"Mara Thatcher?" An authoritative voice rings out among the darkness. The lights have been out for the past hour, yet I still haven't fallen asleep. I'm not usually one to be frightened easily, but the whole prison atmosphere at night is completely terrifying. The quiet whimpers in the darkness and distorted shadows across the walls do nothing to help.
I sit up from my cot and strain my eyes to see who the voice belongs to. A small beam of moonlight through one of the windows does little to illuminate the room.
"Over here."
Within a few seconds, I'm greeted with a flashlight to the face. The other inmates around me groan and crane away from the light. I blink as my eyes adjust to the brightness.
"What is it?" I ask the guard in front of me through the ice cold bars.
"It's time for your interrogation," he answers as if I should know this. My eyes widen, and I stumble to the cell door.
Why would I be interrogated so late at night?
He unlocks the door, and I step through, expecting to be handcuffed. Instead, he takes me roughly by the shoulder and hauls me towards the interrogation room.
This can't be good.
The guard pushes me inside, and I notice the room is surprisingly dim. A single light hangs, reflecting only slightly against the off-white walls. In the middle of the room is a metal table with a chair on either side. One side of the room is ominously dark and another features a huge pitch black window on the wall. Although I can't see them, I know a group of officers lie beyond it, watching and recording my every move.
My skin prickles with goosebumps, and I suddenly miss the hard mattress back in my cell.
"Take a seat," the guard instructs and closes the door behind him. I let out a shaky breath and obey.
Breathe. Just breathe.
My leg bounces as I stress. Am I going to tell them everything or should I keep some things private? What if they set me up to find some sort of incriminating evidence against me, and I don't notice?
My anxiety rockets out of control, and I feel I'm on the verge of a panic attack. The realization that I haven't taken my anxiety medicine only increases my turmoil.
Please.
Calm down.
The door clicks open again, and I jump. A man I have never seen before in a brown suit walks in. He sits down in the chair across from me with a smile. I watch silently, my leg still vibrating underneath the table. I haven't felt this panicky since middle school. Back then, I had attacks every week.
"Hello Mara, I'm Detective Bullock."
He places a briefcase on the table in front of him and clicks it open. Inside is a machine I quickly recognize. A lie detector.
I try to appear unaffected by the device's presence. I know it's possible to lie undetected on these, but that takes skill. Skill I don't know if I have. I take a deep breath.
What am I even thinking? Just tell the truth, Mara. Is there even anything to hide?
Am I going to get a lawyer? Isn't that how these things work?
Then again, Gotham isn't known for a very moral justice system.
"This is only for a little insight...don't worry, nothing from the polygraph test can be used against you in court."
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Pandemonium | joker fanfiction
Fanfiction"I am an open wound, gushing with red. The truth is out and this skin is cut too deep, too wide to ever be stitched back together again." Mara Thatcher grew up in a small, lower class family. Her father worked long shifts at the Gotham plant and her...
