The only sound in the room was a regular ticking of the round clock. Beneath it stood a camera stand which gazed at two men at the table. It was a very ridiculous situation. One of them, a man in a white shirt pressed the recording button and the light on the camera lighted up red. Then he told the recorder the date and the names of two present people and sighed.
"Mister Efften," the man said and leaned back against the back of his chair, pulling a folder from the table and looked at the person sitting in front of him, "You have been accused of a murder and rape, do you feel guilty?"
Wyllem stared at the yellow paper with bent and worn corners. The Commissioner took three pictures out of it and placed them on the table in front of the defendant. In the photo were three girls who were all grinning at him. All of girls had short, golden hair, tanned faces, and a bright spark of life in their eyes. What a shame that they were probably already buried somewhere in the woods. Well, just the parts that were left of them.
Efften remained silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. In the meantime, a plan was made in his mind. A very amusing plan. After a moment, he laughed heartily. "How could I not? I won't be able to get their fucking blood out of the mat for a few more weeks! "
The Commissioner broke off unexpectedly. That was the fastest interrogation he ever experienced. He‘s met mournful people and even those who were complexivitely denying their blame. This sick creep was a new black sheep in the herd.
"What led you to such a deed?" he frowned, trying to induce any other reaction than amusement in the defendant.
"You know, this is what sick, crazy and devious people do," said the man with long, black hair.
"What did you want to achieve? Pain, suffering? Or are you so selfish that you only wanted your own satisfaction? "
"Who am I to disagree?" The murderer replied with a faint smile on his face. "It's a pleasure for ears to hear those sluts scream." The Investigator stayed silent for a while. This wasn’t going anywhere, was a dead end. He narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat.
"Do you have any trauma from your childhood? The reason why you have such a hate againts women?" Silence. What, hate? He hadn’t done it because he hated them, they were beautiful, all of them, and that was why they had to die. An unwanted memory flashed in front of Wyllem's eyes. The silence in his mouth was still steadily surviving, and he didn't plan to spit it out. The Commissioner picked up the pictures of the girls and put them back in the folder. Conversation about far past coud wait.
"You studied at an art school, why did you decide to work in a different profession?" The investigator changed the subject. He was demanding one single sentence, one sentence of a few words.
Wyll didn't say anything. He just stared ahead. The Commissioner asked a few more questions that met nothing but silence. But after a while Efften spoke, "I've never enjoyed photography that much. It's not the same as working with mechanisms, they have some sort of order wich photography doesn't." The Inspector nodded his head and arranged his thoughts. Maybe he was a system-focused psychopath.
Minutes were going by, and with every other tick was Wyllem running out of time. What if it stops working? What if fate leaves him alone? He bit his lower lip and looked at the men in front of him. When he found out that the Commissioner was doing the same thing with him, he grinned.
"Your parents died eleven years ago. How did you feel?" The policeman asked, unable to wait any longer, a murderer of minors, little girls was sitting in front of him, and God knew how many victims had passed through his hands.
"Haven't you feel sad? Alone?"
"I had no emotional relationship with them. They were just some next people who fucked up my life."
"Did they do something to you? Were been neglected?" Efften lowered his eyes and looked at his hands. They‘d hurt him, thrown him away, destroyed him, and then they pretended that they were sorry. He saw through their crooked smiles and nothing but meaningless gestures, through their lies. They never cared about him. They were too normal to understand their crazy son.