Chapter 4: Interrogation

Interrogation room. I’ve been sitting here for five or six hours. The chair squeaked when I shifted. Somewhere behind the wall, someone coughed. The air smelled like old coffee and bleach. The flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the windowless walls pressing in, painted a faded institutional gray. Time crawled by—no phone, no clock, just the drip of a leaky pipe and the sound of officers murmuring beyond the door.

I know this is a standard police tactic. It wears down a suspect’s resolve, and the unfamiliar environment can shake your mindset. If they’re treating me like this, it means they’re taking this case seriously.

Finally, the door opened. A burly cop sat across from me, casual in his manner. His faded navy shirt sleeves were rolled up, an old tattoo curling around his forearm. "My name’s Officer Grant. Ms. Carter, former psychology professor at a top university, resigned a year ago, now scavenging near the market."

He tapped a thick folder against the table, peering at me with curiosity and suspicion. "So, Professor, what happened? How’d you go from a top university to picking through trash downtown?"

I smiled faintly. "Everyone has their own pursuits, don’t they?"

There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes—maybe he’d fallen a little himself, once upon a time. Officer Grant narrowed his eyes, smirking. "That’s true, I like that. But if your pursuit’s illegal, that’s another story. Today, while you were shopping, two people died right in front of you. Isn’t that a bit too much of a coincidence?"

I spread my hands. "Everyone has their fate. If the reaper wants someone, there’s nothing I can do."

Officer Grant sneered and tossed out a stack of photos. The glossy photos slid across the scratched metal tabletop, stopping just in front of me. The faces stared back—familiar, haunting.

"Even though you’re living in a derelict building now, we found plenty at your former house."

The photos showed a bedroom, its walls covered in snapshots of the fruit stand owner and the pumpkin seed vendor—photos from every angle, recording their every move. A whiteboard hung in the center, covered with headshots, relationship webs, schedules, notes.

Officer Grant raised his eyebrows. "You did this, didn’t you?"

I nodded. "It was for social experiment research, to understand small vendors’ daily lives. Is that illegal?"

He snorted. "We suspect their deaths are connected to you."

I gave a bitter smile. "Officer, one was killed by a brick blown down by the wind, the other died of a heart attack. Even though I happened to be there, you can’t say I killed them, can you?"

Officer Grant shook his head. "All of this could be the result of someone’s interference. I’ve already got people checking if the bricks upstairs were loosened, and the tea in the thermos is being tested. If you confess now, I can try to get your case treated as a voluntary surrender."

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to put psychological pressure on me. I wasn’t moved, and leaned back, too.

Time passed. The door opened, and a young officer came in with two files. Officer Grant shot up, a glint in his eye. He took the files and waved them at me. "Ms. Carter, I’ll give you one last chance!"

Seeing I didn’t react, he slammed the files on the table, flipping through them. As the pages rustled, his expression grew uglier. In the end, beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He looked at me in shock. "How could there be no problem..."

I smiled helplessly. "Officer, since there’s no problem, may I go now? Don’t worry, if you need me in the future, I’ll always cooperate."

He gritted his teeth. "So eager to leave—because you still have one more person to kill, right?"

I looked at him in surprise. "Officer, that’s a heavy accusation. I can’t bear it. If you don’t have solid evidence, I hope you won’t jump to conclusions."

Officer Grant snorted and pulled another photo from his pocket. It was a half-length photo of ChaseLive. His face was slashed through with a red marker.

"We found this at your home too. If I’m not mistaken, he’s your next target, right? I’m curious—what method will you use this time?"

I sighed, propping my hands on the table, shifting to a more comfortable position. "Prejudice in people’s hearts is a mountain, Officer. This photo only proves I don’t like him, Officer. But you—like everyone else—are just dying to watch what I’ll do next."