CHAPTER 1: Aftermath [#2951]
Well i posted chapter 4 of my detective novel a few weeks back, and one of the bigger issues that i saw people have with it was the missing context from chapters 1,2 and 3 (ofcorse there are plenty and i mean plenty of other problems). So now i'am going to post all the chapters i left out so i can go chapter by chapter with no missing context, and hopefully try to improve (challange level: immposible). Also just so you guys know, i'am way ahead in my novel so you can consider these chapters "old" ones, but not like super old.Oh also, chapter 1 of this novel is a flashforward....well, have fun critiquing this 😭🤚
CHAPTER 1: Aftermath
The room was quiet, it was so quiet that a person could hear their own heartbeat inside their chest. A light bulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating the white walls of the eerie room. Inside these walls there was a long metallic table and two small chairs that sat on both ends of the table.
Occupying the chair that was to the left of the metallic desk, a middle-aged man sat with his head down, staring at the ground.
He wore a grey tracksuit, the standard clothing issued to remand prisoners, and his pale hands were cuffed together. The man's hair was half brown and half grey, and his eyes were a deep hazel color. This man had been sitting alone in this room for the better part of 2 hours. And during those hours, he had not moved or spoken, or even shown any sign of being alive.
However, every few seconds a slow and hoarse breath would enter and exit the man's nose, betraying his corpse-like appearance.
He was indeed alive.
Bang.
Suddenly, without a single warning, the middle-aged man lifted his cuffed hands up into the air and then slammed them down on the metal table that stood in front of him, a loud bang echoing throughout the room as he did. Then after doing this random act of aggression, he then proceeded to do something that could not be explained with normal human logic.
Lifting his head up for the first time in 2 hours, the man's hollow eyes shifted around the room, eventually stopping at a certain spot on the table.
There, a singular piece of paper lay peacefully on top of the smooth metal. It was left by the detective that would come to question him in an hour or so.
After gazing at the paper for a few moments, the man's cuffed hands stretched outward, and with a bit of effort he managed to reach the lonesome paper.
Then, with a very calm demeanor, the man brought the piece of paper near his face and began to analyze it. In fact, this paper intrigued the man so much that he continued to analyze it for another whole hour.
During this time he did not move, or even change his expression even once.
And the paper that he was so thoroughly analyzing...
It was blank.
There wasn't a single drop of ink on that paper. It was just a blank piece of white paper.
Though soon enough, the white room would get a few more visitors.
Outside of the white room where the man sat with his paper, there was a long hallway that connected to a bunch of other rooms that were similar to this one.
At the end of the hallway, two sets of footsteps began to echo throughout. They passed every room without slowing down even once, and eventually they came to a stop once they reached the room where the middle-aged man sat quietly.
The sounds of a hand flipping through a myriad of different keys began to play, but after some time the person outside seemed to have found the right one, as the noise stopped very abruptly.
A key was slowly inserted into the keyhole of the door, two twists resounded, and then the key was quickly removed. With a light push, the door swung inward and two people entered the room.
One was a bald middle-aged man, that wore a black shirt and dark blue pants that were paired with two pointy black shoes. In his right hand he carried a small pen, and in his left he held a sizable notepad.
The other man was a little younger but still appeared to be in his late thirties. He was slightly plump, and on his arms he carried a big kit as well as a camera.
Of course, the strange man that sat on the left side of the table did not pay these two much attention and continued to just stare at his paper.
This weird behavior did seem to startle the two men a fair bit, as they both hesitated to talk or move for a few seconds.
However, the silence was eventually broken by the bald middle-aged man, who decided to be the one to start the mandatory process that was done before every interrogation.
Walking a few steps forward, the bald man made his way to the metal table where the suspect sat looking at an empty paper that he had left there. With a gentle touch, the bald man tapped the man's shoulder, which actually made him react and drop the paper from his hand.
He looked up and the detective and the suspect made direct eye contact. A shiver was sent across the bald man's spine as he looked into the hollow eyes of the hazel-eyed man.
The detective could not explain why, but this guy's eyes were not normal. They lacked... something.
Not wasting any time, the detective pointed a finger at the metal table. And then, he spoke.
"Put your legs up on the table."
The bald man's voice was very deep and his tone was serious. It would be hard to not be intimidated by it.
The request to put your legs up on the table would be a weird one for most people, and it would probably cause for some questions and hesitation before complying.
But, the hazel-eyed man did not hesitate or ask any questions. He immediately lifted both of his legs up and placed them on the metal table.
