Opening his eyes, his vision slowly cleared up. A ceiling.
Slowly sitting up, he felt a startling comfort. Far removed from the pain seeped into his last memories, everything about his body seemed to be in order.
Was it… was it a dream?
The idea of the butterfly dream passing through his mind, he extended his hand and summoned [Bleeding], taking hold of the clean kitchen knife's handle.
Quickly finding that he was in reality, he let out a soft sigh, quietly wishing for the past days to have been a dream.
His eyes hit by the sun's rays, he looked out the window to find the morning peeking through the blinds.
Wait, that kid…
Widening his eyes, Riley turned around, rushing away. Going room by room, he found his parents and Joey all safe and sound, eventually choosing to leave them momentarily.
Leaping down the stairs of his apartment complex, staggering in a hurried rush, Riley darted out into the street.
Passing by the morning-goers, human beings walking their dogs or out for a morning jog, he stuck out greatly in his frenzied rush.
Panting exhaustedly, his chest rising up and down as his forehead went cold with sweat, he absolutely had to check on the—
Yellow lines of tape around the scene, Riley had reached the murderhouse.
"—Hk."
Policemen around the crime scene, they looked at the suspicious teenager and approached.
"Excuse me sir, are you alright?" one of them asked, and Riley looked at him with exhausted breaths.
"W-what's in there? Is he alright?" Riley questioned, to which the policeman raised a brow.
"Who are you referring to? Who are you?"
"U-uh, the kid! T-the little boy that lived here—is he alright? P-please, please tell me he's alright!"
"Why are you interested? Again, who are you?"
"Uh, er… t-that kid, he was attacked last night. His mom and dad, too, they… ugh…"
Reminding himself of his failure, Riley inadvertently groaned. If he was stronger, he could have stopped Scott just as he declared. Yet, because of his weakness, he was unable to save the parents.
"They were attacked?" The policeman repeated, glancing at one of his partners, who seemed confused at the information. "Do you know their whereabouts?"
"Whereabouts? No, they… they're dead."
The boy's sweaty face, anguished expression and knowledge of the sudden case immediately raised alarms.
"Sir," they began, patting Riley down and taking out handcuffs, "you're not being arrested. However, you're being detained, and we're bringing you in for questioning. "
Riley's heart raced with fear, yet he willingly accepted the handcuffs. They read him his Miranda Rights and took him to the station.
—
Brought into the interview room, with white walls and a window next to them. Riley sat down as two men entered. One sat down to face him, while the other watched Riley with a notepad. The teen rested his elbows on the table, no longer in handcuffs.
"Alrighty, let's get this started," the first man calmly said. "But before we do, would you like some water?"
"U-um, yeah, that'd be nice… thank you."
Riley was given water and was read his rights once more, before the questioning began.
"So, to start this off, who are you?"
"Um, Riley Woods. Uh, I live in, like, the apartment complex on Arkensaw street, uh… yeah."
Sweating, Riley swallowed his spit. He took a sip of water, letting out a soft exhale and remaining silent. The scribbling of pencil to paper filled his ears.
"Good, good. So, just to be clear, what happened? What did you see? How do you know the family?"
A troublesome question.
"I'm a murderer trying to stop other murderers, led on by a supernatural force" was an outrageous answer, and Riley knew he would never be believed. Yet, if he lied, then what was the point of this to begin with?
And don't they have lie detectors? I'm scared.
"Well, um, I was walking down the street. I uh, I went out for dinner. At the diner—the Little Cake's Diner, um, my friend's older sister works there, so I figured, y'know… a-anyways, um… I was walking down the street, I guess, and I saw someone try to enter the house—the house I was just at."
Nodding his head, the man continued listening.
"Uhh, and I tried to enter as well. Um, I climbed through the window and told him to stop, but uh—he didn't. So, I ran at him, bumped into him, t-the door went flying open, and we got into a fight. Umm… we fought, we grabbed knives, and when the father tried to… when the father heard the noise and came out, he just… he slashed his throat. He died shortly after."
The interviewer's eyes subconsciously widening for a second, he remained calm and spoke to clarify.
"You saw someone entering the house, tried to come in with him to tell him to stop… you both grabbed knives, fought, and then the man had his throat slit? By the other person?"
"...Yeah."
Dumbfounded by the readily apparent brazenness of the person before him, he took a deep breath and calmed himself.
If anything, Riley would've been less suspicious if he openly admitted to murder.
"Continue."
"Um… s-so, I got really upset. I stabbed the man—t-the intruder, in the neck, and rushed to the mother and child. I picked them up, helped them out of the house and ran out with them. I… I got scared, in case the vam—the killer—tried to finish off the man. I ran back in to try and save him, but the killer got a gun, and tried shooting at me. Um, it was dark, so the shots missed."
Not forgetting the loudness of the gunshots, which he was sure the police would know about from neighbors, Riley made sure to include them in his fake but earnest story.
"The gun emptied, and he tried stabbing me, but I managed to dodge, and uh… he ran out of the house, to finish off the woman and her child. I tried to save them, but the woman was, um, stabbed. She died, but I managed to save the kid and let him escape. Um, by that point, I think the police arrived, and then… I don't remember what happened after that."
