Seth drummed his fingers across his thigh. The walls of the interrogation room pressed against him, looming over the small table and the hard plastic chairs. A security camera hung from the ceiling, the type with the black dome that hid the direction the camera was pointing. Seth eyed his reflection in the dome.

What was taking the deputy so long?

The tan walls were bare, except for a large display that hung over the table. A collection of moths peeked through the glass, their wings pinned up as if taking flight. There was a decent variety of them, of different sizes and colors. Mostly tans and grays, but there was a green one and another with yellow spots.

Deputy Redding nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside. He handed Seth a paper cup full of cold water. In his other hand, the deputy held a steaming mug of coffee.

Thank God for that. Seth took the cup and chugged it in one gulp, savoring the cold as it dripped down his dry throat. When was the last time he’d taken a drink? It must have been hours ago.

Redding collapsed in the chair opposite Seth, and he took a long sip of his coffee. “I’m just going to ask you a few questions. I already got most of the details from your friend, Alex, but a few things need some clarification. Especially in regards to some of her… wilder claims.”

Seth nodded. He was happy to clarify anything the deputy wanted. Explaining the parasites and their supernatural abilities would be difficult, but if it helped the Sheriff take down Owen, then the hassle would be worthwhile.

The chair squeaked as the deputy leaned over and pulled out a folder. He shuffled through the contents, found a photo, and slid it across the table. “We found several weapons in Alex’s car. You recognize any of them?”

The photo depicted the revolver and the shotgun, both laid across a gray table and photographed with flat lighting.

“Yes,” Seth said. “The revolver belonged to Earl.”

“Earl who?”

“I believe his last name was Taylor. And I got the shotgun from a man named Beck. He was an old man, but I don’t know much about him.”

Deputy Redding leaned back in his chair. “Alright. How about this? Do you recognize her?” He slid over an image of Jess. She lay against a patch of grass, blood leaking from the hole in her skull.

“Where did you get this? Did you send people to Eldridge Creek?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Redding said. “Just answer the question.”

None of his concern? Seth begged to differ, but he supposed the deputy wasn’t allowed to tell him anything. If the Sheriff was already investigating Eldridge Creek, then he’d hopefully heeded Alex’s warning and sent a whole SWAT team. Anything less would be nothing to Owen and his cultists.

“I recognize her,” Seth said. “That’s Jess. Jessica Harris. Earl shot her when we first arrived. Sometime in the late afternoon.”

The deputy nodded. “Alright. Alex told us what happened after your escape. You were together until you rescued your friend Will, and after that, you split up. Is that right?”

Deputy Redding barely gave Seth a second to confirm before continuing. “We found a gatehouse at the entrance to the farm cluster. It was destroyed by an explosive. We also found explosives in your backpack. Four sticks of dynamite. Were you the one to blow it up?”

“Yes. I had to, they wouldn’t let our car through otherwise.”

“And what about the bodies we found scattered around the gatehouse? We’ve identified at least twelve, with possibly more hidden beneath the rubble.”

What was the deputy getting at? Surely they weren’t blaming Seth for that. “I killed them, but it was in self-defense. They shot at me first.” Was that technically true? Maybe not, but David had threatened him with those guards, which was basically the same thing.

“You killed twelve people in self-defense?”

Seth’s fingernails stung against his palm, and he realized he was clenching his fist. He forced his muscles to relax. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Redding held up his hands in mock surrender. “Let’s move on.” He pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. The note from Jess. “Where did you find this?”

Now was Seth’s chance to steer the interrogation in a better direction. He agreed that the slaughter of those guards was a bad look. But Jess’s note was an easy link to her journal, and that would be more than enough to implicate Owen. Once Owen’s crimes were laid out, any wrongdoings Seth may have done would pale in comparison.

“I found it in my backpack,” Seth said. “Jess must have placed it there before Earl killed her. She knew about Owen’s cult, and she brought us there in hopes of exposing him.”

“Right. After finding this note, did you investigate the Harris household?”

Seth nodded.

Redding slid over another photograph. This one showed Jess’s house. Floodlights lit the aftermath of the explosion, highlighting the mess of wooden shards and the collapsed porch. How did they get that picture? The Harris household was the first property beyond the gatehouse, so the Sheriff must be investigating there first. Which was a waste of time, since they really ought to be going after Owen and the Taylors.

“This house was damaged by an explosive,” Redding said. “The size of the blast is consistent with that of a stick of dynamite. The same type of dynamite that was in your possession.”