Due to knowing the man's background, the detective did not find this quick understanding that surprising.
The bald man turned around and signaled his partner to do his job.
In the next 20 minutes the plump man would go through the process of not only photographing the man's feet but also swabbing the man's feet.
During this time all three men kept mostly quiet, with only the detective and the plump man whispering to each other every now and then.
After this process was done, the plump man shook the detective's hand and quickly left, taking both the kit and the camera with him.
Now there were only two men in the room. The interrogation was ready to commence.
The bald man took his seat at the chair on the right side of the table. He put the notepad down on the table but decided to keep the pen on hand, just in case the suspect decided to try something stupid.
The detective started off with an introduction.
"I am Detective Richard Hale, working for the Paddington police station. Today I will be asking you a few questions. Of course you can choose to not answer any of my questions, and be aware that any information you do share today will be used as evidence in the court of law. Do you understand?"
The suspect did not ask any questions and gave a simple slow nod.
Again considering the suspect's background, the detective did not find this surprising.
Picking up his notepad ever so slightly off the table, the bald man got his pen ready to go.
"I will start off by asking you some basic questions that every adult should be able to answer. These are mandatory to make sure you are mentally present."
The detective's words rolled off his tongue with such smoothness that it almost seemed unnatural. It was clear that this was not the first time that he had spoken these exact same words.
However, the man's smooth talking that had been molded over countless years of interrogating would be put to the test.
As the detective was about to ask his first question, he did what he always would do and that was lifting his head up to make eye contact with the suspect. This was something that had long become a routine of his and through the years he had looked into the eyes of murderers, rapists, molesters and many more deranged human beings. These experiences managed to shape his gaze into something solid and unbreakable—almost like a brick wall.
For over ten years, he had never once felt nervous when looking at a suspect...
Until now.
As Richard's gaze met the suspect's, he opened his mouth to ask his first question, but not a single word left his lips.
His jaw suddenly tightened and his eyes seemed slightly wide and dazed like that of a deer when caught under the headlights.
On the other side of the table the strange man sat unbothered, his arms hanging loosely and his gaze shifting around the room with no visible intent in them.
The lack of intent and will, was that what was making the detective so uncomfortable? Who knew.
A small ball of spit traveled down the detective's throat. Whatever this strange feeling that the suspect's eyes gave him—Richard had to suppress it for now. The interrogation needed to continue and his emotions for the suspect could not interfere with it.
Straightening his back slightly, the detective let out a small sigh and placed the tip of his pen on the notepad. With this he began to talk.
"To start off, can you confirm your name for me please."
The detective added the word 'please' to the end of his sentence, with the hope that his politeness would make the suspect open up to him. However considering the way that the suspect was acting, Richard very much doubted that the man would answer—
"Mayhew. Mayhew Brown."
There was a short pause of silence after the low voice of the hazel-eyed man subsided.
Richard was very much surprised by the quick answer. And that surprise was not of the bad type, instead it was a glimmer of hope that promised a productive interrogation.
Richard quickly wrote the answer down and began to ask more basic questions such as:
"How old are you?"
"Where were you born?"
"At which university did you study?"
And to the detective's amazement and delight, not only did the suspect answer all of them immediately but he also answered them correctly.
38 years old. England. East Anglia University.
Of course there had been a deep background check on the suspect a long time ago, so Richard already knew all the answers to the questions he just asked—thus he wasn't gaining any new information with them. But, what he was gaining was something that was equally important and that was a healthy dynamic with the suspect.
'This interrogation might actually go somewhere. I just have to be careful about it.' Richard thought to himself.
After writing everything on his notepad, the detective lifted his head up and gave Mayhew—the suspect a curt nod.
"Well Mayhew, it seems that you have good enough mental stability for me to start asking some more complex questions. Is that fine with you?"
Mayhew gave a small—almost unnoticeable nod to the detective. This half-assed comply made Richard hesitate for just a moment, but in the end he decided to ignore it and continued with the questioning.
"Mister Mayhew, you graduated from your university with a bachelor's degree in criminal justice. At a young age you showed talent like no other, and through a long period of work you became a very well-known and respected detective that was known throughout Britain. Is all that I said correct?"
Mayhew simply responded with a very slow nod while evading eye contact by staring at the ground of the white room.
Again, this made Detective Richard a little hesitant. But still, he continued regardless of how uncomfortable he felt about this particular man.
