My chemical romance

Homicidal Tendencies

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STORY ONE
Detective Iero followed the man in the white uniform, which contrasted greatly with his tanned skin, to the elevator just across the empty lobby.

As they ascended to one of the highest floors, there was no conversation, until the detective cleared his throat and asked, "How long are they holding on to him?"

The uniformed man didn't hesitate in saying, "Forever, I would hope." He paused to reconsider, "But it really isn't my choice, I am simply a means of security."

"I have to agree with you Mr.- sorry didn't catch a name, sir."

"Just Lionel is fine, detective."

"Well, Mr. Lionel, I'd have to agree, this was one of the most," He paused, trying to find the most suitable adjective, "heinous things I've seen since I've been working in homicide."

"And how long would that be?"

"Not long sir, honestly, but it doesn't take long to see something you wish you hadn't in this particular line of work."

"Of course, of course." The elevator dinged when they reached the second to last floor. They both stepped out of the capsule and made their way down the hallway of white doors and pale blue wallpaper. "You won't be going into any of the personal rooms" The older man said continuing down the long, narrow hall. "We have him ready in the consultation room for you, it's safer." He paused in front of a wooden door at the end of the hall, "They confiscated any weapons downstairs, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll be right out here, waiting."

Frank entered the room by his self. The space on his side of the glass was sort of tight, but comfortable, nonetheless. Two arm chairs sat angled towards the glass, upholstered and seemingly comfortable, as well as a small wooden table. On the other side of the double paned glass encasing was a couch and security cameras pointing every which way.

The man sitting calmly on the couch with his legs crossed elegantly, was roughly five years Frank's senior. A thirty year old, but still rather youthful looking man with faint stubble decorating his face.

Frank settled awkwardly into the left armchair, not liking the way he was being eyed.

"Gerard,"

"Why are you even here, detective," He smirked slightly, "Hell, I called the cops myself and you still can't crack the case without an interrogation?"

"It's not an interroga-"

"What is it then," he rolled his head around bemusedly, "A chitchat, a heart-to-heart, a colloquy, a confabulation? What would you consider it?"

"I- I'm only here because you have right to trial by jury, and they don't want you to go through with that."

"They as in our fabulous law enforcers?"

"Yes, Mr. Way."

"That's strange, as Americans are we not encouraged to exercise our rights?"

Frank was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, he was sitting with a man who ruthlessly murdered an innocent family just a week prior. Despite that, Gerard seemed to have no problem with himself. He didn't like the way words were coming so easily to Gerard.

"You wouldn't have any shot at innocence, Way, just save the effort."

"Innocent until proven guilty, babe, there's another right for you."

"Don't fucking call me pet names you sick bastard." Frank snapped, "Besides, like you mentioned, you called the station yourself, we have a recording in which you admit to the murders of the Dean family."