The Price of Blind Trust and Cruel Coldness Chapter 07
The air inside the interrogation room felt frozen solid.
Thomas slumped in his chair like a pile of mud, empty eyes fixed on the ceiling. That severed arm replayed endlessly in his mind.
Remorse coiled around his chest, suffocating and venomous.
“How could this happen…” Tears slid down his cheeks and splashed onto his cold metal handcuffs. “I never meant to kill her… I only wanted to teach her a lesson… Willa said it was just a prank.”
At the mention of Willa’s name, Detective Chandler let out a sharp scoff and tossed a signed witness statement onto the table before Thomas. “You still cling to your confidante? Read Willa’s official testimony.”
Thomas’s shaking hands unfolded the document. Every word stabbed into his eyes like sharp blades.
In her statement, Willa sobbed that Thomas had masterminded everything. She claimed he’d long since grown tired of Jennifer.
He’d plotted this “accident” so they could be together openly without splitting their marital assets. He had pressured her to swap out the prop knife for a real blade. He had personally disposed of the crate to destroy evidence.
“That’s a lie!” Thomas ripped the statement into tiny shreds, roaring like a maddened beast. “It was her! That vile woman Willa!”
“She was the one who suggested frightening Jennifer inside the magic crate! She switched the knife! I had no idea there was a real blade in that box!”
His eyes burned red-rimmed and wild, veins corded along his neck. All the fondness he’d once felt curdled into burning hatred. He finally realized he’d been used as the weapon for murder.
“I demand to see her! I need to confront this vicious woman and ask why she framed me!”
Detective Chandler saw an opportunity and authorized a supervised confrontation.
Thomas saw Willa, also restrained in handcuffs. Her hair was messy, her face ashen pale.
The second she spotted Thomas, she threw herself against the glass, weeping hysterically. “Tom, you have to save me! Tell the officers you ordered me to do it, won’t you?”
Thomas stared at her face, overcome with revulsion. “Willa! How could you be so inhuman? You killed Jennifer, and now you want me to take the fall? Why didn’t you tell me you were using a real knife?”
The gentle vulnerability vanished from Willa’s features in an instant, replaced by a shrill, icy sneer. “Don’t act like an innocent victim, Thomas. Are you going to pretend you didn’t want Jennifer dead?”
“What were the things you called her when we shared a bed? You said the mere sight of her disgusted you! The crate shook violently when I drove the blade into her.”
“You were sitting in the audience. There’s no way you failed to notice. Deep down, you wished she’d die sooner.”
With his darkest secrets laid bare, Thomas completely lost control. “You seduced me! If not for you, Jennifer would still be alive!”
The two screamed accusations at each other through the barrier. Sweet old whispers twisted into vicious curses. Each fought desperately to pin the murder charge onto the other.
Detective Chandler watched the spectacle silently and pressed the record button.
In the police department’s family interview room, Antony sat on a sofa in the corner, clutching a faded stuffed bear tightly to his chest. It was the third-birthday gift I’d bought him.
He had not seen his father for two days; only unfamiliar police officers questioned him.
“Antony, try to remember carefully.” The female officer softened her tone. “At the theater that day, what did the knife Willa held look like?”
Antony bit his lower lip, wide eyes swimming with terror. “The knife glinted bright… Willa said stabbing Mom would make her fall asleep.”
He stared down at the toy bear in his hands. “But so much red liquid came out of Mom… Dad told me it was ketchup, but the liquid smelled terrible.”
The officer sighed and gently stroked his hair. “Antony, your mom traveled to a faraway place.”
Antony lifted his head abruptly, confusion flickering across his face. “A faraway place? Does that mean she got put into a small box, just like Grandpa?”
The officer nodded reluctantly.
Antony froze. He’d attended his grandfather’s funeral. He understood what death meant.
No one would stay up all night holding him when he fell ill. No one would cook fried chicken for him anymore.
“No… I don’t want Mom to be dead…” His eyes instantly flooded. Large tears splashed onto the back of his hand.
He recalled shouting that Mom was the bad person at the theater that day. He remembered clapping as the snakes were poured into the crate. He’d believed Mom had bullied Willa. But now, his mother was gone forever.
A shrill wail burst out of Antony. He cried with raw, tearing grief. He tossed the stuffed bear aside and threw himself into the officer’s arms, clinging fiercely to her shirt. “I’m sorry! I don’t want Willa anymore! I want Mom! Give my mom back to me!”
The child’s cries echoed through the room, heavy with a grief far too vast for his small body.
He was the one who had pushed the mother who loved him more than anything into the abyss.
I hovered above him, watching his tear-streaked face. No more pain or sorrow stirred inside me.
Tears shed too late could never wash away the stain of blood.