Right. That wasn’t exactly a good look either. “I had to. There was a man on the porch, guarding the house, and he tried to shoot me.”

“And what can you tell me about them?” The deputy handed over photos of Jess’s parents. They lay dead against the attic floor, bright lights illuminating their white robes. Blood covered the walls, pooled on the floor. The brother was there as well, slumped over in the back.

Seth’s breath caught in his throat. Those deaths weren’t his fault. It was self-defense and… shit! How’d those bodies get up there anyway? David must have puppeted the zombies back up the ladder and left them in a convincing death pose. The fucking rat.

“I don’t know.” Seth’s voice came out as a dry rasp. What could he tell the deputy without implicating himself? Nothing, really. It wasn’t his fault, and yet he’d been the one to kill them. To pull the trigger.

“All three died of shotgun wounds,” Redding said. “Wounds that match the shotgun from your car. And Jess’s wound can be traced to your revolver.”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

No. Seth may have killed her parents, but Jess’s death wasn’t his fault. “It isn’t my revolver. It was Earl’s, and he shot her before I stole his gun.”

The deputy tossed his folder to the side, beside the photographs. He leaned back in his chair and stared into Seth's eyes. Waiting for… what? For Seth to implicate himself. To admit guilt.

Fuck that.

This wasn’t going well. Which was bullshit, since none of this was Seth’s fault. His involvement might look bad on paper, but once the deputies found the truth of this case, they’d surely be on his side. They’d see that Owen and his cult were the sole cause of all this bloodshed.

Seth slumped forward and rubbed at his eyes. “You have to believe me, any killing I did was purely in self-defense. Ask Alex, she’ll tell you that these psycho cultists were trying to kill us.”

“I’ve heard your friend's side of the story,” Redding said. “But we’ve also interrogated multiple eyewitnesses from the nearby farms. Your stories don’t line up.”

“What? Who did you talk to?”

“That is classified information.”

“That’s bullshit,” Seth said. “You can’t trust them. Was it Owen? Or David? That damned rat was one of the murderers. You need to arrest the lot of them.”

Deputy Redding stood. He straightened his tan uniform and looked down at Seth as he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “On that, we can agree.”

No. They couldn’t do this. Seth scooted his chair back against the wall, and he struggled to his feet in the cramped space. Already, he could feel the walls closing in on him. Like he was back in that dark closet.

“Seth Mayhew, you are under arrest for mass murder.”

No. He refused to be restrained. Not again. His muscles tightened as Redding spun him around, and Seth struggled not to resist as the deputy pinned his arms behind his back and clamped the handcuffs tight against his wrists. As soon as the cuffs clicked shut, Seth felt a heavy throb at the back of his skull. ChainBreaker. He could shatter these cuffs as if they were made of glass.

Instead, Seth took a deep breath and let the deputy drag him from the interrogation room. His arrest was unfortunate, but making a scene would only cause more problems. Everything would be resolved in time. All Seth had to do was sit back and wait for the Sheriff to finish his investigation. Then they’d see the truth of the matter and let Seth go.

But even after rationalizing all that, Seth felt an itch in his chest. An urge telling him to snap these cuffs and slam Deputy Redding’s head through a wall. Rage built in his chest, a rising flame that Seth struggled to cool.

He wasn’t a violent man. He wasn't a murderer. He wasn’t like his father. Seth needed to contain himself. To let the deputy arrest him.

It was the right thing to do.

Deputy Redding led Seth past the holding cell, but he didn’t stop there. They walked out to the lobby, then deeper into the sheriff’s office. Redding pushed him through an open office space, full of other deputies at their desks, typing on computers and looking through files. As they walked, Redding recited a list of rights, but his voice was a muffled blur. Seth caught glimpses and pieces. Something about an attorney.

They eventually entered a narrow hall. The walls loomed to either side, and a row of display cases hung from the drywall. Seth stared as he stumbled past, transfixed by the countless moths on display. There must have been hundreds of them. Thousands.

“Like my collection,” a man at the end of the hall said. He stood by a thick door, another holding cell, but this one had brick walls and a metallic door with heavy-duty hinges. The man wore a wide-brimmed hat, and a golden star shone over his heart. The Sheriff.

Seth froze. Deputy Redding tried to push him forward, but Seth dug his heels into the carpeted floor. The Sheriff smiled, and he leaned against the opened metal door, ready to usher Seth into the cell. But Seth wasn’t concerned by any of that. Instead, he locked his gaze on the Sheriff’s eyes.

They blazed golden yellow.

