Proceed at your own risk.
Silence.
No one knew what to say.
Sal slowly sat back down.
Monroe stared at Rogers as though he was looking at a completely different man.
Allen swallowed hard.
“You're telling us people ate her?”
Rogers nodded.
“Yes.”
“And they didn't know?”
“No.”
“Did Claire know?”
Rogers looked down.
“No.”
Sal's eyes narrowed.
“Then how did you convince her to cook it?”
Rogers chuckled softly.
“I told her it was beef.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
“I didn't have to convince her.”
He looked at Sal.
“She trusted me.”
Sal shook his head.
“You're sick.”
Rogers smiled.
“Perhaps.”
Allen leaned forward.
“And the customers?”
“They loved it.”
“How many people ate it?”
Rogers thought for a moment.
“I don't know.”
“Hundreds?”
“Maybe.”
Monroe looked away.
His stomach turned again.
Rogers continued.
“After the first few days, the restaurant became busy.”
“People who had never eaten there before started coming.”
“Word spread.”
“They said Claire's meatballs were different.”
“She became famous for them.”
He smiled.
“She was so happy.”
Allen stared at him.
“You let your wife believe she had finally saved the restaurant.”
“Yes.”
“You let her believe she was feeding people.”
“Yes.”
“But you knew exactly what she was serving them.”
Rogers nodded.
“I did.”
Sal clenched his jaw.
“And you enjoyed it?”
The old man became quiet.
For the first time, his smile disappeared.
“I enjoyed watching people enjoy it.”
Sal stared at him.
“There's a difference.”
Rogers slowly looked up.
“Is there?”
Nobody answered.
He looked toward the empty corner again.
That same corner.
That same invisible presence.
His expression softened.
“Tom would have loved it.”
Monroe frowned.
“What?”
Rogers blinked.
“I said Tom would've loved how much the restaurant grew.”
Sal leaned forward.
“Let's talk about Tom.”
The smile disappeared completely.
Rogers looked down at his cuffed hands.
“What about him?”
“You said he died from a snake bite.”
“Yes.”
“You said you blamed yourself.”
“Yes.”
“You said you loved him.”
“I did.”
Sal stared at him.
“Then why do you keep looking at that corner?”
Rogers didn't answer.
Allen glanced toward the empty space.
“Mr. Rogers?”
The old man slowly lifted his head.
“I told you.”
“Told us what?”
Rogers smiled faintly.
“I get distracted sometimes.”
Sal slammed his palm against the table.
“Enough!”
The sound echoed through the room.
Monroe flinched.
Allen looked at Sal.
“Sal…”
“No.”
He pointed at Rogers.
“Something isn't right about that story.”
Rogers remained completely still.
“You said there was so much blood.”
“Yes.”
“You said your son was bitten by a snake.”
“Yes.”
“You said you tried to save him.”
“Yes.”
“Then why wasn't the snake found?”
Rogers shrugged.
“It escaped.”
He smiled.
“Why wasn't there a doctor?”
“We were too far from town.”
“Why didn't you take him to the hospital?”
Rogers lowered his eyes.
“He was already dead.”
Sal stared at him.
“You knew he was dead?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Rogers looked up.
And smiled again.
“I was there.”
The room went silent.
Monroe exchanged a glance with Allen.
Sal's voice became quieter.
“What are you hiding?”
Rogers didn't answer.
Instead, he began humming softly.
The same tune he'd been humming earlier.
Allen slowly placed his pen on the table.
“Mr. Rogers…”
The old man stopped humming.
“I want you to tell us exactly what happened to Tom.”
Rogers closed his eyes.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then he whispered,
“I lied.”
Sal froze.
Monroe leaned forward.
Allen's eyes widened.
“What did you lie about?”
Rogers opened his eyes.
“There was no snake.”
Nobody moved.
Sal's face hardened.
“Then what killed your son?”
Rogers stared at him.
“I did.”
The words hung in the air.
Monroe's mouth fell slightly open.
Allen stopped breathing for a moment.
Sal slowly stood.
“You killed Tom?”
Rogers nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Rogers looked toward the empty corner.
His eyes filled with tears.
“He found out.”
“Found out what?”
The old man smiled sadly.
“That his father wasn't who he thought he was.”
Allen leaned forward.
“What did he find?”
Rogers looked directly at him.
“He found the first body.”
Silence.
A long, terrible silence.
Monroe's face went pale.
“The first body?”
Rogers nodded.
“He wasn't my first victim.”
Sal stared at him.
“Then who was?”
Rogers' eyes drifted back toward the empty corner.
And for the first time…
He looked frightened.
“I don't know.”
Allen frowned.
“What do you mean you don't know?”
Rogers whispered, “Because Tom wasn't the first person I killed.”
He swallowed.
“He was the first person who caught me.”
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went completely dark.
Sal remained standing.
“So Tom saw you?”
Rogers nodded.
“Yes.”
“What did he see?”
The old man looked down at his hands.
“I remember the day.”
His voice became softer.
“It was late.”
“Everyone had gone home.”
“The restaurant was closed.”
“Claire was asleep.”
“I thought I was alone.”
He paused.
“I wasn't.”
Monroe leaned forward.
“And Tom?”
Rogers nodded.
“He came looking for me.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Maybe he needed something.”
“Maybe he was hungry.”
“Maybe…”
He stopped.
“What?”
Rogers looked at Allen.
“Maybe he already knew something was wrong.”
The room became quiet again.
“I heard foots
teps behind me.”
“I turned around.”
“And there he was.”
“My son.”
Rogers' eyes began to water.
“He looked at me…”
“Then he looked past me.”
Allen whispered,
“What was behind you?”
Rogers didn't answer.
He simply smiled.
“A door.”
Sal frowned.
“What door?”
Rogers lifted his eyes.
“The barn door.”
Monroe's face changed.
“What was inside?”
Rogers' smile disappeared.
“I think…”
He swallowed.
“I should tell you that next.”
To Be Continued…
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