Interrogation Room A-5 1:45 AM

“Mr. Rivers?”

Emerson’s eyes were distant, vacant. He blinked. His gaze focused onto the present as he noticed the detective in the room. Then the question registered.

“Uh... yeah- I-I'm Rivers. E-Emerson Rivers.” He unsteadily answered, his hands were clasped in his lap- shaking. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here. The last thing he remembered was... he closed his eyes.

'No. That wasn't real. That didn't happen. I'm still here. That... couldn't have happened.' Sadly, he couldn't convince himself- there was a gentle ache across the top of his chest. He didn't want to look.

No. What he would treat as reality was that he'd woken in the police station medical examiner's emergency room surrounded by paramedics and a flustered doctor complaining about a lack of protocol, procedure, and operating equipment. Everyone was confused and startled that he'd simply woken and tried sitting up. But then, to further their confusion, they examined him and found that he was physically stable and no longer on the brink of death as they'd thought when they'd apparently found him. Then he was told someone wanted to speak with him since he was fine.

'They must've gotten something wrong. I feel... fine. Not great. Not good. But... fine.'

“Mr. Rivers, I’m Joshua Fleury, detective chief inspector.” He motioned to the other chair at the table, “May I?”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Emerson nods, “Go ahead.”

Joshua smiled warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he thanked Emerson, then placed a manila file folder onto the table before pulling back the metallic chair. He made sure it didn’t harshly scrape against the floor.

Joshua sighed contentedly as he eased into the chair and casually leaned back into it, intertwining his fingers and placing them onto his stomach.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Rivers? - or do you prefer Emerson?”

“I’m... good, I think.”

Then he blinked.

“Oh, and um, Emerson, or Em is fine, really.”

Joshua lightly laughed, “Hey, it’s alright. After going through what you did... well, I know it’s been an awful, terrible night. And I want you to know that we’re here to help however we can, okay?

“Yeah...” Emerson looked down at his hands, clenching them to try and stop the shaking.

“So, Em, how about you tell me a little about your work?”

Emerson grabbed onto the normal conversation like a drowning man.

“Oh, I, um- I'm a hospital medical technician that- that occasionally does scribing as well.”

“Ah the medical field-” Joshua knowingly smiled as though he was in on the joke, “-sounds like difficult, but fulfilling work.” He quirked an eyebrow with a smirk.

Emerson couldn’t help the slight smirk that also tugged at the corner of his mouth. If there was one thing he desperately needed right now, it was talking about everything, and nothing at all. Smack talking about his awful hours, pay, and the occasional know-it-all, frustrating patients was just what the proverbial doctor ordered.

“Now then, I know this is going to sound cruel. But I have some questions here,” the detective splashed a bucket of cold water over the concept of normalcy the next moment, leaning forward in his chair and placed a palm on top of the folder, “- that I have to ask. I’m sorry.”

Emerson numbly nodded, his gaze fixed onto the table.

“I can’t imagine what it would be like to relieve these events. I won’t pretend to understand. But these questions- they’re going to help us find whoever did this and bring justice to everyone involved.”

Bloody, auburn hair.

Piercing red eyes staring into his soul.

Emerson’s jaw clenched- teeth gritted.

Razor-sharp nails carving into his skin.

Heart-stopping, pulse-pounding fear...

His fists tightened beneath the table.

Liam’s horrific, dying screams. Echoing...

Guilt. Anger. Frustration.

He closed his eyes, inclining his head.

Joshua’s steady, unfazed gaze professionally analyzed Emerson’s mannerisms and expressions.

'Nervous, scared, insecure and troubled. Not overly emotional and is still coherent and intelligent. He remembers. He’s trying not to- but he remembers.’

Joshua’s eyes markedly softened.

“Hey,” the detective softly said, “can I get you some water, maybe a coffee? We can do this once you've settled in a bit more, I'm sorry.”

It was almost 2 AM, but if coffee was a comfort drink and could help him soothe his nerves enough to discuss the incident, then Joshua would damn-well drive to the man’s favorite 24/7 diner with bells and whistles on his car to pick him up a cup of steaming joe.

Emerson looked back up with exhaustion-lined gratitude and nodded once.

"Yeah, water please." Emerson said, the words making him finally slow down and take notice of just how many unbearably dry his throat was, and how the feeling of hunger made him light-headed and weak. Swallowing felt like he had strep-throat and his esophagus was lined with sandpaper. It was unpleasant to the point of driving his already frayed mind to the breaking point. He almost groaned aloud and had the embarrassing urge to lay his burning forehead against the table's cool, metallic surface in front of the detective. At least then, maybe that would relieve the pounding in his temples.

