Chapter 36

Questioning the Prisoner

The next day Uncle Johnny calls to tell us that they’re going to question the prisoner down at the police station. He wants us all to be there for the interrogation. At my uncle’s request, I extend the invitation to Wyatt, Oliver, Jackson and Nathaniel, also. I’ve been cold all morning so I know Anthony’s nearby and will be coming along, too. Unfortunately, Jeff will have to wait in the car. We can’t have him barking his head off at Anthony the whole time we’re at the station.

My father drives my mom’s car, with her riding shotgun and me in the back. It feels like the old days, when I was little. Before we bought the minivan, whenever we went somewhere as a family, Joe and Clement and I had to squish into the back seat of the car together. We always fought about who got to sit near the windows. My brothers are older and bigger so they always won and I had to sit scrunched in the middle between them with my skinny, scabby-kneed little legs humped up in front of me. I used to whine and complain for the whole ride. Today I have my pick of the window seats in the back, but I’d give anything to be crammed in between my two big brothers.

As soon as Dad parks the car in the police station parking lot, I jump out and run over to Nathaniel’s van. He and Jeff are sitting outside waiting for us. I wrap my arms around Jeff’s furry neck and apologize to him because he can’t come in. He licks my cheek to show me he has no hard feelings. Oliver and Jackson pull up with Wyatt folded into the back seat. As I watch Wyatt extract himself from Oliver’s car I want to rush over and throw myself into his arms but I use self-control.

Jeff settles down on his dog bed in the back of the van and perks up one ear to show us that he’s alert just in case there’s trouble and we need him. Nathaniel leaves the door open so his dog can get some air and see what’s going on. No need to lock the van. It’s parked at the police station, plus no one’s going to mess with a dog Jeff’s size. The seven of us move toward the entrance to the station together. Wyatt hugs me to him with one arm around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, that weasel didn’t hurt me. I feel fine, just tired.”

“Are you sure you want to see him?”

“I’m dying to see him. I still haven’t gotten a good look at his face. I need to know who this monster is. He probably killed Daniel and Anthony and he tried to kill me, more than once. I think if my nightmare has a face, he won’t seem so terrifying.”

A cold blast of air brushes my hair back from my face. Wyatt feels it too. We look at each other.

“Anthony.” Wyatt says. “He’s finally going to get his day in court.”

“We caught Mike Donahue trying to kidnap and murder me, which should put him away for a long time. But I don’t see how we’re going to get him to tell us what happened over twenty years ago.”

“We’ll think of something.”

“Like what?”

“If your Uncle Johnny gets to question him, the guy’s a dead man.”

“Even Uncle Johnny can’t get away with that.”

“Maybe not, but Mike Donahue doesn’t know it.”

“They had to read him his rights. He must have a lawyer by now.”

“Doesn’t matter. Officer Blake can do it. I have faith in him.”

Nathaniel looks up from his wheelchair. “I hate Mike Donahue for what he tried to do to you, Annabelle.”

“Get in line. We all want a piece of him,” Wyatt adds.

“Yes. We do. Only the law’s protecting him now. He spent all these years hiding from the law and now it’s his only refuge. Otherwise, we’d destroy him; even your mom, Annabelle. I’ve never seen her like this. She’ll rip him apart, probably with her bare hands, if they let her near him.”

As it turns out, though, Mike Donahue doesn’t need to worry about my mother’s violent wrath. As soon as we enter the police station, Uncle Johnny and another officer escort Mike Donahue into the interrogation room. The prisoner gives his shackles a noisy waggle and sneers in our direction. My poor mother staggers backwards as the first wave of evil hits her. She could gather her strength and send it right back in his face, but we need him to talk. It would be counterproductive if my mother used her talent to subdue him. We need Donahue to be cocky and confident so he’ll reveal important information. Uncle Johnny will probably try to get him to brag about what he got away with. That would be a good strategy.

My mother pushes her hair back from her face and tells my dad, “Looks like Jeff’s about to get some company in the van.”

My dad hugs her protectively with one arm and walks her out of the station.

When I finally view my enemy for the first time, he looks remarkably average, kind of like Kevin Spacey in one of his less crazy roles. Then Donahue squints in my direction and snaps his teeth at me. Uncle Johnny shoves him and he stumbles and complains about police brutality.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” my uncle says as he and another officer push my attacker into a room with a one-way mirror, just like they have on Law and Order.

