The man didn’t move as the latch clicked behind Cromwell. The detective carefully laid the folder on the table and pulled the chair opposite the suspect. He sat down with a heavy sigh and formed his fingers into steeple as he surveyed the man before him. His head was still bowed and if it weren’t for the sound of his soft breathing, Cromwell wouldn’t have believed the man was anything other than a statue. He sat there waiting for the man to speak or look up for what seemed like an eternity.

Cromwell sighed deeply after a while and said, “You know, Oscar Wilde said that ‘Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he will tell you the truth.’ In this moment, I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done. That might as well be a mask, so there’s really no reason for you to hold anything back when I ask something of you.”

A few more moments passed before the man finally raised his head. His dark hair fell over one of his eyes but parted to reveal the other. Just that single glimmering orb was enough to give the detective pause. The sterile light flashed in the penetrating azure gaze the man fixed him with, lending it a predatory gleam set aside for stalkers of the night. His skin was the sheen of fresh snow kissed by a cold full moon, starkly contrasting his dark clothes and hair.

His lips parted and a voice filled with a quiet, powerful confidence echoed, “A mask is just a lie you hide behind and the dangerously addictive protection they promise is the drug of a coward…I know, I’ve hidden behind so many… lines that were at first blurred always end up disappearing completely. I’ve finally shed my masks; don’t tempt me with the promise of protection from another.”

The man’s voice, though quiet in itself, seemed to kill any ambient noise. Cromwell heard only his words and the way they resonated in his head. He wasn’t expecting such expression from the man; the soft words were jarring coming from someone with such an intimidating air. It was moment before the detective could summon his voice, “Does that mean when I ask you something, you’ll answer me with the truth and nothing more?”

The withering stare Cromwell received made him fidget and avert his eyes to the folder. “What truths are you seeking, detective? The truth can be a dangerous thing.”

“Dangerous for you to say?” Cromwell asked.

The man raised an eyebrow that disappeared into his fringes, “Dangerous for you to know. You’ll find that I will wear no mask, ask and you will receive the truth. What you do with it is meaningless to me…but you may regret asking me anything. You won’t like what I have to say.”

Cromwell shuddered, but tried to mask it with indifference, “You couldn’t tell me anything I haven’t heard before, I am afraid.”

“If that were true then why does it seem like you’ve just been through hell and had to claw your way out? I can see your fear, Detective Cromwell…you don’t have to hide it. Fear is a good thing… keeps you vigilant. If I had felt a bit more fear in the past then maybe I wouldn’t be here right now.” The man’s words dwindled to a whisper as he looked away.

“What should you have been more afraid of?” He asked quietly, not really looking forward to the answer.

The man glanced his way for a brief moment before sighing softly, “I underestimated my self-control, forgot what it was like to lose my grip on the fragile tether that held these…urges in check. They ended up destroying everything I had.”

“What do you mean by urges?” Cromwell inquired, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

Abruptly, the man’s mouth pulled up into an insolent smirk, “Did you hear a confession in that, Detective? Well, you’ll just have to be patient a while longer.”

“This isn’t a game, son.”

“Oh, but it is, and we are both unwilling players.”

Cromwell tried to stare him down, but he only ended up conceding defeat as he looked away from the man’s eerie gaze, clearing his throat as he pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. “Ok, I’ll play along for a bit…so let’s start off with the basics.”

The man didn’t answer, just waited from him continue.

“What is your name?”

“Silas.” Not Derek.

“Unusual name…Silas…sounds a little biblical.” He murmured as he jotted the name down. The man said nothing. “Age?”

“Twenty three.” Cromwell wouldn’t have been able that, everything about the man seemed to mislead him.

“Where do you live?”

“Here.”

“Here. As in the Seattle?”

The man shrugged, “Past the city, in the mountains.”

“A little vague, don’t you think?”

“Would you like the address, Detective?” Light flashed in the man’s gaze as he looked up.

“Maybe later…do you have a job? What do you do?”

Silas averted his gaze, “I worked for the government.”

Cromwell looked up, the tip of his pen digging into the pad, “The government?”

Shit. This could become really complicated, really fast. Government people were treated like nobility, basically given a free pass to do whatever they wanted. It didn’t matter if you were the President or the some lowly intern, to the common man, a government employee walked on water and pissed gold.

“A little young to be working the government…what do you do?”

Silas shrugged nonchalantly, “I cleaned up the messes.”

Though he tried to cover it with a casual shrug, a dark look had stolen across Silas’s pale face, prompting Cromwell to ask, “What, you’re a janitor or something?”

Amusement shone in the young man’s eyes, “I guess in a manner I was.”

Cromwell folded his hands on top of the folder, “So whenever some politician stirred up some kind of controversy or something, you’re there with a mop and some honeyed words?”

The man smiled slightly as he tilted his head, “The problems I clean up were more of a vicious nature.”

“And were these problems of yours, Mr. Silas?” Cromwell opened the folder and began laying out photos of the victims. Silas watched him coldly, his strange eyes becoming more distant with each photo. Finally, Cromwell laid the last one, the one he felt would affect him the most, right in front of him. Silas took one fleeting look at it before flinching, as if someone had raised their hand to strike him.

“Do you know these people?” The detective asked quietly. It was a long time before Silas was able to look back to the photos.

Silas’s eyes roved around the gruesome images as though hypnotized before he whispered, “They look so different in death… different than anyone else, but still the same somehow… I could have never predicted that it would come to this…there was no way to know… but I should have known… I was supposed to know…”

“What were you supposed to know?” Cromwell pressed, shaken slightly by the change in Silas’s tone.

Silas’s gaze fell on the picture in the middle, “They were mine to protect…all of them…but her…” His shoulders shifted, like he was going to touch the picture but the handcuffs prevented him from moving an inch. His voice dropped to a hollow whisper. Cromwell could barely hear the words he was muttering, “She above all else…s-she was mine …”

His voice broke and he bowed his head until rested on the table. His shoulders heaved silently as Cromwell watched in surprise. Gone was his haughty, commanding air as a broken sorrow stole into the room, hanging over them like a chilly mist. The guilt in his voice when he spoke of the two others gave Cromwell pause but these silent broken sobs coupled with this shockingly naked vulnerability stunned him. For the first time Silas resembled something close to human.

“Who was she?”

It was awhile before Silas looked up. When he did though, his face was calm though his eyes were red-rimmed and wet. “She was the only one who could see me for what I could be and not what I am…she was the only one who pushed me to be more than what I am. But now…I…I don’t know what…I don’t know who I am without her. ”

“Who were you before her?”

Silas’s shining eyes darted to his, “Someone you would have never wanted to meet. Someone you would have never met unless karma decided otherwise…someone who would break free from these handcuffs and snap your neck without remorse. Regardless of how this situation may seem to you, you are not safe with me.”

Cromwell couldn’t help but be chilled by Silas’s low words. He had to look away from the unsettling gleam in those blue eyes before he asked, “Then why did you allow yourself to be captured? Am I right in assuming that’s what you did? Why are we even having this conversation?”

Silas leaned forward slightly, “Because there is a story that I must tell. My story…her story…their story. Our story. And when it’s done you will have a choice. You probably already know the choice, perhaps even your decision. If that’s true, then you must know who she was, who I was… help me decide who I am now before you put it to words, before you truly end it. When you do, Detective Cromwell, you will know why we are having this conversation.”

“Then you have my full, undivided attention.” The door opened behind him and steaming foam cup was placed by his side. Cromwell looked up at Hale, who was very studiously keeping his eyes on Cromwell. “Put a fresh pot on, Detective Hale. I’m going to be awhile.”