I had never felt loneliness like the loneliness I felt in that room. There was nobody else, just me and my thoughts. My terrible, nerve-racking thoughts. And I couldn't go anywhere. My hands were handcuffed to the table, and all I could do was watch myself struggle through the large mirror in front of me. I had never been in an interrogation room before, but I had seen enough movies to know the mirror was undoubtedly one way glass. I wondered who was looking at me, judging me. They presumed to know the whole story, when I didn't even know it myself. I thought I heard muffled voices behind the glass. If I could only make out what they were saying. I focused in, listening closely, when the door to the left flung open, startling me.

The man who walked through didn't waste any time. He sat in front of me, just staring. He was a tall man, in a suit that had clearly seen better days. His hair was short, and graying, but he didn't strike me as an old man. From the looks of it, he could snap me in half if he truly wanted to. The little light the room contained gleamed from the solitary table lamp, and reflected off his badge, which dangled around his neck. His eyes looked tired, but they never left me for a second. It was as if he were trying to read my mind.

I gulped, knowing the silence would kill me if I didn't break it.

"I - I- I don't know what's goin' on, sir." I said.

He said nothing. He stared for a few more seconds, then opened the folder he had placed on the table.

"Perhaps these'll clear it up." his deep voice pronounced.

He pushed the papers over to me. They were photos. First of a house, then what appeared to be a basement. Then, a body. I couldn't look at the rest.

"Tell me what happened." He commanded.

"Where is Carter?" I asked.

"Does it look like you get to ask the questions here!?" he shouted.

I gulped. I collected myself, trying to sound innocent. Wait, sound innocent? I was innocent! I was just nervous, that's all. Reassuring myself in my head didn't help with the death stare this man was giving me. I did my best to utter the words.

"I don't know sir. I don't remember."

He continued to stare. I wouldn't last much longer. This man was looking at me like I was a criminal. A menace. A killer.

"Jack." he said, snapping me out of my nervous thoughts. "I need you to tell me everything you know."

I woke up to a fluorescent bulb swinging overhead, it's wires ever so slightly exposed. I rubbed the back of my head as I sat up, nursing a bump that I previously had no idea was there. My vision began to clear up, yet I almost wish it hadn't when I saw my surroundings. First, the knife. I was holding it gently in my left hand, and it was stained with crimson. My heart began to beat faster. I could feel myself begin to sweat, terrified of what I would see when I turned around. There was a small window in the corner of the room, and a wooden staircase, clearly old and unstable. I didn't recognize anything. There wasn't any furniture, just large storage boxes stacked in towering piles and a water heater, completely uncovered and placed in the wall. As my head cleared, I began to turn around, but before I could, I heard a familiar voice.

"Jack!" a shout came from behind me.

I turned to see Carter, also nursing his head. That was a relief. Carter had been my best friend for years. We have lived on the same block since the eighth grade, and we would have graduated together soon. We had done everything together, gone to class, played sports, even gotten into trouble. But this was another kind of trouble altogether. I could see tears in Carter's eyes. He was dirty, his white shirt stained red and black. I looked beyond Carter, and my worst fears were realized. Behind him lay a man, his chest covered in blood, which had created a pool around him. He was a young man, probably early twenties, and I noticed his backpack lying next to him, it's contents ripped out and thrown across the room.

Carter rushed over, helping me to stand. The knife fell out of my hand, making a clunking noise as it hit the ground.

"Jack," he said, looking at the knife. "What have we done?"

I looked down at my hands, dyed red. I looked back up at him, and my voice shook.

"What have I done?"

I looked outside the window. It was dark, and I couldn't tell where we were. I couldn't look at the body. It made my stomach curl every time I did.

"Who is that?" I asked.

Carter looked over at him closely..

He shuttered, as if chills had run down his spine. "It's Brody."

Those words were the last I expected to hear. Brody was Carter's sister's boyfriend. He was a jerk to say the least, but he didn't deserve this. He was still wearing his letterman. I should have recognized him immediately, but I couldn't force myself to look for any more than a second at a time.

"Ok," he murmured, "We can fix this."

I looked at him in disbelief. "Fix this? How can we possibly fix this!"

"We just have to figure out what happened, o-or get rid of the body, somehow, I don't know." he rambled.

"We killed him!" I shouted.

"We don't know that!" he snapped back.

That's when we heard it. The sirens. I looked out the small window near the ceiling, and could see the tint of red and blue reflecting off the glass. The sirens blared, but I seemed to lose all my senses. Carter's nervous rambling, the sound of the sirens, the sight of the body, all gone. I had barely even comprehended the cops storming the place. Even the aggressive shove from the officers pressing my hands behind my back escaped my conception, as did their constant yelling of commands. All of it was a daze. I hadn't recalled them kicking down the door, or rushing down the stairs. It was as if they were just... there.

Before I knew it, we were outside, the cops shoving us along, towards the cars. There were dozens of officers outside, more than I had ever seen in one place. I looked up at the moon. It was bright tonight, and full. We liked it when it did that. As kids it used to give us more light at night to play, and we could stay out later. I wondered if in prison, I'd ever see it again.

-"That's all you remember?" The officer stated, still staring at me.

I paused for a moment and stared at the table, breathing heavily. "Yes." I replied, being sure to look him right in the eyes.

His countenance changed. His stare was no longer the death stare that I was used to. It was a sense of questioning. Almost like, a part of him believed me. Maybe he knew a killer when he saw one, and I wasn't one.

He got up, grabbing his files and stuffing them in his folder. He walked to the door and grabbed the knob, and stated, "I'll be back with more questions."

"Wait!" I shouted.

He turned around.

"Where is Carter? Is he ok?

He looked at me, the light from the doorway shining on his face.

"Son, we don't have anyone named Carter in custody."