My uncle stays in the room with the prisoner and the other officer leads us into the adjoining room. It’s small and dark and there’s a row of folding chairs lined up in front of the big window. After we’ve been seated for a couple of minutes, the door opens and my dad joins us; he slides his arm around my shoulders and gives them a squeeze.

With his mouth close to my ear he whispers, “Your mother’s fine. As soon as she got outside, she perked right up. We can fill her in on all the details after. She’s taking Jeff for a walk around the parking lot.”

I smile up at him. “Mike Donahue looks pretty ordinary.”

“But he’s not. Thankfully you don’t often meet people like him.”

“Yes. Once is enough.”

We watch the prisoner, sitting on the other side of the glass with his hands cuffed together and his feet shackled at the ankles. Uncle Johnny starts up the conversation that we all hope will lead to a confession.

First, my uncle invites Donahue to sit down on a metal chair and asks him if he wants to wait for his lawyer.

“Nope. I’m not gonna admit to anything. Ask whatever questions you want. I’m good at keeping quiet.”

“I don’t need to ask a lot of questions. We caught you with Annabelle and the knife, in the woods.”

“Like I said, I’m not saying nothin’ incriminating so ask away.”

“At least you smell better, Mike. That stench was pretty disgusting.”

“Yeah, I’d been living out of my car for weeks.” Donahue chuckles. “It was hard to find a shower sometimes.”

“I still have nightmares about the smell.” I shudder and Dad pats my shoulder.

A couple of police officers are standing in the corners of the room we’re in. One of them is the detective who’ll question Donahue after Uncle Johnny’s done with him.

He turns to my dad and explains, “We want to try to get him talking before his lawyer gets here and I start questioning him officially; if you have anything you’d like Johnny to ask him tell me now. I can pass him a note.”

Wyatt speaks up, surprising us all. “I want to go in there with them.”

The detective pauses to think for a second and then says, “You helped capture him. I suppose you’ve earned the right to face him man to man.”

“Yes. I’ve earned it and I can’t wait.”

“Keep your hands to yourself, though. We don’t want to give him a reason to complain about the way he’s being treated. We’ve got an open and shut case. I don’t want to screw it up.”

“I can control myself; don’t worry.”

“Okay, then, come with me.” The detective leads Wyatt into the interrogation room and then comes back to sit with us. We all focus our eyes intently on the one-way mirror.

Wyatt doesn’t sit down. He hulks around, pacing and staring at the enemy, who looks like he could be anybody’s next door neighbor, except for the handcuffs and chains.

Mike Donahue chuckles. “Look who’s here, the big brave hero. Pull up a chair. I’m not gonna talk, so now at least he’ll have somebody to talk to.” He jerks his head in my uncle’s direction.

“I’d rather stand.” Wyatt towers over the prisoner. He’s two inches taller than my uncle who’s standing beside him. Donahue shoves his own chair back and rises to face them.

I pull my chair close to Nathaniel’s wheelchair and he smiles at me, which doesn’t calm me down even a little.

Breaking his promise to stay silent, Donahue taunts Wyatt. “Where’s the girl?”

“What girl?” my uncle counters.

Wyatt’s face turns red and his eyes darken.

Uncle Johnny quietly tells him, “Stand down.”

“You know what girl,” Donahue jeers. “The one everyone’s willing to fight and die for.”

“What about her?” Uncle Johnny asks.

The criminal sneers at them. “Where is she? I’d rather see her than this guy.”

“But I’m the one who has some questions for you.” My boyfriend is speaking from between clenched teeth.

“I told you. I’m not talking.”

“They aren’t questions about yesterday, when you tried to kill my girlfriend. They’re questions about the past.”

“I refuse to talk about the past. I’m waiting until my lawyer gets here.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

Nathaniel reaches for my hand and holds it, warm in his own. In the small, spare room with the one-way mirror, I can feel everyone’s mood intensify as we watch.

Wyatt continues. “I want to ask you about a winter night in 1986.”

“I don’t remember anything about 1986. That was a long time ago.”

“This was a very memorable night, though. I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me about the night of February 10th, in 1986. You were working at the Wild Wood Psychiatric Hospital.”

“I’m not admitting to anything.”

“Maybe I can jog your memory. Right around midnight you paid a visit to room 209. You had a violent confrontation with a patient. His name was Daniel Warren.”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Maybe this name will. His cell mate was called Anthony.”

“I don’t remember anyone at Wild Wood named Anthony.”

Mike Donahue starts shuffling his feet. One of his shoulders twitches up and then quickly twitches back down again. He seems agitated. Maybe he’s wondering how Wyatt came up with the name Anthony. Maybe he’s worried because he just inadvertently admitted he worked at the hospital.