Of course. Why hadn’t Seth thought of that? If he were Owen, the first thing he’d do was get the police in his pocket. With his ability to enslave others, bringing the Sheriff to his side was a no-brainer.

Damn it!

Complying with the arrest was no longer an option. As long as the Sheriff was part of the cult, Owen would never see justice. Instead, Seth would take the fall, branded as a mass murderer. He’d forever be a fly stuck in the cult’s twisted web.

Except, there was one problem with that. Breaking chains was Seth’s specialty.

He felt the ChainBreaker ability buzzing against his scalp, begging to be used. But not yet. He let the deputy push him closer, acting reluctant the entire way to the end of the hall. The Sheriff awaited him, head tilted to the side and flashing a cocky smile. That wouldn’t last long.

Deputy Redding shoved Seth into the secure holding cell, and the Sheriff slammed the door shut behind him.

As soon as the locks engaged, Seth let his ability loose. Hot energy streamed down his arms, bundled tight around his wrists. Seth grit his teeth, and with a twist, the chain tying his handcuffs snapped apart. Steel links clattered to the floor behind him.

Hands released, Seth stumbled forward and pounded on the door. He’d broken the chains, but the cuffs themselves were still clamped around his wrists. His ChainBreaker strength remained, and Seth used that strength to ply handcuffs off, steel bending until they snapped free.

The Sheriff watched him through a slit in the door, his eyes wide. He reached to his vest, pulled a radio out, and pressed it against his lips.

Calling for backup? It was too late for that.

Seth backed up a step. He let ChainBreaker’s strength run through him, filling every muscle with burning potential. The power built to a roaring inferno, and Seth charged the door. His shoulder slammed against metal, and his momentum carried him straight through.

The door broke right off its hinges and crashed against the Sheriff, knocking him to the wall. He slammed into a display case, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces. Deputy Redding stood down the hall, and he turned at the commotion, hand at his holster. But Seth only had eyes for the Sheriff, who stumbled to his feet.

His ChainBreaker energy had run out. Which made sense. Seth was no longer contained. But even without ChainBreaker, Seth’s strength was no joke. He reared his fist, muscles tightening into a thick cord, then slammed it into the Sheriff’s skull.

The Sheriff exploded into a swarm of moths.

Seth’s fist swept through the air, and he stumbled to the side, caught off balance by the sudden miss. The Sheriff was gone, replaced by a cloud of fluttering insects. The moths flew down the hall, sweeping past Redding and disappearing deeper into the sheriff’s office.

What the fuck? It seemed the Sheriff had a wish of his own. But moths? Why?

A bullet speared through Seth’s stomach.

He lurched to the side. A flash of pain boiled up his chest, just under his rib cage. Seth pressed a hand to the wound, and it came away dripping with blood.

Deputy Redding waited further down the hall, his pistol trained on Seth. His gun was newer than the heirlooms Owen’s men had used. Sleek. Jet black. Semi-automatic. To anyone else, such a weapon was one to be feared.

Too bad for Redding, but Seth was fucking bullet-proof.

Seth charged down the hall. Two more bullets punched through him, but he took them in stride. Redding barely had time to back away before Seth caught up to him. He grabbed Redding by the collar and slammed him into the wall, shattering another display case. Glass and dead moths rained down.

Seth caught a glass shard in his free hand. It was long and sharp and shaped like a dagger. The edge bit into Seth’s palm as he tightened his grip. He relished in the pain, let the blood drip down his fingers, hot and full of adrenaline.

“You wanted a murderer?” Seth asked. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Seth stabbed the shard deep into Redding’s stomach. Then again and again and again. Glass slipped through flesh, and blood sprayed out. First from the wound, then from Redding’s mouth as he coughed and wheezed. Eventually, the shard broke, leaving fragments lodged deep in Redding’s flesh.

The deputy slumped to the floor. Dead.

Breathing heavily, Seth stumbled away. He balanced on the balls of his feet, hungry for more. Now, where had that sheriff gone?

A cloud of moths whipped past him. Seth's eyes shot wide, and he held his arms up, braced against the swarm. But the moths passed without harm. In their wake, they trailed a cloud of brown powder and the scent of rotting leaves.

The moths continued down the hall, then reformed into the Sheriff beside the secure cell. The Sheriff smiled, the radio pressed to his lips. “All units, this is Sheriff Wayne Barke. We have an officer down. I repeat, officer down. The chief suspect in the Shelby Massacre is loose and heavily armed. Requesting all units to converge on the sheriff’s office at once.”