Absent-minded, I meditated on the dim light of the lamp centered at my visage. Its continuous glow kidnapped my sight, it sent me to the desert of bad dreams. There, I experienced, again and again, the aftermath of last night's trial.

In my imagination conquered by demons, I repeated the scene. Again and again.

My grandfather’s ring endured the waiting torment with me. Periodically, it suffered the process of caressing, spiraling then a complete removal.

After my unbelievable, quick arrest, three hours had passed. I didn’t hear anything from the heroes of justice. Other than the mandatory routine questions, no one came for the interrogation. My suspicions towered over the clouds of the sky. All this waiting crowned my doubts, my darkest obsessions.

They are observing me; I knew it... From where I can’t see them, or hear them. I felt it. They are waiting for the moment of my mental resistance breakdown. The actual attack will begin.

The small desk cornered to the left chained my freedom. Rendered me, helpless. The four high walls, the tiny free space, the breath I drew senseless. In a coffin, trapped, I felt.

The cracking sound reached my ears, the door, at last, pushed open. My heart jolted. Like a flash of morning light, the announcement ticked the start of the mice and the cheese trap game.

It was merely a half month ago, the goodbyes' flattery Anna sent with me at the train station, that day, engraved between the folds of mirage. I refused to give it a deeper meaning. At that time.

"Who is Anna Marchetti to you?"

The cold room generated a sense of hollowness, reverberating the officer’s voice. The dim light amplified the void, the intimidation.

“How do you describe your relationship with her?”

As a sinful performer, questions shoved down my growling stomach.

"Good," I answered, for like a million times, deflecting the furtive accusation. "She is my girlfriend." My tone versed confident and overbearing. no hesitation trimmed its edges, yet it felt like somebody else had said that.

"How do you describe your relationship with your girlfriend?"

My eyes met the officer’s gaze, our mutual stares interwoven into a play of dominance. "Good." I repeated again, "very good." I confirmed, not to the officer but to myself. The same determined confidence oozed out of my lips.

Except, our dancing glares didn't end, it just switched to the following rhythm… The aggressive one.

He threw a neutral glimpse. Its hidden meaning was encrypted well, and hard to decipher. At least for the moment.

"Her mother said the opposite." His head lowered, inspecting a paper in his hands. "She said that the two of you were going to break up. You didn't take it well, that's why you committed the hideous crime."

Inwardly, I tittered despite my solid self-restraint. Mm. Marchetti's embrace of yesterday felt today, a ferocious fire searing my nape. Cold water pouring on my head.

For interpretation, the detective's eyes measured each movement resurfaced on my visage, while I did the same.

"Did she also say that she was the one who invited me to stay for the night?" Sarcastic my tone was a putrid contempt sipped from every syllable.

"You have gotten red-handed. The weapon used in the crime was in your hand."

Shaking the dullness dressed my thoughts, I sighed. Then I welcomed his words, clear of an informal claim. Sure of my guilt. God only knew how many times I repeated the same statement: the barking dog, the noise, my attempt to feel life on the dead body on the soil.

“Have you checked the surveillance camera in the backyard?”

“Yes, we did." He didn't look into my eyes. "As you have mentioned before.”

Something foreboding caressed the deepest parts of my fears. Waking them up. Yet, in anticipation of a conclusion to this bad dream. My heart pumped hard for the result. My eyes widened, gapping the officer’s face. Even though the look on it was unimpressed, placid. Then, here came announcing my dismay.

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“As you have said, a surveillance system was installed in the backyard, but it was out of service.”

The surprise cut the air off my lungs. Inside, my heart collapsed in a series of intensive palpitations. My fears triumphed. I swung my body to the back. My head draped backward, then upward. From the corner of my eyes, I watched the officer’s reaction... Apathetic as ever.

Alarmed, I dived into my reflections. Reevaluating my steps, collecting the scattered pieces of this blood-stained puzzle.

Last night’s event, as random as it looked, by each minute, by each fragment of information I gathered, slowly stripped off the haphazard mosaic dress. Showing evidence of an ugly conspiracy. And hidden fingers manipulating the backstage. Last night’s event leaked out the corridors of coincidence and tripped into the human invention gallery. The incident must have been thoroughly groomed for my indictment.

Yet missing links. My mind couldn’t get hold of them.

Very familiar, the shadows I spotted within the murk of the night. Climbing the walls of the backyard, certain of their successful escape. As if their getaway tickets were pending behind the fence.

