23: Interrogation

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Aaron

"What the heck?!" I muttered as Luke sat in front of me. He had beads of sweat slowly dripping from his forehead and upper lip. I could practically see his heart as it thump, thump, thumped loudly against his chest. However, I couldn't hear what he was thinking. I couldn't hear what anyone was thinking. At all. My mind was a rift of absolute silence. He looked beyond anxious as he watched me, picking at the cuticles of his nails as he stared, eyes nervously shifting around the room before he solidified his gaze on mine.

"What?" Luke asked, more aggressive than I'd expected. His eyes were wide and wild, like a madman. He looked like he was ready to pounce and attack me, tear me apart and toss me in a lagoon. My fingers instinctively went toward the gun on my hip, but I didn't pull it out. Then, he looked at me and froze, softly saying, "thank you."

The words left his mouth, but I had no idea what he was thanking me for. I crossed my arms over my jacket, confused and realizing that my inability to hear someone's thoughts had only happened once before. It was with Violet. Because her father had forced her to chow down on the same serum of his that I'd destroyed at thirteen. I just knew Dooley had had to have a part in all of this. The coincidences were too often. Too available. But I had no confirmation aside from not being able to hear Luke's thoughts anymore, by being surrounded with complete and utter silence.

I still didn't know why he was thanking me. I still didn't know why he was here. I still didn't know why he was staring at me.

If only Zya would listen to me. At least look into what I was theorizing. Dooley was a bad person, he would plan and scheme the second he got out of jail. I just wished I knew what he wanted. Things kept happening, like pieces of a puzzle. And I was clueless as to why or even, who was causing them. But I had a pretty big hunch that it might be the man that just escaped the bars I'd hoped to have him trapped in for longer. It was one of the main reasons I'd chosen this line of work, in order to figure out a way to keep Dooley locked up— for good. In order to save those who might be victims of unexplainable crimes.

But then again, I hadn't seen him. All I knew about him was that he went looking for me after his release. Maybe he'd just wanted to meet up to apologize and tell me to move on with life. My gut told me that receiving an apology from Dooley was highly unlikely.

If only I didn't have to lie behind Zya's back in order to try to solve whatever the hell was going on. Maybe this was completely unrelated. Two dead girls, both somehow related to Luke Parker. Maybe Luke just had a thirst for blood, maybe someone had third-partied in. I was lacking too much information, but one thing was for sure. Ophelia was Luke's cousin, and Caroline, as I'd learned, was his friend.

It didn't add up: if Dooley was involved, why was he going after some kid's friends, especially when he was after me. At least, I assume he's after me. Who else would he be trying to chase down.

Violet. The answer rushed to the forefront of my mind before I could stop it and I felt unsteady in my seat. I knew she was angry with me for what I'd said to her precious boyfriend last night, but I had to drive out to Barrier today. I had to get there soon. I didn't want anything to happen to her. If Dooley was after his own daughter, it only confused me more. It seemed like a sideways plan. Perhaps this was somehow part of a bigger scheme, a methodical plan that ultimately ends in my demise. Dooley was a lot of things, but most importantly, he was intelligent. He'd gotten away with too many unethical things before it caught up to him— before Violet caught up to him. I was suddenly afraid, gulping audibly as I tried to steady my racing thoughts.

I turned my attention to the young boy sitting in front of me. He was sixteen at most, maybe seventeen. His shaggy brown hair hung over his eyes, looking like he hadn't washed it in days. His eyes looked a tired blue, a sad expression as he watched me nervously, fingers clasping and unclasping.

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