|The only person I can count on is myself |

~***~

The car pulls up to a giant gate with a few men standing guard at the hidden facility. Agent Benedict's window slides open, and he leans out to type on the keypad, opening the gates for us to enter. I look in awe at the trees along the sides of the private road. It opens up to a giant cement building with a lot of windows. It maybe only goes up six or seven stories, but the place seems to be stretched out until the small willowwacks surrounding the area hinders the building from being any bigger. It's very isolated here, and not at all what I was expecting it to be. I sit back as an uncomfortable shiver jolts through my spine at the eerie sight.

The beautiful gate and driveway distracted me from realizing I'll never see the outside world again.

The car stops, and Agent Benedict steps out of the vehicle, walking around the car to open my door for me. He offers me his hand, and I accept it awkwardly since my wrists are still handcuffed together. Benedict pulls me up with good force, and closes the door behind me with his hand resting on the small of my back. I think his gentleman-like nature is a technique he uses; trying to gain some sort of trust with me so that I'll let my guard down. I look up at him, and he gives me the most dashing smile, showing his unnaturally white teeth. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, however, since they always seem to contain an unreadable coldness. It's like he wears a person mask, disguising himself to fit in with society, but inside he's much more. Benedict has an empty darkness inside of him, like a puddle on a rainy night; beautiful, yet mysterious like a dark void. I don't like him.

He leads me up the stone path, and into the front entrance of the building. The Foyer is very plain, with very little colour, and too many people walking around - probably to make themselves look busy. It's odd not having any agents or security holding me. All I have is Benedict allowing me to casually walk beside him. He's really pissing me off with this whole gimmick of trying to earn my trust. I'm being forced to feel welcomed in a place that's trying too hard to disguise itself. I'm not safe here, and this place reminds me of my parents. Benedict reminds me of my parents, but maybe with a different set of morals.

We approach the end of the narrow hallway, and Benedict opens the door to reveal an interrogation room. This room isn't dim and dull like the police department one; it's bright, with white-painted walls, a steel table, two chairs, and a giant black window that disguises itself as a mirror. It's reflectiveness is more prominent in the bright room, which is probably why they have it set up that way. It's nearly impossible for someone not very observant to see it's clearly a window for a small party of people to watch your interrogation.

Benedict pulls out the chair with it's back to the door, and I politely sit down. I try to keep my eyes from wandering around the painfully bland room. He pulls out a set of keys, and reaches for my hands, hesitating for a silent invitation. I hold my hands out to him in two fists, and he gently unlocks the handcuffs. I absent-mindedly rub my wrists as he walks around the table, and sits in the only other chair in the room, directly across from me.

"That must feel much better," he notes while taking off his jacket to attach the handcuffs to his belt holster. My eyes instinctively snoop his belt, straight to the chrome of the gun that shimmers in the harsh light. I look back in his eyes, but find myself feeling small and sick to my stomach at the sight of his cold gaze. I decide to stare at the bridge of his nose, making sure I avoid his eyes at all costs.

"I'm just going to ask you a few procedural questions before deciding where to go from there," he explains with a smooth voice as he folds his hands on the table. He rubs his ring finger on his left hand, the vacant finger might've had a ring there at some point that he still goes to fumble with out of habit. I jerk my head in one brief nod before allowing myself to slouch a little in the chair. I'm trying to appear as if I'm comfortable to keep him thinking he has the upper hand.

"Is your name Desdemona Pasco?"

"It's the name given to me by my parents, yes," I reply while starting to tap my fingers on the table.

"What are your parent's names?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Pasco," I raise an eyebrow, and he mirrors my expression with a slight smirk.

"Okay, what is your date of birth?"

"What's it to ya? You already know that I'm sixteen. You can figure out the rest with a little common sense," I reply with an eye roll. He just keeps his smug smirk on his face, as if he's unphased by my sarcasm.

"How did you get that scar on your collar-bone?" I instantly stop tapping my fingers, and I grab my shirt to pull it over my exposed chest. I stop when I grab the fabric, noticing his eyes glint with accomplishment. I just boosted his ego to the max with that dumb move.

