Interrogation Room

By Greg Wilburn

But Jake has a plan. He already knows how the whole show will play out, leaving all for him to do is put on the performance of a lifetime. The details point out each mistake he made in preparation for his crime, but he hopes his slick words will get him out of a pinch. While the clock seems to quickly run out and the detectives become increasingly desperate to catch a murderer, will Jake Carson be able to escape the unforgiving walls of the interrogation room?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Wilburn
• Release date: Dec 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311343536

Greg Wilburn

What is most important about writing is the art of storytelling. I hope that my writing does what a great story should do: make you feel, think, and see something so vividly that it impacts your interactions with the world around you after you've read it. That's because writing is a world all of its own. I write horror, flash fiction, and literary stories that take what we see--even what we want to see--and make it something entirely different. What is most important to this kind of experience is that you leave it saying, "Yep. That was it. And now my world is made anew."I am a writer living in San Dimas, California, and I know that the stories I bring to Smashwords are worth the small contribution I ask. If not, tell me; I want to be a better writer, and I can't do it without feedback. Tell me your thoughts, and show me your stories. Let's share what our imaginations hold together.

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Interrogation Room

By Greg Wilburn

Copyright 2014 Greg Wilburn

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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INTERROGATION ROOM

One day after the O’ Talley’s murder incident on the corner of 16th Street and Kalon Avenue.

(I see the police station. I’m led in from the main offices where the officers on duty give me glances of disgust, like they’ve already decided I’m a murderer without even gettin’ to know me. I meet their spite with kind smiles, hoping to change their premeditated image of what my arrestors have told them I am. It doesn’t work. They grimace, placing their guns on their holsters and waitin’ for me to move, to give them an excuse to blast me up with more holes than swiss cheese.

I shrug my shoulders and look forward confidently, assuring myself and the bossy officers pushin’ me through the main walkway of my innocence. They don’t have anythin’ on me, except for a few unreliable witnesses across the street from the bar after everythin’ happened. They’ll have a hell of a hard time pinnin’ the massacre on me.

The shufflin’ papers and groanin’ detainees and clop-clop of the uniform shoes fade as we round the first corner. The big officer with the faggoty moustache—Bailey. He’ll probably be called somethin’ like that by the other one—shoves me against the wall and drives his gun deep into my kidneys. I should do it right now, scumbag. We’ll get you for killin’ my brothers. Why wait for trial? This is all the justice we need, right here he says, takin’