Chapter 9 - The Interrogation Room
The harsh fluorescent lighting of the precinct interrogation room hummed a monotonous, soul-crushing tune overhead.
Arthur sat at the center of the scarred metal table, his wrists now free of zip ties but sporting deep, purple friction burns.
The blue button-down shirt he wore was stained with dust and dried blood from his head wound, making him look every bit the desperate, cornered suspect the department believed him to be.
The heavy steel door swung open, and Detective Miller walked in, tossing a thick manila folder onto the center of the table before pulling out a chair and sitting down heavily.
"Let’s try this again, Mr. Vance," Miller said, lacing his thick fingers together and leaning forward over the table.
"You claim your wife is an imposter who kidnapped a child and fabricated an entire domestic hostage situation, yet our forensics team has thoroughly scoured the Victorian house from top to bottom."
Arthur leaned forward, his eyes bloodshot and desperate as he gripped the edge of the metal table.
"And what did they find, Detective? Did they find the server? Did they find the hidden surveillance logs?" Arthur demanded.
Miller sighed, pulling a single glossy photograph from the manila folder and sliding it across the table toward Arthur.
The photograph showed the interior of the utility basement, revealing a completely clean, factory-reset server rack without a single smudge of dust, let alone missing hard drives.
"They found a pristine network system that has not been modified or tampered with in over three years," Miller said flatly.
"Furthermore, vital records confirm that Clara Vance has been legally registered as your spouse for six years, and Lily Vance is listed on her birth certificate as your legitimate daughter."
Arthur stared at the photograph in stunned silence, his chest heaving as the walls of reality warped around him once more.
"It's a digital ghost," Arthur whispered, shaking his head violently. "She rewrote the municipal databases. She has access to the core municipal grid through her architectural consulting firm."
Miller crossed his arms, his expression hardening into absolute skepticism.
"Architectural consulting firms don't hack municipal databases, Mr. Vance. But men suffering from severe dissociative fugue states often invent elaborate conspiracies to mask domestic violence," Miller said, sliding a digital recording device across the table.
"Your lawyer is on his way, but before he gets here, a social services representative dropped this off for you. It was recovered from the front porch of your house shortly after we arrived."
Arthur looked down at a plain, unmarked white envelope resting beside the manila folder.
He slowly reached out, his trembling fingers tearing open the flap to pull out a single sheet of heavy bond paper.
Scrawled across the page in childish, jagged handwriting was a message that made his blood run cold:
“You forgot to check the nursery closet, Daddy. She’s waiting for you there.”
May you like
Arthur dropped the paper, his eyes flying wide as he realized the chilling implication of the note.
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