| My soul is like glass; transparent and fragile. |

~***~

The clock ticks, the light hums, and the room is cold. I daze at the air conditioner as the ribbon knotted to the vent blows with cool air. It makes a humming noise as it gradually stops, causing the ribbon to dangle lifelessly. I knock the table once, pause, and knock it two times quickly. I look over at the wall with the black glass as my knuckles rest against the hard surface. I start to tap my knuckles, one after another, drumming quickly, and repeating the pattern.

It might be a window, but trying to look through it is like trying to see in the depths of a murky lake. All I see is a dark void with my strained reflection staring back at me, mocking me - judging me.

The door echoes in the small room as it opens, bringing a little more light from the hallway. I scratch my hangnail as the door closes before a figure approaches from behind, walking around the table and revealing that it's Detective Frank Martin. Another person, to my surprise, walks from the other side, Deputy Donna Martin.

"So, who's watching the show?" I thumb towards the giant opaque window, "your whole team of fuzz, or just papa bear?" I start, bringing in a solid icebreaker I spent the last thirty minutes making up.

It sounded better in my head.

"You should be worrying about other things right now, Desdemona," Donna slaps a document in front of me, "this is the document you were clutching when we found you. Why this one?"

"Wow, you have superb memory there, Donna," I give her a wicked smirk, "Donna and Frank. Such an odd coincidence."

Frank pauses, "what's an odd coincidence?"

"Donna, a great song by none other than a man named Franki Valens," I lean in and wink at Donna, and I smirk as I see her shoulders become tense. Frank slams his fist on the table on top of the document and points at it aggressively. I don't flinch as I keep my sly stare on him.

"Do you know this child?"

I glance down at the photo, "I know of her, yes," I look back at Frank.

"Do you know where she is?" he asks, leaning against my invisible wall. I shrug and look over towards Donna.

"How would I know? This file says she was six when she went missing," I glance at the document and point at it, "and she disappeared back in 1963 --" I sit back and tap the table, still eyeing Donna since she seems to be the more fragile of the two, "-- it's a pretty cold case, and practically useless to what's happening now."

Donna steps forward and leans close to me, "you know where she is. You're just trying to have us chasing our own tail. You see, we know how you work, Desdemona," Donna points to the window, "because we have a witness who is an expert on all of your little manipulative tricks watching you right now."

I remember the name of that window now; one-way glass. My mother told me about them.

I suddenly realize who Donna is talking about. Clyde; he's on the other side of the one-way glass? I glance over at it and instantly regret my actions when I see the look of success on Donna and Frank's features as they've caught me in a brief moment of weakness. I completely turn my head to the mirror, and glare at my reflection. I know I'm looking directly at Clyde, and I speak to him with my eyes.

What are you thinking right now?

"Where - is - she?" Donna's voice interrupts my thoughts.

I slowly turn my head, looking Donna directly in the eyes. They depict a gemstone, with specks of amber and emerald. "You may think you want the full truth, but you won't like it."

"I don't care whether I'll like it or not. I don't care if it makes me furious or depressed because," she points at the photo, "she's the first known victim of The Pasco Family, and we need to know what happened to her."

~***~

The arguing abruptly stops down the hall as a vehicle pulls in front of the house. There's fumbling and muttering going on, and the two little girls stay frozen.

"No! This wasn't part of the deal! You can't take our children!" their father screams abruptly. Delilah and Cynthia look at each other and forget about the rest of their clothes as they zip up their bags and hurry away from the door. Cynthia opens the window and tosses their bags out first before lifting her younger sister up. Delilah clumsily climbs out the window, and falls on her back, unable to move from being winded. She rolls over when she notices her sister is about to hop out.

Cynthia pulls Delilah up, and they grab their bags as two gunshots are heard in the house. The two girls run as fast as they can, keeping a tight hold on their bags as they maneuver their way through the darkness of the night. Delilah drops her bag and stops to pick it up, but when she turns around, she realizes that her sister has disappeared into the darkness.

"Cyndie? Where are you‽"

"Dee! Over here!"

Delilah runs to the voice in the near distance, calling out to her sister every now and then in a Marco-Polo game. There's another gunshot fired.

"Dee‽"

Silence.

"Delilah‽"

~***~

"Where is Delilah Baytes?" Donna asks me one last time, tired from the endless interrogation.

I glare at her with a smug bitterness, "Delilah Baytes is dead."

"You're lying," Donna growls.

"Yeah, I'm sayin' it for the 'ol razzle-dazzle," I roll my eyes and lean forward with my arms crossed on the table, "look, we don't kill children... however, let's just say she was Del Shannon's little runaway," I add a wink, and Donna's face turns white with the most baffling expression that catches me off guard. She reaches for her cross necklace around her neck and quickly walks out of the room without uttering another word.

"You said we."

"What?"

"You said, 'we don't kill children'."

Oh no.

"You've killed before --"

"I never said that --"

Frank pulls out a tape recorder and rewinds it before pressing play to repeat my comment to me. Donna's odd reaction threw me off guard, and it interrupted my groove.

"You can't record me without my consent --"

"Actually I can - if I deem you intelligent enough to outsmart us if you were given the knowledge of being recorded," he puts the small tape recorder back in his coat pocket, "you're going to be locked away for life with this kind of evidence," Frank ends his statement there with a smirk.

I blink vacantly. "I'm a minor. You can't send me to prison."

"You'll be in juvenile until you turn 18. After another court trial, you'll probably be put away for life since you've murdered countless people and kidnapped their children."

"Who said I'm the only one doing these things?" I feel my heart beating faster now.

"As far as we know, you're the only one...unless you want to cooperate with us and give us some names to make your prison time less than a life sentence?" Frank crosses his arms and adjusts his glasses while giving me a smug look.

"You can't do this. You clearly know I'm not the only one here."

"I honestly don't care. We'll find a way to catch the rest of your... family... without your help. This offer is only for you to save your own ass," Frank leans on the table, his face inches from mine. I can smell the tobacco from his afternoon smoke in his breath as his lip twitches. His eyebrows remain furrowed. "You seem like the type who'll take any opportunity to save yourself."

My mouth opens and closes like a trout, and I scrunch my eyebrows to keep some sort of control over myself. "Well, you read me wrong. I would never throw my family under the bus for some pathetic offer to save my own ass."

He leans back a bit to search my features for any sign of lying. I show none. "Fine," he collects the documents, "I suppose we're done here, then," he mutters as he heads towards the door. "We'll have our chief come by soon to read you your rights before transferring you to the local juvenile facility." Frank hesitates at the door. "Have a good life, Desdemona," he states before quietly exiting the room.

I don't move.

I breathe heavily through my nostrils.

I can't hold it in anymore. Any of it.

I suddenly scream, standing up and flipping the table over. Then I turn to grab my chair and throw it at the mirror, but it doesn't even scratch it. I run and drop kick the other chair to the wall. I don't care in my blind rage as I grab my head and scream foul words, cursing myself and the cops until I become light-headed.

The door opens, and a few cops enter to grab me, but I fight back. Screw them all. They grip my elbows and pull my arms behind my back to handcuff me, not being gentle in the slightest.

I bow my head.

I allow them to sit me back down in the seat, and I stay there - absolutely still.

This is the one thing in my life that I deserve.

I finally accept that I can never be free.

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Hey! If you like what you're reading, you can let me know by voting on each chapter and/or commenting to share your support! Thank you so much for reading :D

Fun Fact: If you noticed how some chapters have more reads than the previous chapter before it, that's because those chapters weren't split in half in the re-publishing.

Another Fun Fact: This was one of my favourite chapters to write. The interrogation.