Officer Fitz was as protruding and annoying as his shortened name suggested.

“Close the door, young man.”

Jaime paid a flitting glare at Reggie before complied.

His room located in the last corridor, at the very end. He caught a glimpse of some sympathetic nods, before turning around, left his door cracked just an inch or two.

Reggie leaned over his shoulders and shut the door tight, his face a hard stone.

“Hm, your room is much neater than of your mates,” Officer Fitz commented.

“It’s childhood habit,” Jaime said, raising a shoulder and letting it drop in a half-hearted shrug. Both Reggie and Officer Fitz scoffed, although what they found worth ridicule over Jaime’s answer was unknown to Jaime, not that Jaime care.

Jaime briskly sidestepped Reggie and parked himself onto one of the bedside drawer. The dark-haired dog sniffed every inch of the room with eagerness. He was tempted to drive his heel between the mutt’s eyes when the bloody creatures attempted to shove its wet nostrils against his shoes. However, he simply tucked his feet around the bars of the drawer—hard edges wedged his toe bones his talus in awkward angles—and cooed gently to the dog, despite it baring its teeth.

“Did you pick this room?”

Jaime looked up, his face a cool mask of boredom and tiredness. He kept his body in check, minimize the gestures and the voice tone. He knew what the Officer was doing: establishing the baseline of “natural behaviours” before he launched into interrogating. “Yes, Sir.” He said.

“Really?” Officer Fitz clicked his pen, but didn’t write down anything. Reggie shifted closer, shoulder almost bumped against Jaime’s, too close. But Jaime ignored his discomfort and remained curling like a cat ready to pounce.

It did not escape his notice that Officer Fitz and Reggie were strategically posted on either side of him in a specific way that would trick his body into thinking it was trapped and corner.

If they could control how he thought, they could control how he react. Thus, he needed to know exactly what they were doing and consciously avoid the typical reactions they were anticipating.

“And you know that this is, perhaps, the worst room in the Dorm?”

Jaime looked down at his fingernails. “Saving money. My mother is sick, so I just run with the cheapest accomodation available. Besides, it’s only the window and some ventilation problems, I could handle that.”

“And the Headmaster discounted the price for you?”

“Yes.”

Officer Fitz raised a brow, glancing at Reggie as though asking for confirmation.

The K9 crawled underneath Jaime’s bed and came out on the other side. Officer Fitz bent and asked the dog, but the canine shook its head.

“Which bed is yours?” Officer Fitz asked abruptly.

“The right one, near the window, Sir.”

Officer Fitz sauntered over, beckoning Reggie over.

Without warning, Reggie overturned the mattress, ripping the sheets and the pillows off, exposing the creaking frame and the smell of rusty metal. Jaime shot up, a scream already formed, but the dog snapped at him, backing him up until he resumed his awkward sitting position. The K9 darted up like a silver bullet, clawing at the squishy materials. Reggie ran a hand along the seams, and Jaime caught a flash of gleaming silver between the flesh and plain-coloured clothes.

His stomach roiled, and it took all willpower for him to not strangle Reggie back.

You mustn’t act like you’re scared, Jaime chanted, You’re not guilty and you know it. Besides, there’s nothing inside the mattress. Yet, the vision of Reggie jabbing the knife and gutted the mattress brought flaring red all over Jaime’s thought.

However, Officer Fitz stopped Reggie. Reggie pushed the mattress, and it slumped against the wall with a miserable sigh.

“Alright. Seemed like you don’t have any stash to be bursted, young man.” Officer Fitz turned to Jaime, saying lightly. The Officer’s eyes flitted over Reggie, mouth twitched triumphantly. Jaime clenched his teeth, quickly cleared unborn the relief off his eyes. His lips twisted into a threatening brief snarl that the Officer seemed to enjoy. “This interrogation is being recorded. Officer Fitzgerald, Castleton Prep School, November 21, 2019. It’s thirty twenty-five at this point,” Officer Fitz clicked a black box that was mounted on his shoulder. The monotonous roll of tape crackled alive. “Name?”

“Jaime Kenneth.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Sarasota, Florida, US.”

The Officer hummed. Jaime mused himself on what would the man was scribbling. The accused has a peculiar clinical clipness, showing signs of intelligent but is uncooperative? Dr. Ponce has said that on their first meeting, shortly before she deemed him as “unstable.”

Would Officer Fitz also reach the same conclusion?

Jaime guffawed internally at his own question, already knowing the answer.

Obviously, yes. Because pompous asses would think alike.