"You have solved some very deep and complex cases that had remained mysteries for years before you came. Your work has saved many people and it has put many horrible people behind bars, preventing them from ever harming anyone else again. Your job, how does it make you feel?"
Richard did not want to rush the interrogation by immediately asking something very personal to him, but he also didn't want to spend an hour getting nothing but vague nods from Mayhew. So a semi-personal question like this seemed like the best one to ask.
But to the detective's disappointment, his question was completely ignored. Mayhew didn't even give a vague answer like a thumbs up or even a nod.
He just continued to stare at the ground motionless.
A long sigh escaped Richard's lips and he decided to move on with his other questions. Surely at least one of them would be personal enough to get a reaction out of Mayhew, even if it was a negative one. Just anything but silence.
"Mayhew, may I ask why you refuse to answer my question? You were answering all my other questions without any issues, so why stop now? We have questioned a lot of people who knew you personally, and between all of them there was a single fact that they all agreed upon, and that was the amount of pride you took in your job. Have you seriously lost all of that passion from a single accident?"
If this didn't probe an answer out of Mayhew, then he had only one other idea to use as backup. With this question, Detective Hale had officially mentioned the 'accident' as he called it into the conversation. Of course, what he was talking about was no accident, it was the clear and cut murder of another human being.
Surely the mention of the murder he committed would get his attention.
A deep frown formed on the detective's face as he looked at the suspect.
No reaction and no movement. Just like he had feared, Mayhew continued to stare at the ground with an unreadable expression covering his face.
'Still no answer, huh? I guess I have to go to the extreme already then.' Richard thought to himself with slight disappointment.
The detective leaned slightly over the flat table, making the distance between himself and the suspect much thinner. This created a sort of tension that Richard could not explain with words. It was like he was one of those performers from Australia that put their heads inches away from a crocodile's mouth to entertain people.
Looking down on Mayhew at least gave the detective a slight feeling of authority that boosted his confidence by a fair bit.
"Well Mayhew, I didn't really want to bring this up but you left me no choice... Margret Rose, do you remember that name? The girl that you took under your wing after her parents died and turned into a full-fledged detective, you must remember her, right? Tell me what happened to her, and what were you doing while this horrible thing was happening to her."
To the detective's slight shock, the suspect continued to stay motionless with his head down low, staring at the ground. It seemed that this interrogation was practically ov—
"I was being eaten."
Just as the detective leaned back into his chair and let out a sigh of resignation, this random statement caught him completely off guard.
Detective Richard Hale looked over at Mayhew, his face frozen in place. With a low and unconfident voice, he spoke:
"W-What... what do you mean by that?"
After staying with his head down for almost the entire interrogation, Mayhew finally decided to gaze at the detective.
And what an experience it was for Richard. Looking at the hazel eyes of the man, Detective Hale could not stop himself from flinching back.
'What is wrong with this guy.'
The detective's thoughts were split apart as the crazed man, once a famous detective, spoke in a whispering tone that made Richard's skin crawl away from his bones.
"I was chasing something. I wanted to hug it and so I chased it. From city to forest and from forest to mountain, I never let go and continued to chase it, but my wish for a hug changed once I finally met it. Only then it was too late, before I knew it the thing had already eaten most of me. I was consumed by a well, do you see it?"
The detective could not even pretend that he was following this strange story that the suspect was telling him. And he also couldn't pretend that he wasn't fearing for his life at this moment.
Before he could even say anything about this story, the former detective had another story to share with Richard.
"Margret, I do remember her. She chased some people, and they put her in a nightchoke and left her in the darkness."
A long silence enveloped the room after what Mayhew had said.
Breathing in heavy breaths, Detective Hale was now bathing in a pool of sweat. His ears could not understand what they were hearing.
With a barely audible whisper, Richard asked:
"Y-you said they put her in a 'nightchoke'. What does that word mean, Mayhew?"
There was a short pause of hesitation. But then Mayhew gave an answer that made the detective end the interrogation early.
"I don't know what that word means."
With that, Detective Hale gathered his few items in an abnormally fast time. And in that time Mayhew let his head fall down to stare at the ground once more.
Before the detective closed the metallic door behind him, he threw one last glance at Mayhew and particularly at the spot on the ground that he had stared at for almost the entire interrogation.
What he saw made a cold shiver run down his spine like a snake slithering up a tree.
It was the paper, the one that Mayhew had dropped on the ground.
This whole interrogation, Mayhew had been staring at a blank paper.
Also For the crits:
https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/s/tbJyaX0zAT [1012]
https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/s/8JsDgKms0g [2332]