Chapter Text
The boy seemed to snap back to reality as he looked around the room.
The walls where off-white, the floors where warm grey tile, and a fluorescent light buzzed quietly overhead.
He had been sitting at a table pushed against the wall in an uncomfortable chair that made him want to get up and walk around, which he would, if he weren’t so tired.
The door was one you would find in a school building, polished wood with a slim window.
A mirror made up an entire wall of the small room, making it appear bigger. Timothy wasn’t sure why the mirror was there.
A few murmured voices could be heard from outside in the hall, but the boy paid no mind.
The door opened and he looked up as a man dressed in a casual grey suit entered the room. He sighed as he sat down in the chair opposite of him, placing Manila folders on the table in a weary fashion.
“So, you’re Timothy Blight?” he asked placing his hat on the table.
“Yes sir.” He replied.
“mind if I call you Tim?”
“Everyone calls me Tim.” The boy said, following the detectives lead, taking his Ushanka off and setting it on his lap.
The detective gave him a level stare, which was sort of intimidating.
“Do you know why you’re here?” He asked. Tim’s eyes where drawn to his, and his first thought was how green the mans eyes where. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen someone with green eyes, and if he had, he’d forgotten.
“Because Jacobs hurt.”
The detective gave an approving nod, flipped through a Manila folder and plucked out a sheet of paper, “would you like to see his profile?” He said, holding it out to him.
Timothy was quiet for a moment, before he took the paper from Wright and inspected it.
“Who was Jacob to you, Tim?” Detective Wright asked, leaning forwards.
Timothy was silent, staring intently at Jacob’s picture.
“Tim?”
Timothy looked at Wright, completely expressionless, “A bully.”
The detective was slightly taken aback, but didn’t show it, “Really?” He sighed, looking through the folder, “His mother said you where good friends since grade school.”
“Good friends don’t beat you with cricket bats after practice.” Timothy mumbled, unconsciously tightening his grip on the paper, staring into the mirrored wall at his own reflection.
Detective Wright was quiet for a moment, “Do you know why he did that to you?”
Timothy shrugged, “Because we used to be friends, I guess.” He said with a shrug, pushing a wisp of caramel hair from sad brown eyes, “I don’t know why he turned on me like that.”
“I hate to say it, but we’re getting off topic,” Wright said, “you’re father tells me you said you witnessed the assault and fled in fear,” he said, closing the folders ad setting them down, “do you know what the perpetrator looked like?”
“No,” the boy said with a shake of his head, “but he was wearing a mask.”
“A mask?”
“And a hat.”
The detective nodded, pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket and jotted notes, “Documentation says he was found behind the gym building after cricket practice, Tuesday, correct?”
“Yes sir.” Tim confirmed.
“Did you see what the perpetrator used to strike him with, if anything at all?” He said, looking back and forth from a folder page to his notes.
“Yes, they used a cricket bat.”
“That might mean they perpetrator goes to your school, what do you think?”
“Yeah, he is.”
Wright froze halfway through writing, “He?”
“Yeah, he was wearing our team jersey and was using our bat,” Timothy said thoughtfully, “So yeah, he was on my team to.” He finished calmly.
The detective squinted at Timothy, “Mind telling me what kind of hat he was wearing?”
“A Ushanka.”
The detective sat back and stared at the boy, dumbstruck.
“Yes sir?” Timothy asked politely.
“Timothy Blight,” Detective Wright began, placing his chin in his hand, “Did you assault Jacob Lawrence after cricket practice on Tuesday at four thirty?”
“Yes sir.” Timothy admitted, looking Wright in the eyes for the second time that evening. He gazed for a moment longer, before leaning down and picking his backpack up from under the table.
A large object stuck from the zipper wrapped in white medical bandages. He unwrapped the bloodied bat set it on the table, “Here’s the weapon,” he said politely, going for the backpack again and taking a circular, dome-shaped mask from the bag, “and here’s the mask.”
The detective stared at the objects, then at the boy, then at his notes and the folders.
“Jesus Christ...” he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.
He gazed at the mask. It was pink, with two small eye holes and a black smile (or was it a frown?) that took up a quarter of the bottom of the face.
“Why pink?” He asked quietly.
Timothy looked at it thoughtfully, “I saw it in a nightmare once a long time ago,” he said, “so I made it and showed Jacob.” He continued, fiddling with the straps, “He laughed and said it was dumb, but he was joking around.”
The detective gave the mask a thoughtful glance, “So who attacked first?”
“Hm?” Timothy asked, strapping the mask to his face. It was eerie, how the small eyeholes where so out of proportion with the smile.
“Who attacked first, you or Jacob?”
“Oh, Jacob.” he said, standing up pulling up his T-shirt.
“Holy shit, kid.” The detective murmured, staring at the injuries of his ribs and stomach. black and blue bruises laced his body, “It really hurt,” he said with a weak, sad, and defeated smile, “so I hurt him back.”
“Self defense...” the detective whispered.
“Huh?” He asked, sliding the mask on top of his head.
“It was in self defense then, right?” He said, looking back up at Tim.
“Yeah, but I still went overboard,” He said quietly “I was so angry and I have no idea why, he’d been doing it awhile to.”
“Did he do anything different that time that made you... snap?”
Timothy shuddered, and stretched his shirt collar down to reveal his collarbone, lower neck and shoulder.
“Fuck...” the detective muttered, “you can sit down.” Timothy plopped back into his chair and stared up at the fluorescent light.
“I can give you the full story if you want, Detective Wright.”
“Please do.”
“Alright... well I guess it began when I was in third grade...”