Emilia sits alone in a small interview room, the door propped open, the sound of a clock ticking setting her nerves on edge. The room feels small, alien, so distant from when she was on the other side of the table, asking the pointed questions instead of attempting to answer them.
She had called the police immediately, desperation pulsing through her as she said that she needed to speak to officers straightaway and that they needed to come to her parents’ address. She couldn’t leave – they were in danger. Wild arrived with another detective and Emilia trembled as she braced herself to tell the truth. There would be consequences. But they couldn’t get in the way of the truth. They couldn’t get in the way of what was right.
‘I know where it is,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve found the Confession Room.’
Wild had jumped into action. Emilia had rushed to explain how she had figured it out and as soon as she showed Wild the map, the location on her screen, she was out of the room like a shot, an urgent message going out to all officers. The armed unit deployed immediately.
Wild asked Emilia to come to the police station and after some reassurance that uniformed officers would remain with her parents, Emilia agreed, relief pulsating through her. They are safe. And then she was led to this room and told to wait. She had wondered if a detective would join her, begin asking her questions, begin attempting to piece together why she had withheld this information for so long. But that hasn’t happened. She hasn’t even been placed under arrest. She has been alone ever since, with nothing but her imagination, her mind travelling along those winding roads, racing to find them before they escape.
She closes her eyes and images unspool behind them, vivid and bright.
Police race down the narrow lanes, but the surrounding countryside is not set ablaze with blue light. They manoeuvred through the traffic of the town with the sirens wailing, but now they are closer they are travelling in silence, the only sound the roar of the engines as they speed around each bend.
The cars pull over abruptly, some officers decamping further away and blocking off the lane. Others, all armed, approach the gates, eroding iron towering above them. Some of them clamber over, others finding a way through a slight gap in the hedgerow further down.
They make their way silently across the space leading up to the farmhouse, their boots squelching through the mud, the loose shingle shifting beneath their feet. If they’d had a choice they would have waited for the cover of night. But no time can be wasted with the Confession Room. Not with these people.
They reach the house, gathering around the various ways inside – the door at the front, one at the side and another at the back – all ready for a coordinated, sudden entrance.
Three, two, one –
‘Police!’ they shout, the rams battering against the doors in unison.
They rush inside, the unit to the front making their way upstairs, the units from the back and side filtering to opposite sides of the building.
Nothing.
‘Any location of the basement stairs?’ a voice cries from the centre of the house.
Emilia opens her eyes, blinking slowly in the bright fluorescent light of the interview room as she remembers the feeling of the man’s grip as it burned into her skin. He had tugged her up a set of stairs, her feet stumbling beneath her, yanked to standing again by the binding at her wrists. Then there was a short walk, the air close and dank. Then the cold, fresh relief of outside.
She closes her eyes again.
Their footsteps thunder across the building and then down the narrow set of stairs into the darkness of the rooms hidden beneath. A short corridor: then a room to one side, monitors on the desk, the screens black; and a large pane of glass – the other side of the two-way mirror.
Then at the end of the hallway, a heavy metal door, a steel bar drawn across into the wall, locking it from the outside.
The officer at the front grasps the bar and pulls, the metal creaking as it refuses to move. Finally, it gives, shrieking like nails on a chalkboard as it judders open. The officer thrusts one hand against the door, pushing it open, his other hand aiming his weapon.
Tears spill from Emilia’s closed eyes, through her lashes and down her cheeks, pooling around her mouth.
There it is.
The Confession Room. The countdown suspended from the centre of the ceiling, the numbers frozen at sixty seconds. The mirror, gleaming. Discarded boxes in the corners. The iron half-moons hammered into the walls on opposite corners.
Emilia opens her eyes. That is where her imagination ends the story. That is where she is unable to even try to predict what might happen inside that room. Will they be there – the man and the woman? If they are, will they be alone? Or will there be victims chained to the walls?
And will they be dead or alive?
The door bursts open and Emilia lifts her head, anxiety flooding through her, her entire body humming.
