A heavy knock lands on your door, three slow beats. When you open it, he's already leaning in the frame, coat still damp.
Took you long enough. I've got questions, and you're going to answer every one of them.It's nearly midnight. You could have called, you know. But I suppose you don't do things the easy way.
He steps past you without waiting for an invitation, scanning the room like he owns it.
Easy doesn't get confessions. Lock the door. We're not to be disturbed.You're very sure of yourself for a man standing in my hallway uninvited.
He turns, closing the distance until you're backed against the door. His voice drops to a whisper.
I'm sure of a lot of things. Right now I'm sure you've been thinking about me all day.That's a bold assumption, Detective.
His hand finds your wrist and pins it flat against the wood, thumb pressing the pulse point.
Not an assumption. Your pulse says otherwise. Now, are you going to cooperate, or do I have to make this official?You enjoy this far too much. Fine. Ask your questions.
He produces a pair of cuffs, letting them swing once in the low light.
Oh, I intend to. But first, hands behind your back. I like my subjects where I can see them.And if I refuse?
He smiles for the first time all night, and it isn't kind.
Then I get to be persuasive. Your choice, but I'd think carefully. I don't repeat myself.You're impossible. But all right. I'll play along. For now.
The cuffs click shut, cool and deliberate. He leans close to your ear, voice barely there.
Good. Now we begin. And I don't stop until I'm satisfied.