Wyatt pushes the same emotional button again. “Anthony. He died that night, too. You murdered him and Daniel Warren.”

“I didn’t murder anyone. You can’t even prove I worked there.”

“I know someone who can.”

“Who?”

“The girl. She’s sitting out there. Watching us right now.” Wyatt points to the mirror.

I let go of Nathaniel’s hand, rise out of my chair and take a step closer to the window side of the mirror.

“Would you like to wave to the girl?” Wyatt smiles a thin smile, barely showing his even, white teeth.

With my uncle’s help, Donahue turns and takes a step toward the mirror. His ankle cuffs and chains clink and jingle as he moves. He grins, probably because he thinks his presence will scare me, even through the glass. My uncle shivers and I know why the interrogation room has grown cold.

Then things happen fast. Wyatt’s eyes grow even darker and gray half circles appear under them. His cheekbones become more pronounced and hollow-looking. Anthony’s taken over his body.

The dead boy moves over to stand next to Mike Donahue, close enough so their arms touch. Anthony stares into the mirror and the prisoner does, too. Then Mike shakes his head like a dog with a flea crawling around in its ear. He blinks twice and lets out a horrific scream, a scream that could wake the dead. Except the dead are already awake.

Donahue sputters and spittle sprays from his pathetic mouth as he begs. “Get him outta here! Get that monster away from me!”

The whole time he’s screaming and pleading, Donahue’s eyes are glued to the mirror because he can’t believe what he sees. Anthony’s face. The face of someone who died over twenty years ago. The prisoner’s hair grows whiter as we watch. His mouth forms a black oval and he screams again. He grabs onto Uncle Johnny’s shirt sleeve and begs, “Please, please. I’ll tell you anything. Send it back to Hell. Get it away from me!”

Anthony smiles at me through the glass, a ghoulish imitation of a human smile. No warmth, no humor. A smile born from the cold satisfaction of revenge. A smile with all the charm of a skull’s toothy grin.

“What’s the matter, Mike? Don’t you remember me?” The dead boy’s voice slides up and out of Wyatt’s throat like a vampire creeps out of his coffin at dusk. Slow and pale, but strong and bloodthirsty.

“If I never existed then why are you so afraid? Maybe you should scream louder. I don’t think the girl heard you.”

Mike Donahue lets go of my uncle’s sleeve and stares into the glass with his eyes bugging out and mouth slack. It’s a horrible sight. He’s gasping for breath. If Anthony doesn’t leave the room soon Donahue will have a heart attack and the paramedics will have to come in from the fire station next door. They’ll have to use the paddles to revive him.

“I tell you what, Mike. Let’s make a deal. Officer Blake is going to bring a detective in here and I want you to tell him everything that happened on February 10th, 1986. Then I’ll leave you alone. I won’t return.”

“Okay. Okay.” Donahue bobs his head a few times. He’s shaking.

“But if you leave out even one tiny detail, I’m coming back. When it’s dark and you’re alone in your cell. We’ll have a long talk. Just you and me.” Anthony looms; large and threatening, as he takes a step backward, toward the door and lets loose a cold and hollow laugh.

“I’ll talk. I promise. I’ll tell him everything that happened. I won’t leave anything out. Just go. Leave me alone. Please.” Mike Donahue quivers and begs and still his tortured eyes stay riveted to the mirror. I stare into the hell that lies within them, while behind him Anthony leaves. Uncle Johnny unlocks the door and Wyatt walks out and closes it behind him. When the door to our little room opens, Wyatt stumbles in and falls into my arms. I stagger under his weight and my dad and Oliver jump up to help us. We get him into a chair and resume watching the drama inside the room with the one-way mirror. Uncle Johnny helps the prisoner back to his chair and the badly shaken man collapses into it.

“What the hell just happened in there?” The detective, who’s sitting next to Nathaniel looks mystified.

“Beats the hell out of me.” My dad shakes his head. “Maybe Donahue’s guilty conscience is causing him to hallucinate.”

“Crazy bastard.” The detective shakes his head.

Inside the interrogation room, my uncle beckons for the detective to replace him. The detective leaves us and enters the room on the other side of the window. Donahue’s lawyer finally arrives. The lawyer sits down next to his client and opens a laptop. He glances up at the video camera in the corner. The green light’s blinking. What will everyone see when they review the film?

The prisoner crumples and lays his cheek on the cold surface of the gray metal table in front of him. Through the dim window I can see the goose flesh on Mike Donahue’s bare arms.