"I beg your pardon?" I feel like I need to have a more formal approach with this man who can clearly read through sarcastic bull****.

"That scar, it looks rather nasty. Is it a burn, perhaps?" he doesn't even flinch as he looks at me with that infuriating smirk.

"I, uhhum," I trace my index finger along the scar, while my other fingers hold the fabric of my flannel in place.

"Was it an accident with cooking? - Maybe with boiling water?" I suddenly feel a cold numbness take over my nerves, and my body fills with phantom helium. I grab my seat, trying to ground myself as my eyes lock with Benedict's empty stare.

What the f*** is he doing?

"Tell me, Desdemona," he leans forward, and I instinctively pull away from him, "how do you feel right now? Are you angry - sad?" he cocks up his eyebrow impossibly high, "or do you feel like a balloon that's about to float away?"

I gulp down my saliva, it runs like acid through my throat, and his satisfied smirk appears on his lips again. "What are you doing?" my voice sounds pathetic and shaky, and I silently curse myself as it just adds more coins in his ego jar.

"It's just a simple set of questions, Desdemona," he leans back again and his smirk completely melts off of his face, "anyone with basic common sense would be able to figure that out."

One moment, I have him as my puppet, manipulating him through a bull**** conversation. Then he suddenly becomes the sarcastic puppeteer, catching me at a weak moment. The only way someone can truly control a situation is when they can't sympathize with others. Benedict is an intimidating person who masks himself behind a deceiving demeanor of a charming gentleman. Benedict cannot empathize with others; he is exactly like my parents.

"Do you feel worthless?" I blink at his question, opening and closing my mouth like a trout. I jerk my head, shaking it no, because I can't trust my voice anymore.

"Do you feel powerful? In control?" he unfolds his hands and mirrors my actions, tapping his fingers on the table in the same beat as me. I stop tapping my fingers, and he stops as well, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

"What does this have to do with anything?" I decide to answer his questions with my own questions, trying to get him to stop.

"Answer the question. You cannot avoid it."

"No."

"Was that an answer, or a statement?"

"A stateme-- shut up!" I cut myself off, realizing I was about to answer another one of his questions.

"Why are you trying to delay this conversation? It will end much quicker if you just answer my questions," he sits up, adjusting his posture to be even more perfect than it was before. I close my eyes and furiously shake my head, refusing to comply with his bull****.

"You're hiding something. If you weren't hiding anything, you'd answer my questions."

"That's bull****. I don't have anything to hide," I gulp, realizing I'm just burying myself deeper into the pit of no return.

"Then tell me, Desdemona," he leans forward a bit, crossing his arms over his chest, "why do you comply to your parent's murderous orders?"

"What?" my eyes widen and I scratch the table, trying to find friction in this anti-gravity room.

"You do everything for them," he speaks slowly, like acid slowly being poured on my skin, and it makes me scratch my chest, "you don't like it. Would you consider anything to just stop the orders?"

I feel like I'm shivering as I think for a moment, and slowly nod in response. Benedict smirks again. "So, you'd even kill them if you had to?"

I raise an eyebrow, "I know what you're doing Agent Benedict, and it's not going to work on me."

"Humour me, what exactly am I doing?"

"You're trying to get me to say something that will have me sent to prison for life," I lean forward, "As far as you know, I'm just some dumb teenager that wanted attention, but maybe never harmed - let alone killed - another person in my entire life."

"So, I'm not able to break you?"

"Nope."

"You won't feel sad or angry with me from all of this?"

"I won't allow it."

"And why is that, Desdemona? Is it because you cannot feel?"

"What?"

"Answer the question."

"I don't think I understand the question being asked?"

"Do you feel remorse, Desdemona?"

"Are you asking me if I'm a psychopath? Isn't this a question for the court?"

"Just answer the damn question," he growls, completely losing his gentleman-like nature.

"No."

"Is that your answer?"

"Yes, my answer is no, I'm not a psychopath."

"I never asked you if you were a psychopath. I asked if you feel any remorse."

