"Your heart is on a rampage, boy," Abby sneered.
Dion slowly closed his eyes even though he was in the middle of an investigation. He forgot about the two people in the room. He needs to reflect on his thoughts to escape now.
'If she found conclusive evidence, then how am I going to get out of this place? Wait… conclusive evidence! If she had one, why am I here and not in jail? She only mentioned evidence but didn't mention any. That means she has nothing; she is trying to lead me to talk with her bravado. Hahaha. What a nice trick. But she has already pressured me to be specific and stop talking in circles. That means I need to speak with specificity which will give me out. What do I do?'
Dion racked his brain for a minute. Abby pressured him with her voice, telling him about various pieces of evidence she found but he remained in his mindscape.
His eyes abruptly snapped open, shimmering with sharp glint. 'I need to come out of my comfort zone to escape. The secluded, independent, and safe zone that keeps me happy… I need to come out of it.'
"You want to know the truth?" Dion's eyes turned aggressive, an emotion he hardly exhibited.
"Yes," Abby was already in aggressive mode.
Dion stood up and slammed his hand on the table. He raised the pitch of his voice. "Yeah, I know about the deal that happened tonight! Rocky Peters, I know about him! But how is that a crime?! You were in the club when the shooting started. I ran like everybody. But is it my fault I arrived in that alley?! Is it my fault I met a rabid dog?! I merely tried to survive and the man got shot. How am I the one arrested?! You only came when the fight for survival was over and arrested me. I'm sure you haven't checked the man's body."
He pointed his finger at the phone on the table. "My phone looks suspicious but did you find any evidence as claimed? No. I'm only scared because my nude photos were previously in it. I don't know if I've deleted them. So, how is my heart on a rampage a crime? I'm the victim but here I am, treated as the culprit because of your damn prejudice at the club! My disposition? That's my trait."
Dion's outburst reverberated through the room, his emotions raw and palpable. The tension in the air was thick, hanging like an invisible fog. Abby, who had been listening intently, remained silent, absorbing his every word.
Dion, now seated, took a ragged breath, his body trembling slightly with the remnants of his anger. Despite his limited social interactions, he possessed a keen understanding of the world, honed by the harsh realities he had encountered. He grew up in the street where survival of the fittest was demanded.
The door swung open and a bald man in a cop uniform entered.
'Sh*t!' This was the person Dion was avoiding.
"Dion, you're here? Ah! It has been a long time since you came here." The man smiled at Dion like a person who had seen his old friend.
"Did you find any evidence?" He asked Abby.
Abby explained dutifully, "No, Chief. But I'm in the process–"
"Then let him go." He waved his hand.
"Thanks, Davidson," Dion replied and stood up without waiting for Abby. "I'm taking my phone." He picked up his phone and took large strides out of the room.
Abby's mouth was still open from the ordeal that had transpired. She was too shocked to react. Just as Davidson turned to leave, Abby rushed up to him. "Chief, that's wrong! We had a lead. His heart raced when he saw the phone."
Davidson hesitated at the door, his hand lingering on the doorknob. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward Abby, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and curiosity.
"Do you know who that is?" he asked, his voice catching Abby off guard. His finger extended, pointing at the door through which Dion had just made his exit.
Abby couldn't help but respond sarcastically, her anger still smoldering. "The President's son, perhaps?"
Shaking his head, Davidson motioned for Abby to follow him. With a grave expression, he led her into his office, the weight of the situation palpable in the air.
As they stepped inside, Abby's eyes took in the details of the room. A table, cluttered with files and a computer, sat near the window, while two long couches faced each other in the center of the office. A small table stood between them, with a solitary one-seater couch positioned nearby.
Taking a seat on the couch, Davidson gestured at the couch opposite him for Abby to join him. "Have a seat, so that I can tell you a story."
Abby complied, her gaze fixed intently on Davidson, her curiosity piqued.
"Please, stop looking at me as if you're ready to devour my soul," Davidson chuckled nervously, his hand rubbing his bald head in an attempt to alleviate the tension.
Then he turned serious. "Have you read about the 'psychopathic Dion'?"
"You mean the 'murderer-no-murderer'?" Abby arched an eyebrow. Then her eyes widened. "Don't tell me that boy…"
"Yes, he is the person. Let me tell you his full story. I was the person investigating him then," Davidson said solemnly. "Years ago, when I hadn't gotten to my current rank, I was driving by an old street when I spotted a kid standing in a dark alley and a dead kid in front of him. Of course, I rushed to the scene. There, I saw a little boy murdered in cold blood by a kitchen knife."
"Then, Dion was only seven. So I asked him what happened. Guess what he told me? He said he just got into the alley with the boy when a person flashed by, placed the knife in his hand, and used his hand to commit the murder. When I questioned him about the person, he replied that the person wasn't wearing a mask but he had forgotten the person's face. The height, complexion, everything… he had forgotten all."
"That's bullshit! Even if he's a kid, he can't forget everything," Abby retorted instantly.
"I thought the same and took him to my house when I found out he was an orphan. Then I launched a personal investigation. I found nothing except the fingerprint of seven-year-old Dion on the knife. But his fingerprint was only on a particular part of the knife and not all over it, which means he just got the knife. When I dug deeper, I found out that Dion and the boy were close friends and there was no feud between them. It was a tough case. My diggings led me to Dion's past." Davidson sighed softly.
"His past was nothing impressive. He was just a kid who grew up in an orphanage from birth but ran out of the orphanage when he was five. That's how he entered the street and began surviving. You can read the file about the orphanage investigation in my file. Let's not stray from the main topic." Davidson waved his hand.
Abby nodded as she continued listening attentively.
"One night, I came home and Dion was gone from my house. He escaped from my house and went back to the street. School? He wasn't interested. Food from my house? He never trusted me enough to eat freely; always behaving like I kept poison for him." Davidson sighed weakly as he remembered the past.
"So, I didn't bother to bring him back. I left him to his ways because he was clearly uncomfortable even after spending a month with me in my house. But… I kept my eyes on him from a distance." Davidson's eyes leaned forward and a sharp glint flashed past his eyes. "Guess what I found?"