Officer Fitz’s tone shifted, became eerily too-neutral, almost as though he was near the edge of hysteria excitement. “Alright, let’s start from the beginning: how did the party start?”

So, Jaime recounted the events methodically, starting from where Jaime met Dal Bland on the field and tried to prevent Fishburne from inviting his rugby teammates. His hands rarely went up to illustrate a point, aside from some here and there palm-up waving when listing number of kegs and names of those who brought on the liquor. His body was relax, still coiled in a cat-like poise, and he kept his eyes blinking and glancing around at the same usual speed.

He was skipping straight to the moment he received his Aunt’s call, when Officer Fitz raised a finger to interrupt for the first time. “What did you talk about?”

“Excuse me?” Jaime asked.

Officer Fitz regarded Jaime critically, eyes roving over every inches of Jaime’s exposed flesh as though he could mentally peel off the chapped surfaces and found Jaime’s guilty deeds underneath. And Jaime recalled precisely the acute hatred toward the sorts of officious pricks like him.

“What did you and your roommate talk about? Because I don’t think you would stuck in a washroom for thirty minutes without speaking about at least something?”

Jaime barely blinked. “Not much in particular. I mostly complained about Ahmed and More’s previous idiotic boyfriends.”

Beside Officer Fitz, Reggie’s mouth ticked. His fists clenched.

“I see. So, how would you describe your relationship with your roommate?”

Jaime considered the question for a moment before answering. “We’re close, but not that close, if you get what I mean. More usually ends up in the wrong side of the track, and I don’t take any liking of his choice boyfriends. So, we hang out and help each other with studying, but not really in terms of best-friends or anything.”

“Almost like a business-like relationship,” Officer Fitz supplied.

Jaime shrugged.

Officer Fitz peered at Jaime underneath his hooded eyes. “Did your friend mention anything about Reggie? Or maybe that he wanted to take a hit?”

Jaime frowned. “Sorry? He took a hit? I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Bullshit,” Reggie snapped. Officer Fitz shot him glance, encouraging, however Reggie did not elaborate. Instead, he crossed his arms and rocked back, as though he was conscious that the same air he was sharing with Jaime was disgusting.

“You seem to have a bad reputation amongst your roommate’s boyfriends,” Officer Fitz remarked.

Jaime looked straight at Reggie as he spoke, “Most of them don’t like my constant nagging and jabbing.”

“No. Because you’re a controlling asshole,” Reggie bit out. Jaime’s face flushed unwillingly, and he felt vicious heat evaded his senses as he watched Officer Fitz grabbed onto Jaime’s reaction and advanced. He motioned for Reggie to Go on and also a hand gesture that probably meant something along the line We’ve got your back. “He’d guilting and shaming Reed until Reed broke up. He’d sold lies until we would look like we’re using Reed instead of him.”

Jaime planted his feet down flat on the floor to stop the overwhelming sensation to kill, and squared his shoulders. “I’m simply stating truths. Facts. Are you denying that you weren’t a Drug Rat, Reggie?” Reggie growled, but Jaime blocked his answer. “Because of you, More becomes addicted to cocaine,” Reggie reeled back, confusion slapped across his face. Jaime continued, “What did you do for him, Reggie? What did any of you do for him? Yeah, I’m a controlling asshole, an insensitive scumbag, but at least I got him through the roughest time while you bitches busily pointing fingers at me.”

“He never said—”

“Did you visit him at all, Reggie? No. Of course you didn’t. You’re here sucking up to cops and try to help your own fate while I at least took a minute to come see if he’s OK.”

“What are—”

Jaime abruptly turned to Officer Fitz. “I want an Attorney to present to further speak about this.” Reggie was agaped. Jaime threw a hand at the door. “With all due respect, get out of my room.”

Officer Fitz raised an eyebrow. Nonetheless, he tucked his note and pen in his breast pocket. He clicked the recording tape shut, and gave Reggie a hard slap across his shoulder blades. The man gave Jaime a lewd once-over before tipping his head. “When can I visit your friend?”

“Later tomorrow, at least.”

Officer Fitz nodded curtly and shoved Reggie out of the door. He turned and gave Jaime a final look, face unsmiling, yet Jaime could felt an invisible shark-like grin surfaced. “We’ll meet again. Soon, Jaime Kenneth.” His bright dark eyes immediately zeroed on Jaime’s face, the iris flared and refracted rapidly like a camera shutter.

Then, spinning on his heels, the man left in a rather victorious swagger.

Jaime crossed the room and firmly shut the door, palm flattened against the rough grain.

Tentacles of chill probed into the enclosed space, and he blew out a breath.