"It's basically the same thing."

"You said no, so that means you told me 'No, I feel no remorse Agent Benedict.'"

"You're putting words in my mouth. I never said that!" I thumb the window, "they're my witnesses."

"Who, our reflections?"

"No, the people watching us behind that one-way glass, you moron."

"There's nobody there. It's just you and me," he leans in, "it's my word against yours, Desdemona."

"What?" I sit back and look at the window before looking back at Benedict with a paled face.

"But there's always someone watching."

"Not now. This is my playground, and I make the rules here, kid," he leans back, "some people might feel my methods are unorthodox at times, but at least I can get the criminals on death row."

"Death row?"

"You've killed many people, Desdemona, and you've told me that you feel no remorse. You can be given the death penalty for that."

"No, I'm only sixteen!"

"You may appear to be a young girl, but inside you're a monster who needs to be put in your place," Benedict stands up and leans over the table. He grabs my neck and grips it tightly, "and if the law can't hold the justice system, then I'll take matters into my own hands. You are going to die, Desdemona. One way or another. I'll make sure of it," he releases my neck, and picks up his jacket. He puts it on, and exits the room without uttering another word. My hands are shaking as I weakly rub my neck, feeling the markings he left with his nails as he gripped into my skin.

~***~

I find myself pacing again as I explore the small room. From corner to corner, there's not one speck of dust anywhere. I wonder if Benedict is watching me right now - or if anyone is watching me. I give up pacing and sit down in the corner, and I stare into the light's reflection in the mirror. I start to curl into myself, not allowing my eyes to move from the burning light.

The door opens, and I squint at the figure, but their face is a green blob that has taken the shape of the light I was staring at. I pretend I can see the person as I stand up, blinking carefully to get rid of the blurb of colour blocking their face. The man seems to look over his shoulder before waving me over. I approach the man, and the green blob stays in place as I stare into his face, trying to figure out who he is. He quickly turns around, grabbing me by the elbow and handcuffed me. I assume I'm being brought to a new room with another FBI agent. I'm pushed forward and forced to walk through the halls until I'm taken to a side hallway that leads to an emergency exit. The man leans over my shoulder and types in a code I can't see since my vision's still f***ed up. It opens the door, allowing us to walk outside without setting off any alarms.

The man leads me to a black car parked right next to the exit. I look up and behind me to see the camera has been spray-painted black. Then I see him, right behind me and turning my head around to not stare at him. I try to hold back a smirk as he shoves me in the back seat and quickly runs to the driver's seat. I stare at the back of his head as he starts the ignition, and drives away from the cement building. I stay absolutely silent as he bows my head while muttering, "stay quiet."

We pull up to the gate, and he quickly flashes a badge at the security guards face. "I was given strict orders to move this suspect to another facility."

The guard stares at me for a long moment before saying, "Okay, Agent," and he waves his hand for the gates to open for us. We drive away, and I wait until we end up on the main highway to allow my smile to take over.

"You're a crazy son of a bitch, you know that, right?"

"I think we've established that a while ago," Clyde replies with a wink.

"How did you do that anyways? That was really easy," I scootch myself to the front seat and cock an eyebrow at him, "it was almost too easy..." I look at him expectantly.

"Let's just say that I did a lot of illegal things to get you out of there. It may have looked easy, but it sure as hell wasn't," Clyde explains as he hands me a small key. I smile and gladly accept the key before unlocking the handcuffs that probably came from his glove department.

"Did you steal a badge too or something?" I ask as I get the handcuffs off.

"What?" Clyde glances at me before looking at the road again.

"The badge you flashed to the guard, was it stolen?"

"Ohh, the badge," Clyde fumbles with his chest pocket where the badge sits and he smiles, "yeah, I guess it was something like that."

"You either stole it or you didn't."

"The details on how I got you out are irrelevant. All that matters is that you're out," Clyde looks at me, and his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. I force a small smile, deciding it's probably best to not get into the amount of illegal crimes he just committed. I'm just happy he saved me from that god-awful place, and from Benedict. I suppose some things are best left as a mystery.

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