Eighteen Going on Dead

Chapter Nineteen: Cornered Predator

The interrogation room was chilly, small, and very blinding as the spotlight was straight on my face. I could barely see the two agents that circled around the table to make me spill my guts all over the table, but there's nothing to share. Agent Samson death was traumatic, a very unusual thing for a two hundred pound man to be thrown through a window as if he were a tennis ball, not even the average killer could do that- unless he's The Rock, which I doubt.

One agent slammed a thin file on the metal table to scare me even more, but I saw enough crime movies to know where this is going. "Your file is very thin, not even a simple crime of shoplifting." Agent Carter, I believe his name is.

I shrugged my shoulders, wanting him to get to the point. "I was raised right."

"You do know what these files have?" The other agent- Columbia...or am I missing their names up? Either way, they both had a thing for torturing teenage girls until they freak out; their smiles proved the knack for such a sick thing. "Each one holding a statement of you finding each body, including Agent Samson's."

"Well yes, he was thrown through my window like a rag doll. What are you trying to ask?"

Agent Carter was a greasy old white man that ate donuts and tacos his whole life, being that he smelt of hit sauce and salsa with a hint of sugar. I wonder if he has indigestion. He leaned over the table, it wobbles under his mass weight while blowing his horrible breath in my face- I guess it was a normal way he breaths. "What do you have on this case?"

"The only thing I know and have is my dead classmates. I'm as clueless as you and don't know anything." More or less I know more than them, even if I did throw them a bone.

They looked upon each other, both holding that same look- devious and calculating. Agent Columbia took out his own file, this time it was thick and full of photos. One by one he set them in front of me, reminded me of each kill that managed to turn my stomach and eyes swell. "Six teenagers and an agent, dead. What do you make of that?"

"Well, I think I'm going to be sick. Why are you showing me this?"

"You tell us."

"I don't know anything...I need to go to the bathroom, I'm going to throw up." I pulled away from the table and dashed out the room. I barely made it to the stall when my lunch spilled all over the toilet seat and floor, the nausea wasn't new; even though I kept myself from throwing up at the crime scenes. Finally getting myself together, I rinsed my mouth out with the tap water and wiped my face.

"Zaire," Angela peeked inside, her nose crinkled at the rotten smell of acid and broken down food. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just...." I couldn't finish, my hand creeped to my hallow stomach; I oddly felt weirder than before. "I'm fine." I repeated and swallowing the lump of pain in my throat.

"The agents want you back into the room. I called your aunt, she's a few minutes away."

"Thank you. Can I get a few seconds, I need to rinse my mouth out a little more?"

Angela nod her head in understanding, she slipped out to distract the agents from barging in. Me running out of there like that only made me a suspicious suspect and definitely put a target on my back. Taking a deep breath I looked up at the slightly dirty mirror and wiped my eyes once again. "It's okay, everything is going to be okay."

I walked back into the small cold room and sat down in the uncomfortable chair, not making contact with their curious gazes. "I don't know an..."

"Zaire!" Aunt Joyce barged into the room, heaving for air as she gave me a very worried look. "What the hell are you doing?!" Of course rankings wasn't on her mind at that very moment as she yelled at the agents .