Chapter I: Interrogation
Interrogations.
August 8th.
Thirteen hours after Clay Cassady’s suicide.Three hours after the call to the police.
Before stepping in, Detective Josh Fried took a moment to observe the boy sitting inside the interrogation room — a boy named Leyton Lynn, brought in that same morning. Pale, black-haired, eyes somewhere between boredom and exhaustion.
Bandages covered one of his arms, stretching down to his palm.
Something about him caught Josh’s attention. The boy breathed slowly, staring straight ahead, as if waiting. For something. Or someone.
Josh greeted Investigator Sharon, his partner for over twenty-five years now.
A long time together.
They’d seen so many cases, they couldn’t possibly remember them all.
She handed him a coffee; it warmed his hand the second he took it.
They walked in together and sat across from the boy, who barely acknowledged their presence.
Didn’t bother to look them over. Didn’t care to.
His bandaged arm rested on the metal table. Waiting.
—“Leyton Lynn, right?”
Josh asked, though he already knew the answer.
—“Yeah.”
—“How’re you feeling?”
He took a seat to Sharon’s right.
—“Can’t complain.”
—“Coffee?”
Sharon chimed in, sliding a cup toward him with a small packet of sugar.
Leyton took the coffee, dumped the whole packet in, stirred it lazily.
It’d do.
—“Tell me,” Josh began, not waiting for the boy to finish his coffee, “when was the last time you talked to Clay?”
Straight to the point. No soft landings, no patience.
Maybe it came off cold, insensitive even — talking that bluntly about a suicide. But Josh knew Leyton would be tricky.
He didn’t plan on sitting there all day.
—“The night before he died,” Leyton said, voice flat. “Same place — his classroom. He planned to stay with two girls to prep everything for the new semester. The principal and our teacher gave him the go-ahead. He was class president, one of the school’s best students... he practically killed himself studying.”
—“No teacher stayed to supervise?”
—“No idea. I left early. With Pipper.”
—“Got it.”
Josh scribbled that down, glancing up again at the boy, whose face hadn’t changed.
—“Did you notice any changes in his behavior before... you know, the incident?”
Josh clicked his pen — his black one, always the same brand.
—“Yeah. Hard not to notice, honestly,” Leyton said, adjusting himself in his chair, sighing tiredly. “Everyone did. Or at least Billie, Pipper, and I. He went from being this top student who never missed a class to... some terrified kid with dark circles under his eyes. Stopped showing up. Always on edge.”
Josh took notes, studying him sideways.
—“Any idea why? Maybe some mental issue? Or someone giving him trouble?”
—“Someone, yeah.”
Leyton scratched at the edge of his bandages with his thumb. His hand was a mess of gauze.
“Think her name was Kamila... Kelson, Kepler, something. But definitely Kamila. Don’t know what went down between them, he never said. Just that she was stalking him.”
Josh wrote that down with interest. Sharon, meanwhile, watched Leyton closely — intrigued.
That one name might not have seemed like much, but Josh knew — sometimes, a single name could shift everything.
—“You guys call the cops about her?”
—“No. Out of nowhere — like she regretted it — she just vanished. Gone. Clay seemed relieved afterward, and his attitude changed just as fast as she’d disappeared. It was weird. But he looked okay again, back to his usual self. Happy. So I figured, why dig into it if the problem’s gone, right?”
He blew lightly on his coffee, then drank slow.
Josh and Sharon exchanged a brief glance.
—“That’s... odd,” Josh murmured, analyzing.
—“Yeah. I told him if she was still bothering him, he shouldn’t hide it. Pipper and Billie thought the same, but when I asked, they said he looked fine — didn’t mention her, didn’t seem off.”
Leyton downed the rest of his coffee in a few gulps.
—“You know, I don’t think Clay killed himself,” he added quietly. “He was too... happy. A good person. Always saw the bright side of things — no matter how shitty the day was, he’d find something to smile about. Maybe she had something to do with his so-called ‘suicide.’ Hell, Kamila harassed me too.”
He did air quotes around “suicide” and let his hands drop on the metal table.
—“Why’d she go after you?”