"Alright, I'll be right back," said the detective with an amiable smile, getting out of his chair and pushing it back under the table.

But as he leaned forward to push the chair in, Emerson's eyes instinctively jumped to the small gap that had opened when the man's black wool coat shifted down at the collar- exposing a healthy, pale neck.

Emerson's pupils marginally dilated, his vision tunneling as though he were looking at the detective's neck from only inches away, and his breath hitched as the entirety of his focus- of his being- narrowed onto that exposed skin.

Emerson could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears- the roar of his pulse in his ears. But if he were truly in any state of other than nearly-starved, he would've noticed that the heartbeat and pulse were distant. Distinctly separate. Not of him...

The world also became brighter, the single, overhead LED fluorescent light flaring to the brightness of the noon-day sun as the buzz of electric currents exponentially grew. Colors turned more pronounced- sharply contrasting against one another as the table's metallic grey surface gleamed with unnatural splendor and luster beneath the overbearing lighting, whereas the detective's drab clothing exploded with intricate detail as individual coat fibers flowed together like uniform waves.

Dozens of seemingly heavy footsteps and the chaotic jumble of garbled, unintelligible masculine and feminine voices interwove with the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

A faucet was squeakily cranked, water blasting into a mug- a microwave beeped moments before its door swung open on worn hinges.

"-er-"

Pens and pencils scribbling on paper. Pages ripping... flipping... tearing.

"-son."

Staplers snapping!

The interior of a bulky copier shifting- kerchunk!

"Emerson?"

The detective stood, the coat's collar sliding back up to cover his neck.

Emerson blinked.

Everything returned to normal.

"Sorry," Emerson muttered hoarsely, his thin voice like gravel. He reached up and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands to help clear his vision of the nebulous after-images of the overhead light that was now thankfully dimming to its normal brilliance.

"It's okay. Looked like I lost you there for a moment- you alright?"

"Mm. Yeah. I'm- I'm good. Just... tired. Thirsty. Hungry..." Emerson murmured as though he were about to fall asleep.

The detective smiled sympathetically, "Well now, those last two I can definitely help with." He said, walking to the door and slightly opening it.

Emerson's right eye twitched as the room was suddenly flooded with a cacophony of overwhelming office sounds. He wanted to raise his hands over his head as his sensitive ears shook.

"-or-"

"Hm?" Emerson said, as he tried recovering from the momentary, sensory flashbang.

"Ice, or no?"

Emerson squinted at the detective with bleary, red-rimmed eyes- pure confusion written across his pale face.

"For your water. Ice?" The detective patiently reiterated.

"Um, no. No, thanks." Emerson barely shook his head. His neck muscles were now aching to the point where any movement sent jolts of agony down his back and across his shoulders.

"Sure. Be right back." The door closed with a soft click.

The pounding in Emerson's temples became more pronounced, the dull ache suddenly becoming a sharp, stabbing sensation that radiated down to behind his eyes. He almost dry-heaved. But mercifully, the pain quickly turned sporadic and dull the next moment.

'Why does it hurt so much?' he couldn't help the inadvertent groan that escaped his mouth as he rested both elbows on the table's cool surface and placed his face into his hands.

'Did I hit my head?' Sorting through the events of the night was a lost cause- he was suffering from dehydration, probably critically-low blood glucose, a splitting headache, sore muscles and joints, and for some inexplicable, stupid fucking reason, his top row of teeth hurt. Like worn enamel, exposed nerves at the tip of his canines- hurt. And only those teeth for some goddamn reason. He felt a particularly heavy throb in his temples hammer against his brain. His eyes felt like needles were stabbing into their backs. His insides twisted and throbbed.

He piteously moaned into his hands.

'Those fucking doughnuts, man- could this night get any worse?'

Joshua's friendly expression turned thoughtful, and his eyes frosty. He stood outside the interrogation room door for over ten seconds, before turning and maneuvering his way down the hall past another group of constables walking to the opposite section of the station. They respectfully acknowledged him with an 'Evening, sir,' or simply a nod and 'Sir.' Joshua grunted in reply, lost in thought as he continued on until he reached another, heavier door at the end of the hall. Reaching into his coat's interior breast pocket, he removed an ID card and placed it over the rectangular card reader set into the wall beside he door. The light flicked to green and a gentle buzzing-whir sounded as the magnetic locking seals disabled. Slipping the ID back into his coat, Joshua grabbed the handle, twisted, and yanked the heavy-set door open. Despite its considerable bulk, it swung open silently, allowing him to slip inside before it automatically slammed shut behind him.

