. He sat down, shifting his seat. A jerky, sudden movement that prompted me to do the exact opposite of what he was recommending.
Didn’t help that being told to calm down was one of the most enraging things that someone could tell you. Doubly so when that person was an asshole.
“Still bugging me,” he said. He leaned closer, “Scars, marks, bleeding… how does a guy get injuries like that?”
“Stand in front of the ‘out’ end of a wood chipper?” his partner suggested.
“Tell you what,” Dunc said, looking at me. “I’m dying for a coffee. Tell me, even make something up, so long as you make it convincing enough to satisfy my curiosity, and I’ll go get my coffee, and I’ll get you anything you want out of the vending machine. Or out of the break room, if you’re in the mood for something warm.”
I shook my head.
He moved, sudden, in my space, and I flinched much as I had before, hand gripping table’s edge, so I wouldn’t hit him.
But he was only standing, a sudden, forward movement, right when it had looked like he was settling in for a long sit.
“Relax,” he said. “Jesus, I’d thought you’d ease up a bit after the first few times.”
“PTSD?” his buddy asked.
Keep your mouth fucking shut, Blake Thorburn, I told myself.
“Might be, but as far as I’m concerned,” Dunc said, “He could be nervous because he’s worried about what’s going to happen to him. Hurting a kid? You’re in for absolute misery. A long, long sentence, nothing good for you in there, nothing good that comes after.”
“Law says we need reasonable doubt,” the other guy said. “You know what that is? That’s where anyone who’s not an idiot would be able to say you did it. We’ve got that.”