The Room

What Has Got You Distraught? | Deckard Enright | Drawing

The Room by Evan Warner

He tried to budge; his wrists locked into place against the metal table by handcuffs. They were his prison. Cold to the touch, and blank with a story -- emptiness. He felt stuck. Not a stranger to this situation, yet now it bothered him. 

“Feeling at home?” A figure emerged from the shadowed corner of the room. “You seem...” he suddenly stopped. The man first glanced towards his wristwatch and then towards the door. “...Nervous,” the man finally finished. “Are you nervous?” he continued. No response. Dressed in a tailored suit, he walked slowly towards the table. His leather-heeled shoes echoed their taps off of the linoleum floor, bouncing sound towards the plastered walls like heels in an empty school hallway. “Kilhorn. Rick Kilhorn. That is you, correct?” A low grunt of agreeance was all that was returned to the man. “Good, we’ll begin shortly,” the man said. He spoke softly, but carried a menacing tone to his voice, sliding back into the darkened corner of the dimmed room. 

The door opened. In walked two plainclothes detectives. 

“Alright Kilhorn, let’s get started. I’m Detective Pearce, this is my partner Detective Berket.”

“So who’s the other guy?” Kilhorn said, in a low, rough voice.

“What other guy?”

“The one in the corner. He spoke to me first.”

“Are you on something Kilhorn?” Detective Berket said, interjecting into the conversation. Drawing his sidearm, Detective Pearce activated the flashlight accessory, pointing directly at the corner where Kilhorn had been nodding towards. Nothing. It was an interrogation room after all. Besides the table and chairs in the center, there were rarely any other objects. 

“Nice try,” Pearce said as he holstered his weapon.

“I swear he was there.” 

There was a knock on the door. Another officer peaked his head through the small opening, motioning the two detectives into the hallway. Kilhorn tried leaning back towards the door as far as his metal restraints let him, attempting to make out what was being said. No avail. He quickly leaned forward once more facing the back wall as the door opened again.

“We’ll be right back,” Detective Berket said as he closed the door once again; this time with force. Rick looked back at him as he nodded.

“Hello, again.” Whipping his head back around, the man appeared directly in front of Rick. Attempting to call for help was no use. His body ran cold. The low, steep voice he carried with him was nowhere to be seen. 

“What do you want from me?” Kilhorn squeaked out, as he choked on his own words. 

“The truth.” Silence. The singular sound was the rhythmic beat of the man’s wristwatch. Tick. One heartbeat. Tock. Another heartbeat. “It’s 5:23. You won’t make it past six o’clock if you don’t confess. This is your only warning.”

“Confess to what?” Kilhorn said, continuing to act oblivious to the crime that he committed. The man once more checked his watch.
“5:24” was all he spoke as he backed into nothingness. It was like a bad magic trick, where the audience knew exactly where the magician was. Except he wasn’t there. Tricking them all for what seemed to be a cheesy, comical trick. 

The door handle rattled as it opened. The two detectives walked in again. What followed was standard interrogation procedure. The bluffing of crystal clear evidence placing Kilhorn at the scene of the crime. Back and forth argument between the two sides. But Kilhorn would not confess. He didn’t have to. He knew that all they had was someone that somewhat resembled him placed in the area. 

“You clearly have no bulletproof evidence that says I committed a crime,” Kilhorn said, frustrated at this point. The two detectives shared an unfortunate nod of agreement, as Detective Pearce nodded towards the frosted door. Berket walked over as he motioned for the Officer standing outside the interrogation room. Kilhorn was unshackled from the table, being led back towards the door. He quickly turned around. 

“What time is it?”

“A minute ‘till six,” Detective Pearce said, looking disappointed that he couldn’t pin the murder yet. Kilhorn chuckled to himself as he was escorted out of the door. 

As he walked through the door, all that waited for him on the other side was the same room. He swung his head around, thinking he’d see the same room behind him. To his confusion and anger, he only saw the narrow hallway. 

“Is this some sort of sick joke?”

“Excuse me?” Detective Berket said. The officer who led him in sat him down in the metal chair, shackling him to the desk. 

“Alright Kilhorn, let’s get this started. I’m Detective Pearce, this is my partner Detective Berket.” Rick Kilhorn sat in absolute silence, trying to piece together what just happened. As the interrogation reset itself, Kilhorn sat through the presentation of the lack of evidence once more, as he denied any connection to the crime. Upset about the denial of the crime, the two detectives let themselves out of the room, giving Kilhorn time to think about his answer. In reality, it was for them to quickly look for any other clues or evidence that could link their suspect. 

“Did you think I was one to joke?” Kilhorn recognized the voice, as the figure appeared again.

“What the hell is this?” 

“A loop. A never-ending loop of this very room. Forever,” the man said as he smirked back at Kilhorn. He sat dumbfounded, chained to the table. It truly was his prison now. The man began to turn around. “See you soon.”

The detectives returned shortly, still empty-handed with new evidence. After back-and-forth questions leading to nothing, Kilhorn once again asked for his release. 

“It would be a shame to let this perfect night go to waste,” he said to Detective Pearce, still sure that the loop was a fraudulent joke. As he was escorted out once again, he asked for the time, to which the answer was still the same--5:59. And as he walked out of the room, he walked back in. As he was cuffed into place against the table that he came to know well, Detectives Pearce and Berket entered the room.

“Alright Kilhorn, let’s get this started. I’m Detective Pearce, this is my partner Detective Berket.” Kilhorn twitched in indescribable rage. He was going to go insane. The madness of sitting in the room for any longer scratched away at his brain--clawing for freedom. Once more, the two gentlemen left the room. And once more the man emerged from the black abyss. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Kilhorn.”
“Alright! You win. Just tell me how to get out of this,” Kilhorn shouted. The man stopped walking towards the wall. 

“I always win,” he said, glancing back towards the distraught criminal. “Confess your sins and the loop will break. Continue the denial, and this room will be all you’ll ever know.” 

“What are you? The devil?”

“Of course not. I’m something much worse,” the man said as his figure left the view of Kilhorn. 

Before the two detectives could even present any more evidence, Kilhorn broke down. 

“I did it!” he screamed, breaking down into long sobs. “I did it. Just please get me out of here!”

Glancing at each other, Pearce and Berket shared the same shocked, confused look. After a few seconds, they both shrugged their shoulders, as they were glad to accept an easy arrest. As Kilhorn was escorted out of the room, he frantically asked for the time. It was 6:01 in the evening. As a heavy sigh of relief fell over him, Kilhorn looked back, only to notice the man standing by the steel desk, glancing at his watch one final time.