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Short Stories: Through the One-Way Mirror [Chapter 2: R's POV] [Rebecca Version]
🕑 Added 2024-05-11 15:00:09 +0000 UTC
It was impulsive to ask the detective to conduct the interview.
Despite the anger Rebecca had felt earlier, there is now a sense of stillness within her as she observes the detective intently through the one-way mirror in the observation room.
Of course, it would have been much quicker if she had conducted the interview herself; getting a truthful answer is only a matter of a few seconds for her. And yet...
'Go on. I want to see how you work.'
The corners of her lips twitch upward as she recalls the emotion she saw in the detective's gaze.
Rebecca can't deny the sense of amusement it provided her, even if it merely came bundled with the primary objectives.
Now, there are two people in the interview room, both possibly withholding more than they reveal. It wouldn't be so hard for her to discern who: the janitor, the detective, both, or neither.
Not to mention, understanding how compliant or troublesome the detective might turn out to be in the future is just useful information for… later.
But as soon as the interview started, Rebecca quickly lost interest in the janitor: his broken demeanor, the tremble in his tone infused with fear, evoked... nothing.
Every detail she observed in this man provided enough insight to determine her next course of action, allowing her to concentrate fully on the detective.
They are a potential threat, and she acknowledges it. She intends to watch the detective, and she will watch very closely. If she notices anything that makes her doubt...
"Tell me exactly how you found her," the detective's voice echoes again, blending with other sounds around her: the crackling of equipment, the frantic beating of the janitor's heart, the irritating sound of the employee's breathing, and everything else that is imperceptible to human hearing.
For some reason, it's a little too easy for her to focus solely on the detective's voice, and a little too hard to ignore how its tone resonates within her.
"Describe each of your steps as you remember them," the detective continues, and Rebecca discerns it again in the tone of their voice: something calm, resilient, and steely.
She leans back in her chair, feeling the corners of her lips twitching upward again. Interesting.
Just like last time.
Her memories take her back to the moment their eyes first met, and even further, to a moment before that, when she heard their footsteps echoing down the corridor, sharpening all her senses.
She allowed herself to become consumed by it, making her presence palpable, ignoring Iris' pointed gaze: she wanted to see how this person would react, hoping for a response that would dispel any doubts so she could end everything then and there.
But as soon as the detective entered the room, just for a fraction of a second, everything inside her froze, an odd sensation brushing against her from within but fading as soon as the detective averted their gaze.
It was too fleeting to fully comprehend but too compelling to ignore until it happened again: a passing moment when their gazes locked and held, neither willing to look away.
There wasn't any defiance in the detective's gaze, but there was something silent and complete that created the tension between them, simmering just beneath the surface.
It makes her angry even now. It makes her–
"Her eyes, they were black, completely!" the janitor's voice loudly bursts, and Rebecca freezes, only now realizing that her focus slipped away from the scene, causing her to completely miss some parts of the interview.
A surge of concealed frustration washes over her as she refocuses her gaze on the detective, feeling her jaw clench tightly.
Losing focus means losing control. And she remembers every moment of what it was like to be out of control.
Just for a moment, glimpses of the past flash before her eyes, igniting a raw anger deep within her, making her fingers twitch with the intensity of her emotions.
"Play the recording," Rebecca orders the specialist, whose existence slipped her mind midway through the interview, further fueling her anger.
"But I can't while the recording is still ongoing. If I stop the record…" the specialist says, trailing off.
Rebecca turns her head to face them. "Do as instructed," she says slowly, her gaze fixed on the specialist.
"I…"The specialist quickly averts their eyes, unable to hold her stare. "Give me a moment."
Rebecca tilts her jaw. "It wasn't that difficult, was it?" she inquires flatly, and the specialist scowls but says nothing, stopping the recording and bringing up the file on the screen. "Rewind to the last few minutes."
Her fingertips instinctively trace the scar on her jaw as she watches the recording, suppressing the escalating frustration within her. But all her anger fades as she hears the same words that the janitor had uttered earlier.
"Her eyes, they were black, completely!" the janitor's voice echoes in the room, blending with the creak of the door opening as the detective strides inside.
With deliberate effort, Rebecca remains focused on the recording, despite feeling the detective's eyes on her.
Yet her intentions matter little once the detective moves closer and sits down next to her; their presence becomes too palpable to ignore, and she meets their weary gaze.
"Any thoughts?" the detective asks detachedly, leaning back in their chair tiredly, and Rebecca can't help but watch the detective intently, noticing how their body tensed for a mere second.
What pleases her more, she wonders: the janitor's unlikely confession, defying 'rational' human belief, or the detective's adeptness in extracting it, saving her precious time?
But Rebecca keeps it all to herself, instead plainly and truthfully stating the only thought she is willing to share.
"You did well."