"What're you thinking?" Chief Inspector Carilas Laberge asked, his tall back and broad shoulders turned to Joshua as he intently watched the camera feed to Emerson River's room- the man was currently hunched over the table, elbows on the table, and head in his hands.

Joshua hummed, stepping up beside Carilas.

"Honestly, sir? He's got me convinced that he thinks he's telling the truth."

"Repressed memories?"

"Yes, and no- although I can't speak to that with any certainty. But I am convinced he remembers some of what he saw. And it terrifies him."

Carilas grunted.

“I can’t speak as to his emotional stability- you may want Christina to take a crack at him if you’re worried and want a psychoanalysis profile ‘docked’ for testimony.”

“What I’m worried about, DCI Fleury,” Carilas’s took on an edge, “is that either we still have a mass murderer on the loose-” he look at the monitor, “-or he’s sitting right in front of us.”

Joshua’s lips pursed, unfazed with his superior’s caustic tone- this was an incredibly stressful situation. The entire night-shift rotation was on the case. They needed to close this case. And they needed it closed yesterday. So no, Joshua wasn’t going to hold anything against anyone for the next couple of nights. Unless someone stopped bringing in doughnuts- then he’d be miffed.

“Like I said,” Joshua shrugged, holding his chin in his hand as he observed the screen with Carilas, “He’s convinced he’s telling the truth. There might be something he’s forgetting due to lingering trauma, or repression, but again... it seems like he remembers what happened.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“No, I didn’t,” Joshua shook his head, then motioned at the screen with a hand, “I didn’t have to. You can check the table cam', but when I mentioned I had questions about that night, he definitely reacted as though relieving a significantly stressful memory.”

“Mm. Sure.” Carilas sounded distracted, then asked: “You get a copy of the ME’s report on the other bodies?”

Joshua exhaled and closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit. No, I haven't yet, sorry sir.” How could've that have happened? Were the files just sitting there on his desk?

Carilas waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it, son- I just got the damn thing myself only ten minutes ago. Was only wondering.” The tension in Joshua’s shoulders eased. He’d been horrifically worried about missing something that crucial to an investigation and embarrassing himself as a decorated senior detective of the department in front of the Chief Inspector Laberge.

“She found something interesting, then?” Joshua asked, an eyebrow raised. Carilas wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.

“Well,” Carilas grunted, “I don't know, Detective.” he hedged, his voice carrying a tone of knowing sarcasm as he walked over to a desk set against the wall beside the bank of monitors showing other empty interrogation rooms.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he casually inquired, sliding the medical examiner’s report off the table and handing it off to Joshua.

Joshua silently opened the file with knitted brows, his experienced eyes flicking across the gruesome, evidentiary crime scene photos of two mutilated bodies. Their clothes were shredded to ribbons around their necks and arms, blood soaking most of their upper bodies as though a wild animal had its way with them. And based on the state of their throats, he would wager that’s exactly what happened. He’d been a detective for over twenty years. Joshua had seen some nasty fucking business. But this was just... wholesale slaughter. The victims’ throats were completely torn open- down to the whites of the bone. But despite the killer’s gruesome MO, Joshua couldn’t tell what he was looking for. A tag on the clothing? An errant wallet soaking in blood? The odd pallor of the victims’ skin? It must’ve been in the report he was holding, and obvious at that, because Carilas apparently figured it out pretty damn quickly since getting the report.

Joshua’s eyes narrowed. He closely examined the photos and the written forensic notes tagged to key evidence zones.

‘C'mon Fleury, what’re you missing...?’

His eyes suddenly widened, his head snapping up from the file to squint at the camera feed to Emerson River’s room.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Carilas asked, nodding at the monitor, then walking up to it with hands clasped behind his back.

“How the survivor of a what looks like a power tool killing spree was found near the other victims, covered in blood, and clothes torn or lacerated in much the same manner, and yet-” he tapped on Emerson’s hunched form with an index finger before turning around to look at Joshua, who’s eyes were riveted to the screen.

“-the man only has a single scar on his chest.”

“I happen to find it very interesting.”

Carilas’s piercing gaze bored into the monitor.

“Don’t you?”

Then, the two of the most seasoned criminal investigation officers on the police force in the city watched as the door to Emerson’s room entered the edge of the camera. Then the feed to Emerson’s room winked out.

Interrogation Room A-5

The doorknob turned. The door opened.

