Project Vigilante

Two

The room was in sheer silence. For a brief moment, nobody spoke. Detective Malone waited for me to react, as did all the others in the room. But the only thing I could’ve think of was how to somehow debunk what he just told me.

After another few seconds of uncomfortable silence, I finally broke it. “You guys, come on now.”

My interrogators were dumfounded. I guess they expected a more dramatic reaction. But I knew whatever Detective Malone just said cannot possibly be true.

“Did you seriously expect me to believe that?” I said, snickering at the absurdity of it all. “My mom was the most wanted criminal in the United States?”

“Well, yes-”

“My mom is cooking at home for dinner.”

“No, actually, she is not.”

“Oh, you want to bet?” I hopped up from my seat, feeling annoyed. “I can call her right now.”

Detective Malone pressed his palm on my shoulder, “Miss, please sit down.”

“No, I will not sit down!” I shook of his hand and backed away. “I would like to get back to campus now.”

“Miss Rynn - ”

“You have no right to keep me here any longer!” I exclaimed in anger, “I want to leave. You can’t keep me in here!”

Detective Malone’s colleagues quickly exchanged a glimpse and one of them moved to the door, blocking the entrance. I spun around, hoping to locate an emergency exit. But they brought me to an interrogation room for a reason – the walls were sealed from ceiling to floor, and I was confident that despite how they looked, all of the windows were bullet proofed. Frustrated, I turned and saw Detective Malone giving me an almost sympathetic stare.

“Let me out of here,” I hissed under my breath, a chocking sense of claustrophobia suddenly hit me. “I need to get out, I can’t breathe.”

“Miss Rynn, you need to sit down,” said the detective, “I’ll explain everything.”

I looked past his shoulder and saw the gloomy faces of his colleagues standing robotically behind him, and realized that all of this was planned. Me being there and willingly walking into the trap they carefully designed was almost too easy. I should’ve run when I had the chance. I never should’ve waited to be debriefed.

I shifted my glance back to the Detective and pleaded silently. It was no use. There was no other option. They won. I had to listen.

 Defeated, I relented. Detective Malone approached and helped me back to my seat. Maybe as a gesture of friendliness, he asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I asked for a cup of coffee.

“Miss Rynn,” he began in a more sincere manner, “I really hoped there was a better way for me to break the news to you. I really did.”

Struggling to process my thoughts, I frowned in confusion. “But this can’t be! My mom is a retired real estate worker. She’s never killed anyone in her entire life.”

“That’s the thing, Miss Rynn. You see…she is not your mom.”

I shook my head in disbelief, “No, no, no, you must be making a mistake.”

The detective only nodded, clearly already anticipated my denial. He gestured one of his colleagues to come forward. I watched as the detective received a thick manila envelope, opened it and flipped through several pages, before picking out what appeared to be a black and white photograph.

He placed it on the table and slid it toward me.

The picture was dated back to the early 50s, and though grainy, I could still make out the two people depicted. The older woman, whom I did not recognize and approximately in her late 20s, stood at of the front porch of a two story-floored house. In her arms was an infant baby, so small that it could’ve been mistaken as a handbag. Despite the quality of the photo, I recognized the baby almost instantly. Somewhere in the drawers of my bedroom back home was a blanket identical to the one wrapped around the baby.

The baby was me.