Everything about the interrogation room disgusted Mr. Sillow. From its nauseating smell, to its bland brown walls, to the arousal of claustrophobia that was brought on as a result of being inside the dinky room, he hated the room’s overall atmosphere. At any given moment, he felt as though he would throw up. Making his precarious situation even more unfavorable, he was surrounded by two truculent detectives who wanted him to transmit answers to them that they wanted to hear. Their main objective was to place enough pressure on their disheveled man in question in hopes that he would inadvertently commit self-incrimination. With opportunities to drill suspects hardly ever arising, for some disturbing reason, the detectives wanted nothing more than to see Mr. Sillow behind bars by the end of the interrogation. Looking at the subject, they knew that their objective was on the cusp of being achieved. All they had to was get a little meaner, a little louder, and just a tad more aggressive. Not only was Mr. Sillow sweating bullets, but he was stammering throughout the entire questioning process. Being a very private and demure man by nature, he was completely out of his comfort zone as the officers used whatever coy tactics they could to retrieve information out of him. One of these methods involved sheer physical force, a practice that was widely considered acceptable by a police squad that was adamant about keeping their town free of malefaction. Both detectives, on numerous occasions, choked, slapped, and punched the considerably large, yet mousy subject. Mr. Sillow’s visible fear of them gave them more reason to believe that he would crack under the pressure at any second. With every flinch, twist, and jerk of his body, the detectives reveled in their authoritative positions. But their power trips would also be their downfall. It took a little while, but their battering eventually knocked some sense into him. Livid about the unprofessional manner in which the two detectives - who appeared to be more like ruffians rather than members attached to an organization that was established with the intent of upholding justice - were handling him, their subject went tight-lipped after declaring that he would not speak another word without his lawyer being present. “You cannot do this to us,” one of the detectives angrily protested. “What you are doing is against the law.” His fraudulent statement fell on deaf ears. Mr. Sillow had already caught on to their scheme and remained speechless. It was as though his lips had been tightly glued together. “Just answer this last question for us, then.” The attitude of the detective had by now completely changed, and he was acting quite civilized. “For God’s sake, what did you do with the body of the girl that you kidnapped from that fair?” Just as the detective had expected, Mr. Sillow didn’t break a sound. With their subject no longer cooperating, the interrogation was officially over and done with. And with no confession or evidence pointing towards any sort of foul play, Mr. Sillow walked out of the police station a free man. Nevertheless, up until the day of his death, he blamed his brush with the law on Amanda.
He now moved through life a bit more cautiously. All of his actions were planned with extreme care before being carried out, and his time in the public’s eyesight was but a fleeting moment. Firm in his belief that the young who girl he had stupidly decided to stalk in the presence of hundreds of people was responsible for his run-in with the law, he promised himself that he would never allow anybody to place him in harm’s way ever again. That meant that he would possibly never see his little friend again. But of course that was if he wasn’t so mystifyingly attracted to her. With paranoia controlling his day-to-day actions and a strong feeling that he was under 24/7 police surveillance, Mr. Sillow would wait two months before returning to the address where he had escorted his young crush on the day they had met.