Short Stories: Through the One-Way Mirror [Chapter 2: R's POV] [Roderick Version]

It was impulsive to ask the detective to conduct the interview.

Despite the anger Roderick had felt earlier, there is now a sense of stillness within him as he observes the detective intently through the one-way mirror in the observation room.

Of course, it would have been much quicker if he had conducted the interview himself; getting a truthful answer is only a matter of a few seconds for him. And yet...

'Go on. I want to see how you work.'

The corners of his lips twitch upward as he recalls the emotion he saw in the detective's gaze.

Roderick can't deny the sense of amusement it provided him, even if it merely came bundled with the primary objectives. 

Now, there are two people in the interview room, both possibly withholding more than they reveal. It wouldn't be so hard for him to discern who: the janitor, the detective, both, or neither.

Not to mention, understanding how compliant or troublesome the detective might turn out to be in the future is just useful information for… later.

But as soon as the interview started, Roderick quickly lost interest in the janitor: his broken demeanor, the tremble in his tone infused with fear, evoked... nothing.

Every detail he observed in this man provided enough insight to determine his next course of action, allowing him to concentrate fully on the detective.

They are a potential threat, and he acknowledges it. He intends to watch the detective, and he will watch very closely. If he notices anything that makes him doubt...

"Tell me exactly how you found her," the detective's voice echoes again, blending with other sounds around him: the crackling of equipment, the frantic beating of the janitor's heart, the irritating sound of the employee's breathing, and everything else that is imperceptible to human hearing.

For some reason, it's a little too easy for him to focus solely on the detective's voice, and a little too hard to ignore how its tone resonates within him.

"Describe each of your steps as you remember them," the detective continues, and Roderick discerns it again in the tone of their voice: something calm, resilient, and steely.

He leans back in his chair, feeling the corners of his lips twitching upward again. Interesting.

Just like last time.

His memories take him back to the moment their eyes first met, and even further, to a moment before that, when he heard their footsteps echoing down the corridor, sharpening all his senses.

He allowed himself to become consumed by it, making his presence palpable, ignoring Isaac's pointed gaze: he wanted to see how this person would react, hoping for a response that would dispel any doubts so he could end everything then and there.

But as soon as the detective entered the room, just for a fraction of a second, everything inside him froze, an odd sensation brushing against him from within but fading as soon as the detective averted their gaze.

It was too fleeting to fully comprehend but too compelling to ignore until it happened again: a passing moment when their gazes locked and held, neither willing to look away.

There wasn't any defiance in the detective's gaze, but there was something silent and complete that created the tension between them, simmering just beneath the surface.

It makes him angry even now. It makes him–

"Her eyes, they were black, completely!" the janitor's voice loudly bursts, and Roderick freezes, only now realizing that his focus slipped away from the scene, causing him to completely miss some parts of the interview.

A surge of concealed frustration washes over him as he refocuses his gaze on the detective, feeling his jaw clench tightly.

Losing focus means losing control. And he remembers every moment of what it was like to be out of control.

Just for a moment, glimpses of the past flash before his eyes, igniting a raw anger deep within him, making his fingers twitch with the intensity of his emotions.

"Play the recording," Roderick orders the specialist, whose existence slipped his mind midway through the interview, further fueling his anger.

"But I can't while the recording is still ongoing. If I stop the record…" the specialist says, trailing off.

Roderick turns his head to face them. "Do as instructed," he says slowly, his gaze fixed on the specialist.

"I…"The specialist quickly averts their eyes, unable to hold his stare. "Give me a moment."

Roderick tilts his jaw. "It wasn't that difficult, was it?" he inquires flatly, and the specialist scowls but says nothing, stopping the recording and bringing up the file on the screen. "Rewind to the last few minutes."

His fingertips instinctively trace the scar on his jaw as he watches the recording, suppressing the escalating frustration within him. But all his anger fades as he hears the same words that the janitor had uttered earlier.

"Her eyes, they were black, completely!" the janitor's voice echoes in the room, blending with the creak of the door opening as the detective strides inside.

With deliberate effort, Roderick remains focused on the recording, despite feeling the detective's eyes on him.

Yet his intentions matter little once the detective moves closer and sits down next to him; their presence becomes too palpable to ignore, and he meets their weary gaze.

"Any thoughts?" the detective asks detachedly, leaning back in their chair tiredly, and Roderick can't help but watch the detective intently, noticing how their body tensed for a mere second.

What pleases him more, he wonders: the janitor's unlikely confession, defying 'rational' human belief, or the detective's adeptness in extracting it, saving him precious time?

But Roderick keeps it all to himself, instead plainly and truthfully stating the only thought he is willing to share.

"You did well."