text: I walk out of the interview room. “Cut the cameras” “But bos-“ “Cut the fucking cameras” I walk back into the room. “$50 says he cracks him” one of the detectives says to an officer. “you’re on” the officer replies. I sit down across from the suspect. “You know I know your type” I state, borderline glaring into his eyes. “as soon as I walked into this room I could smell you - this undeniable stench. It disgusts me.” He says nothing. “I walk into the holding cells here and I’m saturated by it.” “It’s the smell of a liar. A manipulator. A man without a conscience” I wait a few seconds. “and you know who I smelt this smell on first?” I think I notice a slight change in his facial expression, but he says nothing. I lean in and whisper into his ear. “Myself” I sit back into my chair. “it’s the smell of a psychopath” I get up from my seat and start pacing the room. “Now I was smart enough to realise I should work for the right side of the law” “and honestly I’m intrigued by people like you because it’s sometimes like looking into an alternate reality” “where you’re me..... A more fucked up version of myself” “So that’s why I’m so good at understanding people like you - because I have spent my whole life living with myself and this.... stench” “I used to hate it - how it oozed out of my every pore - how no matter what I did to clean myself, I could never get rid of this disgusting odor” “But I soon realized that only I could smell it - that this curse was mine, and only mine. It only existed to me, and only I could experience it.” “and I came to realize that this...stench.........wasn’t a curse” “it was a privilege” I get up and leave the room. The suspect slowly rests his head onto the table. We watch on. Waiting. He raises his head. “alright I’ll talk” he says, and I notice tears ever so slightly welling up underneath his eyes. “fuck who ever thought psychopaths were intelligent” I state I smile and go back into the room. “Do you think she’s real?” he asks me “Do I think who is real?” I question back “Her.” A few seconds go by, I’m starting to feel less confident now. “You know its like I live in two realities - one where she is exists and one where she doesn’t” he continues “She’s Schrodinger’s cat - she’s both alive and dead because I cant open the box” “She’s the duality between a particle and a wave” He leans in. “Every time I try and find out what reality in she makes sure I can’t. there’s no way right now I can be sure what reality is real - whether she’s alive or dead.” He shits back into his chair. “I don’t feel crazy. I have felt sane for a while now. For years.” “do you think it’s fair to spend years of your life not being able to know if you’re dreaming or awake?” “I’m not sure, what have you done?” I question him. “I’m not sure exactly. Ask her - if you can convince her to tell the truth.” “But I think in both realities - she’s just too scared.” “and I’m not sure if I could handle the truth. Maybe this duality is more peaceful than the prospect of her death.” I get up and go to leave the room but he continues talking. “She’s like a virus but I didn’t know and now I can’t get rid of her.” “What if in 15 years I’m married and have got kids - what if I still can’t get rid of this disease?” “I almost feel like I’ve adapted to it. Like I just know how to survive with this sickness now.” “But I’m just not sure what the point is sir - a virus destroys right - is she just trying to ruin me?” He looks down into his lap, shadows covering his face. “I just want to know the truth - I want to know whats real - but I’m not prepared for what I might be told.” Tears cascading down his cheeks.