‘Ciaran?’ she whispers, not believing it.
But it is him standing at the door, the colour in his face drained away with worry, his eyes red and tired. He rushes towards her, dropping to his knees as his arm wraps around her waist, his head turning towards her, his mouth pressing a warm kiss against her neck.
‘I heard that some units had gone out to a suspected location of the Room … And then someone said your name, said you were here … What’s going on, Emi?’
She avoids his insistent gaze, instead looking down at the floor, at the stain on the carpet just between his feet. How is she going to tell him that she lied? And even worse – how is she going to tell him what she did?
‘I figured out where they’ve been taking people …’ She takes a deep, shaky breath, her chin trembling. ‘I lied when I said I didn’t remember anything.’
Ciaran’s breathing falters, just for a second, his face contorting with confusion. ‘You promised … you said that you didn’t –’
‘I know, and I’m so sorry.’ He drops his hands from around her waist, one lifting to his forehead, his eyes partially hidden behind his fingers. She reaches for him, her heart falling as he flinches at her touch. ‘I didn’t want to lie to you but I was scared.’
‘Scared of what? Scared of them harming your family? Your parents have officers at their house now. You would be protected. We would protect you – they couldn’t hurt you again.’
‘You don’t understand –’
‘So explain!’ He drops to his knees. ‘I’m right here … It’s me, Emi. You’ve always been able to tell me everything. So, tell me.’
‘I want to, but –’
‘But what?’
She shakes her head. ‘You can’t be the first to know the truth,’ she whispers. ‘I wish I could explain, but I can’t.’
‘The first to know the truth about what?’
Emilia’s chest tightens at his sad, confused eyes. She reaches out a finger, tracing his stubble-covered chin with a sigh. ‘The truth about what really happens in that room.’
Ciaran’s expression freezes as her words hit him, a blow that takes a second or two to feel.
‘Ciaran, I –’
The door opens, air rushing out of the room. They both look round, Ciaran peering over his shoulder to face the door.
It’s Henry. And just behind his shoulder is Inspector Wild. Her face is completely still, neutral as she stares down at Emilia and Ciaran, but Henry’s expression is stern, almost cold.
‘Emilia, can you come with us, please?’ Henry says. ‘We have some questions for you if that’s okay?’
Ciaran rushes to his feet, his gaze darting from Henry to Wild and back again to Emilia.
‘What’s happening?’ he asks, his voice strained.
‘Ciaran, it’s probably best if you leave. You shouldn’t be here.’
Emilia rises to her feet, her hands raised to her mouth, as if in silent prayer.
‘What happened?’ she whispers. ‘Did you find the Room?’
‘We’ll explain more during your interview, Emilia.’ Wild steps to one side and points towards the door. ‘Come with me.’
‘Wait –’ Ciaran holds out his arm, blocking the door. ‘What’s going on? What did you find at that farm? Penny –’
‘Ciaran, I am telling you now as your superior that you need to leave,’ Wild interrupts, staring at him impassively. ‘You were taken off this investigation for a reason and right now you are actively impeding it.’
Ciaran shakes his head, lifting his hands up in a silent question. She wishes she could explain. She wishes she could give him the answers to all his confusion. But she can’t say anything.
Wild walks away, stepping out of the room and waiting to one side.
Emilia takes a step forward, her feet shuffling on the carpet. They are heavy, as if a weight is bound around her ankles. A chain … just like before.
Ciaran watches her silently as she moves past him. She doesn’t want to look his way, but she is pulled to him as always, a magnet drawn to its opposite. His eyes are full of the secrets he knows she is keeping from him. She wants to whisper that she is sorry. But she won’t. Not with Wild there listening.
Instead she breaks away from his once comforting gaze and walks out, leaving him behind, all alone in that room.
Emilia is sitting back in her chair, desperately trying to create as much distance as she can between herself and Wild on the other side of the table, DS Brennan at her side. But the tension between them is still unbearable.
‘Okay,’ Wild says. ‘Let’s go.’
