I sat at the table, and met the gaze of the handcuffed boy. He looked about sixteen, maybe seventeen, years old. He had the expression of a kicked puppy, nothing at all like the “raving psychopath” the sheriff said I would be interrogating.

“Why am I being treated like some kind of monster?” the boy sitting across from me asked.

“Just tell us what you know about the murders,” I said, “Start from the beginning of your relationship with Rachel.”

“She was the prettiest girl in my school, and I finally convinced her to go out with me. She enjoyed the rock concert we listened to for our first date. I also took her to a race and football game. Then I invited her to my birthday party at the arcade. But she went shopping instead, like it was no big deal! I was upset, but I gave her a second chance. She then used her broken arm as an excuse! Lazy!”

“Broken...?”

“So I decided to ignore her,” he continued, “Then a 'police officer' said I couldn't see her again! Then I saw her with another guy. Later, I saw them again, with their arms around each other! I didn't do anything in case they were just friends. But I kept an eye on them, just in case. Then the guy kissed her! She was my girlfriend!” He quieted. “I followed that creep home and tweaked his engine a bit. The next day, BAM! He and his car went up in flames.”

“You killed him?”

“To protect Rachel,” he responded, “But she wouldn't talk to me. Then I realized she had been cheating on me! And when the police found her body and snapped neck, they assumed I was the bad guy! They had it coming! I'm no monster, THEY WERE!”