Claire was led into the interrogation room.
The cramped space pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe.
“Take a seat,” the detective said, his voice cutting through the silence. He pulled out a notepad and pen, ready to record her statement.
Claire sat slowly, her hands gripping the edges of the chair until her knuckles turned white.
“Let’s get specific,” the detective continued, his questions rapid-fire. “Who did you kill? Where did it happen? How did you do it? And why?”
Claire drew in a shaky breath and began.
“I killed Hank Brown. Scarlet. Vincent. And…” Her voice was low and hoarse. With every name she spoke, bloody memories flickered in her mind: Mandy’s wild eyes, the twisted faces of her victims.
With each confession, the detective’s eyes grew wider. He never would have guessed that this frail-looking woman sitting in front of him had killed four people—let alone in such a brutal way.
He forced himself to remain calm, but shock churned in his gut.
“You’re certain you killed all four?” he pressed, trying to catch a tremor in Claire’s voice.
She nodded, her tone steady and firm. “Yes. I killed them all.”
He started scribbling notes. “Then tell me—why did you do it?”
Claire closed her eyes, as if bracing herself against a tide of painful memories.
She told him everything she’d suffered: Hank Brown’s violent assault, Scarlet’s calculated betrayal, Vincent’s lies and cruelty. She spoke, too, of the beatings she endured while locked away.
She didn’t lie—she didn’t have to. Every word was the truth.
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