Redemption

Chapter 15: Danville's Finest

Chapter 15: Danville's Finest

    Carmichael sat alone handcuffed to the cold steel chair he had been placed in,over twenty minutes ago. The all white brick interrogation room he sat in stood in silence as he angrily stared into the tinted window directly across the table from him. He knew people were just on the other side of the one way mirror; dissecting him with every practiced skill they had learned in the police academy. He knew what was to come and he knew what kind of tactics they would go about to get what they wanted from him but, in the long run he already knew exactly what he was going to say.

   There wasn't any reason to lie, there wasn't even a reason to give them some sort of run around but, one thing he wanted more than anything in the world was to find that son of a bitch that did this to him. To find the man that literally took everything from him: his identity,his freedom, his self worth, and make him pay. He didn't want to just kill The Overseer, he wanted him broken just like he had been broken; lost within his own mind desperately clinging to some remnant of his faulting psyche.

   Even now Carmichael wasn't quite sure of who he truly was, aside from the fact that his name was Brandon. He felt numb and distant from his surroundings like some kind of fractured and fragmented version of his former self; a slave to primal and evil festering within his very soul. He couldn't fight it off, only resist what he already knew what one day would consume him entirely. He had built up a barrier within the confines of his mind; holding back years of self-anguish and little by little he could feel the darkness within himself chipping away at it; peeling away the pieces of himself that made him whole.

   The door leading into the interrogation room suddenly opened as two men walked in; the door slamming shut behind them. Carmichael watched as one of the men stood against the tinted glass window and the other came up to the table and pulled out the chair adjacent from his own.

  "Mr.Hunt, my name is Detective Richard Harris and this is my partner Grant Wilde. I'm sure you're already well aware of the charges that will be pressed against you. Three counts of criminal homicide,arson, escaping from a maximum security health care institution, and so on and so forth. So if you'd be so kind as to make all our lives just a little bit easier, you can go ahead and sign this written confession, documenting what has probably already been told to you."

 Detective Harris placed the confession onto the table and slid it across toward Carmichael; eyeing him expectantly.

  Carmichael's expression deadened as he looked over the document, watching as the detective placed a pen next to the paper.

"All we need is your John Hancock and we'll be good to go."

   Carmichael grasped the pen in his fist as he quickly scribbled down four words across the entire face of the printed script. He let the pen fall from his palm as he pushed the paper slowly back toward the Detective; waiting patiently for the response.

  Detective Harris picked up the confession, reading the words scribbled across the front, gesturing for his partner to take a look as well.

"I'm.Not. Darwin. Hunt....," Detective Wilde read aloud, looking up to meet Carmichael's blank expression. "What the hell is he talking about?"

"Who are you then?" Detective Harris inquired, placing the pen and paperback in front of Carmichael.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Harris? This guy is Darwin Hunt. We fingerprinted him when he got booked. The fingerprints are an exact match. This is our guy." Wilde questioned, watching as Carmichael began to write on the back of the confession.

"This doesn't make any sense..."

"What doesn't make sense?"

"I'm not saying that this isn't our guy but, something else is going on here. The arrest records, Wilde. Last I checked those four inmates,including Darwin were supposed to be locked away in Westbrook. Explain to me how they were able to escape without anyone knowing? "Harris asserted.