“I understand that this is upsetting for you, but we need to know what happened last night.” Detective Michael Ross stroked his greying moustache and gave his detainee a reassuring smile.

Aaron Walker-Rose, a sixteen-year-old from the better side of town sat opposite him, his face pale and sunken. The young man nodded weakly.

“For the recording, Aaron, can you please reply verbally?”

“I understand.”

“Thank you. Let’s go back to the beginning. Your parents were out of town, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And they gave you permission to host a gathering at their home?”

“…Yes”

Ross waited for elaboration.

“I think they said up to six friends.” Aaron had not yet once made eye-contact. He knew he was in trouble; things looked bad.

“And how many people attended?”

“Umm… maybe, thirty?”

“And were they all people that you knew and had invited personally?”

“No. Some were friends of friends. It all got a little out of control.”

“I know there were a lot of drugs and underage drinking at this… gathering, but at the moment that’s a secondary concern.”

“I didn’t know there’d be drugs.” Aaron protested. “We were supposed to just have some beers and chat about shit.”

“Four people are dead, Aaron. Three more are in critical condition. What happened?”

“I don’t remember most of the night.”

“What do you remember?”

“I watched the sunset with Olivia.”

“Olivia Di Santo?”

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh. We know you were with Miss Di Santo for at least part of the night. From statements from other people at the party. Do you remember ringing an ambulance for her at 02:17 this morning?”

“No.” Aaron shook his head slowly.

Ross raised an eyebrow.

“You said there had been an accident and she had collapsed.” Ross paused, giving his suspect a chance to interject. “You said the same thing when you called again at 02:41, when Jamie Cooling suffered the same fate. Was it just a coincidence that you were with them both when they died, Aaron?”

“Please,” Aaron screwed up his face, attempting to hold back his tears, “all I know is that they were alive when the sun went down.”

A knock on the door made Aaron jump. Another officer poked his head into the room.

“Detective Ross,” he began, “The initial reports are back from the morgue, you need to see these.”

“Can this not wait?” Ross asked, his brow furrowed, clearly irritated at being interrupted.

“No, it can’t.” The officer seem equally as annoyed.

Ross sighed heavily, gathered his papers and stormed out through the door.

Aaron felt very alone; vulnerable. His eyes stared blankly, hopelessly, at the handcuffs that bound his wrists to the table.

The animated voices drew his attention to the obvious one-way mirror that stretched the entirety of the wall he faced. There were shouts of disgust and disbelief from beyond it.

Suddenly, Aaron remembered everything. For in the mirror, his terrified face did not stare back.