With the possibility of them being mere thieves, what was in there for them to kill, in a horrible manner, a ten-year-old boy suffering a serious mental disability?

In the first place, what was a young boy doing in the backyard after midnight?

Was he killed, then his body moved, or has he been lured there?

The updated surveillance system, specifically handpicked by Mr. Marchetti was out of service. Whereas for all the animosity Mm. Marchetti harbored for me, she insisted on making me stay.

If this was not pre-prepared, then what is it?

She ought to be an accomplice. However, my imagination failed to estimate the degree of her hatred and the boldness of her actions.

No matter how high Mm Marchetti’s objection to my relationship with her daughter, even if he wasn’t her flesh and blood, will she arrange for Liam’s death just to accuse me of murder… Just to break us apart?

Without ruling out the possibility of her being implicated, is it possible that she was deceived? Could it be that she is also a mere victim?

The officer went out, leaving me paddling aimlessly in the torrent of my endless hesitations.

As I sat tied up in this room, constructing then demolishing theories behind my accusation, the investigation process continued. The nameless perpetrators, whoever they are, held the upper hand.

Another lead was unlike to be found at the present time. Mm. Marchetti's confession will be the only evidence of this crime. Based on her last glare, she certainly will bury me in the mud.

Yet my biggest concern wasn't centered on this trumped-up charge. The truth will resurface sooner or later. My biggest concern was the clean reputation of McCarthy’s name, my father’s judgment, my brothers' scorns, and my mother and Evelyn's worries.

What am I going to do for this matter to stay under the threshold?

The sunray of my hope in this dark cage owned by Anna. If she confessed the reason behind my staying at her house last night, Mm. Marchetti's accusing words would kiss the rain.

My dear Anna, what will be your stand?

Beyond the door, a small oppressed movement reached my ears. From overthinking, maybe the lucidity of my senses began to fade. Until I sensed the doorknob sway down, then up. I looked forward into the darkness, wondering about the new surprise the person behind the wall will bring to me.

The last drops of rationality, I squeezed them forcibly from the last bits of the intact brain cells I was left with. Ready I must be. With the next episode of this orchestrated psychological provocation, the third round is drawing near.

It was mere seconds before the annoying wheeze leaked into my perception.

The door was open. Without turning my head, my focused gaze shifted, aiming to steal a few peeps. Was it a new officer, or the same boring one in the second round?

However, the unexpected surprise lifted the limits of my internal chaos to the next level.

At the entrance, the letters of my full name whiffled one after the other.

Kieran... Noah... McCarthy…

In a slow, eloquent cadence, he repeated it more than once. Implying his vast grasp over the identity of my person. Alluding reservedly.

Rather than the other officers, I understood that this man recognized the roots and the purpose behind this incident on a much deeper level.

I watched while he stretched his arm for a friendly handshake as if we knew each other for years.

The medical glasses he wore cast a heavy shadow on his eyes. Skillfully hiding the scale of his intentions. It made me reluctant to reciprocate.

As for his lips, they straightened in a neutral design. They didn't govern an ounce of incrimination or disdain. Every facial expression, every gesture of his body screamed, loud, of an immense prestige imposed on the atmosphere, the moment he made his entrance.

How fearsome those individuals are, masters of dreadful composure, possessors of nerves of steel. The endeavor to distract them is akin to barefoot walking on embers.

Despite my caution, vigilance, I draw out my hand. My gaze never left his face. Looking for an opening, a signal, attempting to disclose the riddle of his machinations. For he was above those simple officers I had encountered. And it seemed that he had broad knowledge about who I was.

Who is he? What are his objectives?

When he sat down, and before he fully adjusted his glasses, he repeated, again, “Kieran… Noah… McCarthy...”

I couldn’t fathom the meaning of the tone he spoke with. Was he serious, interrogative, or was it just a padded sarcasm…

His fingers touched that cursed lamp, regulating the direction of the light. At last, the shadows that sheltered his mien scattered away. Yet my brain programs failed to put a name on that face.

I peeked at the leather briefcase he placed on the table. It was clean to the point of freshness. Not only this, everything about his attire appeared superb. A top-notch suit, tidy and clean sleeves, and a fine necktie that goes with his overall look.

A golden wristwatch and remarkably expensive perfume.

Did he ditch his wedding ceremony and come specifically to supervise my humiliation?

He startled me, not when he repeated my full name for the fourth time, but when he added that distasteful nickname;

“Kieran… The black sheep of the McCarthy house…”