Cut From A Tattered Cloth

Chapter 22

Kelly pulled out a chair on the other side of the table and sat down.

"Evening," he said.

As expected, the boy didn't respond. Kelly remembered when they first put him on meds everyone thought they'd given him too much. But a team of nurses and Dr. Gosling confirmed he wasn't hallucinating nor having another reaction. He simply didn't want to talk.

Kelly leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Anything I can get for you?"

Again, no response. The boy blinked at the two-way mirror behind Kelly, his gaze unfocused.

Kelly let the silence marinate, trying to think of the best way to mention Miliare. In Kelly's experience, it was more effective to sit back and listen during interrogations, see what the suspect would tell him up front before trying to guide the conversation. But in this case, there wasn't even a conversation to guide. And Kelly didn't think it would be wise to drag this out. In the likely case that Miliare was involved, they only had two and a half weeks left to stop him before the IPC.

So, with no other options, Kelly shrugged inwardly. Might as well get it over with.

"How's Miliare?" he asked.

The boy's next breath hitched in his throat. His eye flicked to Kelly for half a second, then he looked away.

Seven hells, Toks, Kelly thought. He hated it when Tokuda was right. Usually it was because Tokuda rubbed his face into it. But this time, it was also because Kelly knew he'd have to push on this. Which felt wrong to do sitting across from a kid that had tried to turn his face into ground beef.

Sometimes, Kelly really hated being a cop. He plastered a smug smile on his face.

"I take it he's not too happy with you, right now," he said, drumming his fingers on the table. "I mean, if he knows you're alive, that is."

The comment earned him another glance, this time accompanied by a slow breath. The boy's fingers twitched.

Kelly took this in, grateful he'd gotten another reaction, yet dreading that it meant he'd need to push more. This was why he'd never been good at playing the bad cop. He felt bad provoking a suspect like this–who seemed less like a hardened criminal and more a victim of circumstance. It was why Kelly preferred to let Tokuda, or whomever he was interrogating with, go first.

But, without anyone else to play off of, Kelly was on his own. He gestured at the boy's swollen face, pulling out all of his acting chops to sound dismissive.

"So that would mean all of this," He hovered a hand over the swollen goose egg of a left eye, "was because you failed. Did Miliare train you to do that? Or did you take that initiative knowing what he'd do to you if he found out you were on the failed team at the embassy?"

The boy stared at him. It was the first time Kelly had seen him make eye contact with anybody. Wanting to nudge him further, Kelly rubbed his chin, feigning that he was deep in thought.

"Interesting. Then Miliare either thinks you're dead, which would get you off the hook. Or, he knows you're alive and you're trying to disfigure yourself beyond recognition before he finds you." Kelly gave him a level stare. "Unless of course, your recent attempts to exit mortality were on his orders?"

Now the boy was hyperventilating. His breathing came in shallow gasps. And while Kelly couldn't be sure because of how swollen it was, he thought he saw the boy's jaw clenching and unclenching. Kelly hesitated, not wanting to set him off again.

Thankfully, his comm beeped with a message from Tokuda:

Switch.

Thank Mercia, Kelly thought. Keeping his smug face on, he pushed his chair back.