Chapter 3: The Interrogation Room
Under the harsh fluorescent glare of the precinct interrogation room, David sat with his forearms flat against the scratched metal table. His green t-shirt was wrinkled, a dark stain of sweat marring the fabric near his collar. Across from him sat Detective Miller, a tired veteran with graying temples and a reputation for breaking suspects without raising his voice. A styrofoam cup of black coffee sat untouched between them.
“You’ve got a clean record, David, aside from a couple of speeding tickets,” Miller said, flipping open a manila folder. “Decent job at the lumberyard, active in the community league. So explain to me why officers walked into your daughter’s bedroom and found an unvenomous corn snake coiled under her pillow.”
David rubbed his palms over his face, dragging his fingers down through his stubble. When he dropped his hands, his eyes were bloodshot and blazing with a manic intensity that made Miller lean back slightly in his chair.
“You don’t understand,” David said, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp. “Avery has night terrors. Terrible ones. She screams for hours, thrashing until she hurts herself. I tried everything. Doctors, therapy, medication that just turned her into a zombie. A friend told me exposure therapy works wonders for anxiety. The snake was docile. It was supposed to teach her control over her fears.”
“Exposure therapy?” Miller arched a skeptical eyebrow. “By putting a constrictor in a seven-year-old child’s bed against her will? That’s not therapy, David. That’s psychological torture.”
“She’s exaggerating!” David slammed his palm against the table, the metallic bang echoing off the concrete walls. He caught himself immediately, lowering his head and breathing heavily through his nose. “She hates the snake because it takes my attention. She’s jealous. She wants to be the center of everything, just like her mother.”
Miller narrowed his eyes. The mother was absent, having walked out three years prior, a detail noted in the initial intake reports but never thoroughly investigated. “Her mother?”
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“Walked out when Avery was four,” David muttered, staring fixedly at the scratches on the table. “Left us with nothing. I raised that little girl alone. I built her room, I paid the bills, I kept her safe from the world outside. And now you’re sitting here treating me like a monster because I tried an unconventional method to cure her phobias.”
“Avery isn’t phobic of snakes, David. She’s terrified of you,” Miller stated calmly, closing the folder with a sharp snap. “And until we figure out what else is hidden in that house, you aren’t going anywhere near her.”
