Bound By Sin

Parents Intervention.

The waiting room of the police station was tense, filled with the sound of tapping fingers, nervous footfalls, and frustrated sighs. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, flickering slightly as they cast a cold, sterile light on the group of parents that had gathered. They'd had enough.

Victoria, Genevieve's mother, sat at the front of the room, her perfectly manicured nails tapping angrily on the armrest of the chair. Her eyes flicked to the clock for the tenth time in five minutes, her patience wearing thin. Beside her sat Ashton's parents, a well-dressed couple who, despite their calm appearance, were clearly on edge. Theodore's father, a towering man with a grizzled face, leaned against the wall with crossed arms, his expression stormy, while Isabella's mother, a frail woman with tear-streaked cheeks, clutched her purse tightly in her lap.

Detectives Blackwood and Caldwell had been expecting this. The kids had been questioned one too many times for the parents to remain silent any longer.

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Finally, the door opened, and Blackwood stepped in, followed by Caldwell. The detectives looked tired, their faces lined with stress from weeks of investigating the seemingly unsolvable murders. Blackwood gave a brief nod, gesturing for the parents to speak.

Victoria wasted no time. "This needs to stop. Right now."

Blackwood raised a hand, trying to maintain order. "We understand your frustration, Mrs. Sinclair—"

"Frustration?" she cut him off sharply, her voice rising. "Frustration doesn't even begin to cover it. You've been dragging our kids in here, week after week, interview after interview, and for what? They don't know anything, and you're treating them like suspects! It's absurd. And it's ruining their lives."

Theodore's father, Mr. Ashford, who had been silently fuming until now, stepped forward. His voice was deep and rumbling, filled with barely-contained anger. "You've had my boy in here more times than I can count. He's a good kid, but now? He's scared. He's starting to think he's next. Every time he leaves the house, his hands shake. He doesn't talk to us anymore, barely eats. And it's because of you. You're driving him to the edge."

Ashton's father, Mr. Whitmore, nodded in agreement, his voice measured but no less furious. "Ashton's not the same either. He's trying to laugh it off, but I can see it. The stress, the anxiety. You keep dragging him back here like you think he's hiding something. He's a kid! What the hell do you expect him to tell you that he hasn't already?"

Ashton's mother, Mrs. Whitmore, chimed in. "He's been having nightmares. We've found him sleepwalking, muttering about not wanting to get killed. He's terrified, and we're exhausted. He jokes because that's his way of coping, but it's breaking him. You're breaking all of them."

Caldwell stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "We're doing everything we can to solve these murders. We wouldn't be calling them in if we didn't think they might have seen or heard something important. We're just being thorough."

Victoria's eyes flashed with fury. "Thorough? You've been 'thorough' for weeks, and we're no closer to catching whoever is responsible. All you're doing is traumatizing our children. My daughter, Genevieve, hasn't slept properly in weeks. She's barely functioning. Her life is falling apart, she's isolated herself from her friends... and you two just keep dragging her back here, like she's some sort of criminal."

The room buzzed with the shared tension of the parents, their frustration palpable. Mr. Ashford slammed his fist against the wall, startling everyone. "How much more of this are we supposed to take? My son didn't sign up to be part of your investigation. None of our kids did."

Caldwell and Blackwood exchanged a glance, trying to remain composed. Blackwood, his voice edged with frustration, spoke next. "We don't enjoy putting them through this. We're trying to stop these murders, and we're doing the best we can. But until we catch the killer, we need to ask questions. If your kids know something—"

"They don't know anything!" Victoria snapped, standing up abruptly. She pointed a manicured finger at Blackwood, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "And if this continues, I'm calling my lawyer."

The room fell silent at her words, the threat hanging heavy in the air. Blackwood and Caldwell stood still, their expressions unreadable.

"You can't keep treating them like this," Mrs. Whitmore added quietly. "You have to understand how much they're suffering. We're their parents. We're watching them crumble under the weight of something they have no control over."

Blackwood opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Isabella's mother, Mrs. Sterling burst into tears. "My baby... Isabella, she's not the same anymore. She's always shaking, always scared. She doesn't leave her room unless she has to come here. She's losing herself, and every time she comes back from these sessions, she's worse. She's not eating, she's not sleeping. I can't... I can't take this anymore." Her sobs filled the room, and she buried her face in her hands.

Mr. Ashford crossed his arms, his voice a low growl. "This isn't just about questioning anymore. You're hurting them. You're making them think they're responsible, when all they are is terrified kids in the middle of a nightmare they can't wake up from."

Caldwell's expression softened. "We don't want to hurt them. That's not our intention."

Victoria scoffed, her anger still simmering beneath the surface. "Intention or not, it's what's happening. You're driving them to the brink. You need to understand that if this continues, we're not going to sit idly by while our children are tormented. We'll do whatever it takes to protect them, even if it means taking legal action."

Blackwood, looking more worn than before, finally spoke, his voice steady but tired. "We hear you. Believe me, we do. But the situation is delicate. We have a murderer out there, and we're doing everything in our power to stop them before more people die. We're not accusing your children of anything, but we need to ask them questions because there might be something—anything—they've seen that they don't realize is important."

Mr. Whitmore stepped forward, crossing his arms. "Then find a better way. Because dragging them in here every few days isn't helping anyone. You're just making them think they're involved when they're not. It's destroying their sense of security. Find another approach, or I promise you, you'll have more than just Victoria's lawyer to deal with."

The room fell silent once more, the tension heavy as a stone. Blackwood and Caldwell exchanged a glance, knowing the parents were right, but also trapped by the desperation of their investigation.

Mrs. Sterling, still sniffling, whispered, "We just want this to stop... We just want our kids to be okay."

Victoria's voice cut through the quiet again, sharper now, more commanding. "You need to figure out how to do your job without dragging them down with you. We've all had enough. We're not going to let this go on any longer."

Blackwood nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly. "We'll... we'll do what we can to make the process easier. We'll keep you informed on everything, but understand, we're doing this to protect all of you. We want the same thing—to catch this person before anyone else gets hurt."

Caldwell added, softer, "We're not the enemy here. We're trying to stop this, but we need your patience."

Victoria stared at the detectives for a long moment, then exhaled sharply. "You're out of time for patience."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door. The other parents followed, their frustration and anger still hanging in the air like a storm cloud. One by one, they filed out of the station, leaving the detectives standing in the center of the room, the weight of the conversation pressing down on them.

Caldwell sighed deeply. "This isn't going to get any easier, is it?"

Blackwood shook his head. "No. It's not."