Can't Live With 'Em, So Kill 'Em

A flash fiction piece written during my time that I spent obsessed with serial killers and I've been thinking about expanding it.

I looked at the detective apathetically as he entered the interrogation room. My interrogation room, the one I have sat in so many times before. Detective Trent slapped the file- my file- on the table in front of me. “It's not looking good for you, Ron,” he said. “You're getting the death penalty for sure.”

I leaned forward in the cheap, metal chair, allowing my eyes to drown out the fluorescent lights and white walls, so I could focus on Trent's angry, deep, dark eyes. He sat in the chair across from me, never letting his eyes leave my own. “Twelve murdered, and their blood's on your hands.”

I allowed myself to look down to my handcuffs. “You've got only one option,” he said.

I brought my face up again, noticing something new in Trent's expression. “If you would be interested, there is this; you could give us your methods of slaughter to the military. Obviously, you have the skill and haven't been caught for,” he paused as he opened my file, “four years. That was your first kill.” Oh, yes. I remembered that well. “It seems those Middle-Easterners don't die as easy as they used to. They've been killing us faster,” he continued.

You need my help? I almost asked.

“You willing to show us your ways?” Trent asked.

I chuckled dryly. “Sure,” my deep voice happy to unleash the word.