Emerson lowered his hands enough to uncover his eyes. He peeked out from beneath a half-lidded gaze.

Two police officers strode into the room- neither were the detective. This did not register.

The taller officer popped the button on the lid of a pouch on his utility belt and removed something that he underhanded up into the corner of the room. Emerson’s eyes lazily tracked the small, flat cylindrical object that magnetized itself to the side of the camera’s chassis with a plastic snap.

The shorter officer locked the door to the room behind him with a snick. This did not register.

Then both officers spread out into the corners of the room closest to them and reached to their hips, upholstering strange looking, silenced handguns. This also did not register, as Emerson blearily watched the proceedings through a third-person perspective... through a pane of opaque glass.

The men raised the handguns in slow synchronization.

And it wasn’t until Emerson was looking down two separate gun barrels across the table that reality suddenly crashed over his head like a brick. His eyes went as wide as saucers.

“Wait-” he croaked, frantically lowering his hands to appear-

THWIP! THWIP!

There was no flash. There was no ear-shattering noise to speak of. Only an odd whispery noise followed by an intense pressure in his chest. The pressure quickly turned to pain and blossomed like a fiery lotus, its flaming petals expanding out and searing his insides. He slowly looked down with complete befuddlement.

Two holes in his shirt.

One on his right pectoral, and the other over his heart- something warm and wet trickled down his abdomen. He dazedly reached up with a trembling hand as though to touch his chest and confirm that he and the wound were real.

‘I... Why-?’

THWIP! THWIP!

Emerson’s right arm jolted as a bullet shattered his right shoulder. He would've screamed or at the very least shouted in pain now that his brain had caught up with what was happening, but the second bullet tore through his trachea.

His eyes widened in pure terror as blood spurted out of his mouth and he reflexively wanted to swallow, only to send blood spattering across the table and agony to surge down into his chest and up into his head. The pain was unimaginable. His eyes looked like a frightened animal, confused and pleading as he looked between the two men, his arms violently shaking as he reached up to his ruined throat. The room was filled with wet choking.

The short man holstered his handgun with a sneer, then removed a long dagger strapped to his outer left thigh.

The taller man’s face showed some minor level of sympathy as he levelled the handgun onto Emerson’s head. He clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose.

“Sorry, Kid. You would thank me if you knew...” His finger curled to squeeze the trigger.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Emerson’s emotions were a chaotic mess of terror, confusion, rage, and underlined with a foundation of pure disbelief. What was happening? Who were they? Why me? I didn't do anything! I’ve been good! What did I do?! Why? Why?! WHY?!

And in a moment of pure, unfocused hatred fueled by agony, confusion, hunger, and self-preservation, from Emerson’s throat rasped a grotesque parody of defiance as the newly born Beast within his mind was briefly unleashed from the fetters of a mortal mindset and released a primal bellow of unwillingness that resonated across another plane of consciousness like a ripple upon the still surface of a pond.

TH-

Darkness.

Somewhere, deep below the surface...

Impenetrable, suffocating, all-encompassing darkness was suddenly illuminated by a pair of solid, glowing-red eyes.

An immense, ancient consciousness awoke.

And it was curious.

‘?’

It followed the disturbance to its origin- hundreds of miles were traversed in an instant. It absorbed the surroundings. The world was different... It was always changing. This was nothing new. Civilizations rose and fell like the sun. Besides, it wasn’t interested in mortals. It was interested in... there...

A newly risen fledgling... only two hours old... capable of communing across the...

The presence directed the majority of its vast attention onto the fledgling.

‘!’

The glow emanating from the eyes dramatically intensified.

The consciousness condensed and dove into the dying vessel, snagging the fledgling's departing soul and tethering it back to its vessel. The consciousness materialized into an inhumanly beautiful woman.

With a flick of her hand, she altered the surroundings of the fledgling's consciousness, materializing a plain room with a stone slab in the center. The fledging was laid out on his back. She cocked her head. Then smiled.

A smile that made the sun look dim in comparison.

"Interesting... very interesting." her voice simultaneously sounded from everywhere and nowhere. She placed a hand on his forehead.

The manifestation of her consciousness brushing against his- controlling it, altering it, shaping it.

She removed her hand and leaned over him, speaking into his right ear, her lips tantalizingly close.

"Come find me... but first..." Her lips curved into a wicked smile, her eyes shone red, bathing the unconscious fledgling's soul in red light.

Its glare seeped into the depths of his consciousness.

"I want you to kill them." She whispered, so close.

"Kill them all."

She vanished in a swirl of red shadows and fading laughter.