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SHERIFF JONES OBSERVES the young boy in the interrogation room through the two-way-mirror. He appears to be around sixteen or seventeen. His cuffed hands are folded on the desk in front of him, bloodshot eyes focused on a spot on the wall. The sheriff can't be sure, but he looks like he is fighting back tears.
"What's he in for?"
Jones jumps when he hears the voice of Deputy Smee next to him.
"Suspected murder," he answers drily. Smee looks at him with disbelief in his eyes.
"That boy? He looks like he couldn't hurt a fly."
The sheriff snorts. "Deputy, I know this boy. You'd be surprised to learn what he's capable of." With that, Jones steels his shoulders and unlocks the door to interrogation room #4.
When he enters the room, the boy relaxes his stiff posture and a lazy smirk takes place on his pale face. However, the red-rimmed eyes remain and his hands are now clenched under the desk.
"Hook," the boy drawls, his voice hoarse and low.
"That's Sheriff Jones to you, Mr. Pan." The sheriff instinctively adjusts the black glove over his prosthetic hand. The loss of it five years ago had everything to do with the boy in front of him- the boy who called himself Peter Pan.
Jones takes his place in the chair opposite to Peter. He opens the file on the desk, looking up through his eyelashes to see if this gets any reaction out of the boy. It doesn't. As usual, Peter has a mask of blankness on his face, concealing whatever is going on in his head.
"Mr. Pannora," begins Sheriff Jones, "where were you on the night of November 5th?"
"Out," answers Peter, shifting his posture to mimic casualness. Jones raises one eyebrow. He notices how hard the boy is trying to appear nonchalant, but he's a trained officer. He can recognize a nervous suspect in a heartbeat.
"And where exactly, were you going out?"
Peter shrugs. "Watching fireworks on the bridge. I am a patriotic citizen, Sheriff Hook." Another challenging grin tugs on his lips. "Now how about you ask me what you wanted to ask and get this all over with." The grin slips off of Peter's face and the mask of blankness returns.
Sheriff Jones is all business now. He leans forward on the desk, his face close to his suspect's. "The body of a young girl was found in the river this morning. Your friends say she was your girlfriend." His voice is dangerously low and he sees Peter's breath hitch in his chest.
"I'll ask my question again. What were you doing last night?"
A grimace appears on Peter's face. His hands quiver and he keeps them tightly clenched under the desk. He does his best to keep his voice from breaking as he hisses his next words:
