Cruel Intentions

Deal With The Devil

November 24 2014

"So, Mr. Warner, I see that you've kept your end of the promise." The man across the table smiled. It wasn't a smile exactly; after years of neglect, the muscles around his face had atrophied and he could only manage a sort of grimace, revealing a mouth full of greying teeth.

Carl could remember what the man had looked like before. While there was nothing especially attractive about him, he had a certain charm about him that others seemed to lack. He was smooth, well spoken, and on top of his surroundings. Now, though, he seemed a shadow of his former self.

The man greedily grasped the paper bag in front of him and held it to his body like a lifeline. He methodically unfolded the wrapping of the bag and its contents, and exposed a fast food hamburger. He grinned and breathed the scent in deeply, wafting it towards his nose. "What, no fries?"

"Yes, well, you asked for a- uh- hamburger. Just a hamburger not- uh- fries." Detective Warner muttered nervously. Under normal circumstances he was a confident speaker. He was a big fan of using one's voice to inspire fear into the heart if the suspect. Here however, in front of this convicted serial killer, he could hardly manage to string together a full sentence.

"Why are you nervous, Detective? Are you afraid of me?" His wiry frame leaned forward across the table, closing the gap between them. His handcuffs clicked gently against the cold metal of the table, and his breath gently fogged up the bulletproof glass between them. Each noise made the Detective's hair stand in end.

"Sit back down!" A guard commanded, leaving his patient post to grip the man's shoulders and force him back into the chair.

Detective Warner loosened his tie and rubbed the little bit of stubble which he had forgotten to shave in his hastiness to leave his house that morning. He tried to meet the man's eyes. They cut through him like glass and forced him to look away, anywhere. He found himself staring on a clock on the wall. The fixture informed him that he had an hour and a half left with the man.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock." The man said, as if able to sense his thoughts. "You came here to ask me about something, did you not?"

"What? I-" the Detective had completely lost himself in the presence of this dangerous man.

"Get yourself together, Mr. Warner," the man instructed. "I've spent years staring at walls, and yet I have a better grasp of my surroundings than you. Ten years ago, we made a deal. You held up your end, one burger with the works, but if you'd prefer to just go home and forget about all of this, I would be happy to oblige."

"No. N-no, I will not have you t-trick me into that." Detective Warner said quickly. "I i-intend to collect your half of the deal."

"Well then," the man sat back and made himself comfortable, "let's get to it, shall we? What do you want to know?"

"I want to know what happened to Alice Miller."

"You and me both, Detective."