Brennan leans across the table, reaching for the recording device. He pushes a button firmly. A loud beep sounds, signalling the start of the interview.
‘This is the first interview under caution of Emilia Haines.’ He pauses briefly. ‘I am Detective Sergeant Brennan and with me in this interview is Detective Inspector Wild.’
‘Emilia,’ Wild says, shuffling forward in her chair. ‘We firstly want to thank you for the information you gave this morning. I know that it must have been difficult for you to do so, but –’
‘Did they find the Room?’
Emilia bites down hard on her bottom lip – she shouldn’t have interrupted.
‘They did find the Room, yes.’
‘And the couple?’
Wild pauses, her face still calm. She shakes her head. ‘They weren’t there, Emilia.’
‘They weren’t?’
‘No. And they had removed everything.’ Wild sighs, blinking rapidly. ‘Well, everything except the latest victims.’
Emilia gasps, her hands flying to cover her ears. ‘Victims?’
‘Yes. A man and a woman. Both chained to the wall.’
‘Alive?’ Emilia whispers the hopeful word, even though she already knows the horrifying truth.
Wild shakes her head abruptly. ‘Dead.’
Harris Keaton’s face appears, hovering in the space between her and Wild.
‘Do you know who they were?’
‘We’ll talk about that in a while,’ Wild says. ‘First, I’d like to show you something.’
Emilia bites her tongue, forcing down the many desperate questions she has about who they found in that room, the words choking her. She was too late.
Wild opens a laptop and places it in front of the recording device, facing outward so that all three of them are able to see the screen. The forum is there, its stark white background shining out at them, The Confession Room hanging from the top of the page, taunting her.
‘As officers arrived at the location this morning and found the Room empty except for two bodies, a new post went up on the forum, Emilia,’ Wild says. She begins to scroll, her perfectly manicured nails clicking on the trackpad.
She stops, zooming in on the post so it is enlarged on the screen.
Emilia squints, her eyes racing over the confession. Have they named Harris? Who was the woman? She stalls as the words click into place.
This isn’t a confession.
Anonymous 01
We wished you luck and it seems that our wishes may have served you well. This is the end of the Confession Room.
But the end comes with a price. Because somebody broke the rules.
Emilia Haines: the consequences of the below are all because of you.
The Confession Room has not been what it appears. And it is time to reveal the truth. It is time to reveal who the real monsters are.
Emilia’s eyes linger on her name – that sentence turning her cold from the inside out.
‘As you’ll see,’ Wild continues, moving the screen downwards, ‘below the post are several links.’
Emilia leans in even closer, her teeth chattering against each other.
Rosie Johnson – murderer
Joseph Henley – murderer
Isabella Santos – murderer
Emilia Haines – murderer
Emilia stares at the screen, her mind unable to process how one word follows on from the other. Everything inside her has fallen still, the room turning inconceivably quiet – the storm swirling around her.
Wild clicks on Emilia’s name and they are transported to another site with a black screen, a play button suspended in the middle of the screen. A video whirs for a moment, and then the room appears. And there, standing just feet away from Ryan, is Emilia. Her arms raised, holding the gun.
‘Is that you, Emilia?’ Wild asks, a gentle voice for a pointed question.
But she can’t answer. She tries to breathe in, but she can’t. She can’t watch this, she can’t do this –
A loud bang blasts through the laptop speakers. Emilia cries out, covering her eyes, but too late. Ryan’s body slams into the wall behind him, instantly collapsing as life vanishes in a moment.
Wild pauses the video and jabs her finger at the screen.
‘That’s you – isn’t it, Emilia?’
She nods slowly, tears streaming down her face. She can’t deny it. It is as clear as day. How had she been so stupid?
‘Emilia Haines, we are arresting you on suspicion of murder, perverting the course of justice and assisting an offender. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
All of the oxygen in Emilia’s lungs is forced out of her, as if she has been punched in the stomach. Winded. She falls completely still, her mouth hanging open.
They know everything.
The world knows everything.