Wish Upon A Sunset

Wishes At Sunset

Logan

"Alright, Arlo," I began, my voice steady despite the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. I could feel my jaw clenching, the muscles twitching with the effort to keep my composure. "You've admitted to being the stalker we've been hunting for weeks. Now tell me why. Why target these women? Why terrorize them?"

The overhead spotlight glared down on us, harsh and unforgiving. Its light formed a pool that seemed to separate us from the shadows lurking in the corners of the small interrogation room.

I sat across from Arlo, my fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the cold metal table between us. The contrast between the lit area and the surrounding darkness added to my sense of unease.

I sucked in a breath, regretting it instantly as the thick air filled my lungs. The faint smell of stale coffee permeated every corner of the police station, mixing with the distinct odor of sweat and desperation. I thought I had grown accustomed to the scent over the years.

Arlo leaned back in his chair, the metal creaking under his weight, and the sound grated on my already frayed nerves. A smug grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest.

The silence stretched between us, oppressive and challenging.

I could hear the muffled sounds of the station beyond the door-phones ringing, distant conversations, the hum of computers. But in here, the silence was deafening.

Without his sunglasses-which he had worn during the attempted robbery last night-his eyes were an unsettling pale blue, almost colorless, with pupils that seemed too small for the dim lighting. It was like looking into the eyes of a shark-cold, emotionless, predatory. I suppressed a full-body shudder, digging my nails into my palms until the urge to recoil passed.

My patience, already worn thin by weeks of chasing this guy, snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. I slammed my fist onto the table, the sharp crack echoing in the small room. Arlo jumped, his smug expression faltering for just a moment before settling back into place.

Good. At least I knew he wasn't completely unshakeable.

"Answer me, damn it!" I growled, leaning in closer. The stench of his breath hit me. A mixture of cigarettes and something sickeningly sweet. "You've already confessed. What's the point of staying silent now?"

A large, dark mirror dominated one wall-a two-way glass where unseen observers could watch our every move. I wondered who might be behind it, analyzing our interaction. The intentional design of the room-meant to intimidate and disorient-only added to the oppressive atmosphere as I leaned forward even more, my eyes locked onto Arlo's face.

Arlo's grin widened, and he shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost amused. "What's the matter, Detective? Frustrated that you can't get inside my head?" He uncrossed his arms, leaning forward to mirror my posture. "You already got me for the market hold-up and the stalking. What more do you want?"

I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. The stale air filled my lungs again, doing little to calm the storm brewing inside me. I could feel a headache forming behind my eyes, a dull throb that matched the flickering of the light above. Great. Just what I needed right now.

"You think this is a game, Arlo?" I asked, my voice low and intense. I could hear the tremor in it, simmering rage threatening to spill over. "You think you can just toy with people's lives and then sit there and smirk at me?"

I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping against the tiled floor. The sound sent a jolt of pain through my skull, intensifying my headache.

I paced the small room, trying to channel my anger into something productive. But with each step, I felt like a caged animal, trapped in this room with a monster who seemed to enjoy every moment of my frustration. "You terrorized innocent women, and for what? Some sick thrill?"