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“Does he know Daddy had a special spot in bed with you?”

“I’ll assume she broke up with you then,” I say with a laugh.

“Bold assumption,” he remarks.

“You aren’t saying differently,” I say. “Why did you break up?”

“She died,” he says, and I stop. He said it so plainly that I don’t know how to respond. I decide not to play it safe and to push him.

“Interesting that she died right before the killings began,” I say. “They say life stressors can trigger a person to start killing.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asks.

“Weird timing,” I say. “How did she die?”

“She was murdered,” he says tightly.

“Let me guess,” I say. “Kidnapped, killed, dismembered, and then reassembled?”

“I didn’t kill her!” he snaps.

“Aww. Did I hit a nerve, Gabriel?” I ask mockingly. “How did she die? Strangulation? That is a common way men kill their female partners.”

“I didn’t kill her!” he says, nearly growling. “You are awfully brave.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I say. “You are likely less than a day from having your charges dropped, and you aren’t going to jeopardize that for the sake of proving you are a big, strong man.”

“You are intentionally deflecting away from your relationship,” he says

“This interview isn’t about me,” I say. “It’s about you, but you seem to think you are above answering these questions. You created this program and this specific assignment. You know why I am asking these things, but you refuse to be part of it. I think you are deflecting because you know the methods you taught students are the same methods it would take to catch you.”

“You sound so sure of yourself,” he says. “It’s not a matter of…”

A siren suddenly starts blaring through the speaker on the wall, and I shriek and nearly fall out of my chair. “Jesus fucking Christ, what is that?!” I snap and stand up. I press the button a few times as the siren blares, and it’s painfully loud.

“It’s a lockdown. No one is coming,” Gabriel muses as he stands. I press the button again, but gunshots outside the door have me taking a few steps back.

“Did you do this?” I ask.

“Did I shoot a gun out there from in here, Nora? No,” he says. He walks over to the door and pulls on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. It’s not supposed to. The lights abruptly shut off, and the door audibly unlocks. He opens the door but then immediately shuts it back.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” I yell at him, shoving past him to try and open the door again. It doesn’t budge, confirming that it locked itself back. It’s pitch black in here, and I can’t see anything. I have no idea where he is or why the fuck he just fucking locked us in. “Goddamn it!” I scream and bang on the door.

“Stop. Stop it,” he says. “Nora.”

I ignore him and continue to bang on the door. He grabs my waist and pulls me away from the door, and my panic turns to rage. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I scream, turning and smacking his hands away. I gasp and freeze when he grabs me by the throat and slams me back against the wall.

“Stop making so much noise, Nora,” he says calmly.

“I can’t be locked in here. Get your fucking hands off me!” I yell. He tightens his grip, and I am desperately trying not to cry.

“Gunshots followed by a power outage means it’s likely a riot,” he says softly. His voice is so soft that it’s deceptive. “I don’t feel like dying, and I don’t think you want to be gang raped by an entire cell block of savages. So, we are going to sit here and wait. Okay?”

"I’d rather take my chances out there than be locked in here with you,” I spit.

“I thought you weren’t scared of me, Nora,” he asks, and I can hear that stupid smile on his face.

“I’m not,” I protest.