—“’Cause I used to sell drugs. She fancied herself some kind of vigilante narc. I quit after a gang threatened me. She disappeared a week later.”
—“I see.”
Josh jotted that down.
—“So you don’t believe Clay took his own life?”
—“No. He couldn’t. He was... good. The kind of person you wish there were more of. Always smiling, always hopeful.”
Leyton stared at nothing, eyes lost somewhere under the harsh light.
—“Any family issues? Trauma? Anything like that recently?”
Josh cleared his throat, pen ready.
—“Nope. His parents are, like, those picture-perfect movie types. Loving, stable, both with solid jobs. Never heard him complain. Never saw them fight.”
Leyton looked up at the ceiling — the bright white light made him squint — then turned back to Sharon.
—“Did he use drugs, drink, smoke?”
—“Not that I know of.”
He started fidgeting with his fingers, weaving them together nervously.
—“Was he bullied? Maybe outside of school?”
—“He was. Once. But that was years ago. After that, no one touched him.”
—“Any dangerous hobbies? People he shouldn’t be involved with?”
—“Not that I knew of. He kept things to himself. Guess that might’ve been one of them.”
—“Ever think to ask him about it?”
—“Sure. But I didn’t wanna be nosy or make things awkward.”
Josh scribbled a few words between lines, circling Kamila and adding a messy question mark beside it.
—“And Pipper,” he continued, glancing up. “You were with her that night, when Clay stayed at the school. Right?”
Leyton’s head snapped up fast, eyes wide.
—“Who told you that?”
—“Can’t say. Part of the job.”
Leyton sighed, slumped back into the chair.
—“Well?” Sharon nudged, tilting her head forward slightly.
—“Not much. We hung out, ordered junk food, watched movies.”
He crossed his arms. Sharon noticed — his lips moved a lot, chewing on the inside. No eye contact. Nervous.
—“That’s it?”
Josh leaned forward, no longer writing — just watching him.
—“Yeah. We’re teenagers. What do you think we were doing?”
—“You’d be surprised,” Sharon said with a half-smile, laced with irony.
Leyton rolled his eyes — and for a second, Josh saw a flash of yellow where the whites should’ve been.
—“You on something, Leyton?” Josh asked, narrowing his gaze.
—“You already know the answer.”
Leyton scratched behind his ear, crossed his arms again.
—“Weed? Coke? Her—”
—“Insomnia.”
He cut him off, sharp. Eyes flaring with irritation. “No drugs. I’ve got insomnia. So did my mom. And my granddad. It’s genetic, alright? I stayed up playing video games and eating junk food with Pipper. That’s it. End of story. Okay?”
The quiet, tired boy had turned into someone else entirely — irritated, tense, ready to bolt.
Didn’t wanna be there.
Who would?
—“Alright, I get it,” Josh said evenly. “But we have to do this. It’s protocol. And because someone — your friend — is dead. We know it’s not easy, but we need to get to the bottom of it.”
—“You think someone killed him?”
—“Actually, yes. We never treat suicides like suicides. Not at first. We investigate everything like a homicide — interviews, reports, the works. Only after we’ve ruled out foul play do we call it suicide.”
—“Huh.”
Leyton’s voice was flat, almost mocking. “So... what happens now?”
He’d heard him — but the sudden question, the tone — it was like he hadn’t. Like his mind was somewhere else.
—“You’re free to go. But if we need you again, you’ll get a call. Or a letter.”
—“Then I’m outta here.”
He pushed the chair back carelessly and walked right past them.
Slow steps. Watchful.
He caught sight of Pipper, smiling at something invisible on the table in front of her.
He frowned. Shook his head.
Then the sunlight hit him full in the face as he stepped outside.
—“Someone picking you up?” Josh asked, glancing toward the parking lot.
—“Nah. I’ll walk home.”
No goodbye. Just walked off — until he vanished between the lines of parked cars.
—“That was... weird,” Sharon admitted, heading back inside.
—“You’re telling me,” Josh muttered. “He was strange — but he said more than I thought he would. Which is saying something.”
He stopped, grabbed another cup of coffee, and stepped back toward the next room —
the second interrogation:
Pipper Painfitz.