Hearing awfully loud writing in the background, Riley shrunk in his seat, looking down at the table.
I think I'm going to jail…
His story was pretty much complete bogus, and even as he spoke, he realized just how incriminating it sounded.
"Well, okay… but, just from what I've heard, I'd like to confirm some matters. If the father was stabbed in the neck—which, mind you, carries a lot of blood—then why is the house untouched?"
Silent. Riley, speechless, looked at the man.
"...Huh?"
"We've searched the premises all over. No blood, no forced entry, not even a fingerprint. From what you saw, where was the father's body?"
"W-what do you mean there was no blood? T-there should have been heaps—I saw it, t-the blood of an open neck, it… w-well, the father's body was… s-somewhere in the hallway, near the kitchen."
"Left there?"
"Y-yeah. Or, it should've been, at least. Unless the killer hid it or took it or–or something…"
"...Really? We've checked the footage, and nothing showed up. Neither you, nor anyone else, was on the street that night. No one was rushed out to the street. Or am I misunderstanding?"
"What??" Riley genuinely asked, his expression utterly confused. "No, I swear, I carried them out and helped them get away from the—y'know, the… the fuckin', uh, the killer. W-why didn't, that doesn't, no…"
I don't think Scott would tamper with the footage—I don't know if he even knows how to. That leaves only Ghira, doesn't it?
Searching for the answer, he came across the only one he believed possible. The Forgotten King had removed all evidence.
Swallowing his spit and drinking some water, Riley's body shook with fear.
But even if that's the case, I'm going to prison, aren't I?
That was the only natural conclusion. Silently accepting his face, Riley envisioned his suicide inside a jail cell.
But maybe I could kill them.
Glancing at the interviewer, Riley summoned [Bleeding] under the table. His urge to kill staining his heart, his mouth watered at the thought.
I can kill him. Lop off his head, end his life, and leave. If I do that, then—
"Excuse me."
A knock on the door, a quiet opening, and an immediate shift in the air. Riley looked to see a man with a laptop approach his interviewer. "It's from a camera in the street. Look."
Showing them the footage, they came to see a child. Just one frame. One frame back, and it was an entirely normal street, with just one car driving slowly past. With a gentle tap, the next frame was shown.
—The same car still moving down the street, the boy suddenly appeared in the frame, crying on the sidewalk.
No time gaps, no shadows, and even the same exact car, it seemed to be instantaneous teleportation.
"What?" The man quietly muttered, glancing at Riley, who stared down at the table. "Well, excuse us for a moment."
The three men left the room, leaving Riley alone.
…
"So the kid's saying that a man came and took him out of the house?" The interviewer asked.
"That's correct. Of course, with what happened, he's shaken and not incredibly reliable—yet from what we've recorded of his story, they seem to line up. Only inconsistency we can tell so far is that the boy's record is exaggerated."
"Exaggerated?"
"The boy says Mr. Woods was thrown down the hallway. Riley's account was a bit less dramatic, but he did mention a struggle. As well, after that, the boy says he was flown away—Mr. Woods says he managed to run away."
Riley Woods had not shown any signs of aggression. Panicked, of course, but even in that readily apparent fear, he didn't ask for a lawyer, giving his own statement.
"Well, we'll keep going," the interviewer said. "Give it a few more attempts. We'll see if their stories crack. —And you're sure that they've never met before?"
"No reason to believe they have."
"...Alright then."
…
After consistent questioning, Riley was let out. No matter how many interviews passed, Riley's story remained the same, backed up by the unexplainable gaps in evidence and consistent stories.
Whilst he was still considered a person of interest, the case was unresolved and unexplained, an absurd situation backed by unexplainable gaps.
Though, in order to confirm Riley truly was not a suspect, they allowed for a supervised meeting between him and the boy.
Brought to a hospital, Riley walked down the halls.
Hearing the beat of his own heart, he anxiously moved forward.
The door being opened for him, he slowly entered the kid's hospital room, to which the boy turned his head, looking at him. Seeing the face of the man who had carried him out of the house on that horrible night, the boy went silent.
"M-mister…"
The child got up from playing with his toys, running over to Riley and hugging his waist. Riley's lips pursed, his head looking down. The wannabe hero's vision went blurry with tears, overwhelmed.
"—H-hey, little guy."
This was what he had fought for.
In order to believe his life was not worthless, so that he could live day-to-day without guilt for his inadequacy, his incompetence, his foolishness and his deceitful, corrupt heart—he had fought with his life on the line to protect those he could.
Even still, it was his failure to protect the parents. In his weakness, Riley could not call himself a true hero.
And yet, at the very least, he had managed to save the boy.
Crouching down, hugging the child, Riley allowed the boy to rest his tears upon his shoulder.
"Y-you saved me… b-but where's mom…? Mom and dad, they looked hurt… s-so, so where are they? Are they okay…?"
The police did not have an answer for that simple question. Riley was the only person who could answer him.
Despite that authority, Riley was unable to answer either. Tightening his embrace, Riley sniffled, biting his lips and blinking repeatedly to keep the tears away.
"You're going to be okay," Riley whispered, his voice breaking. "I promise you, you are going to be okay."
"—I won't let you be hurt any more."