Adrienne Rome

Live to Kill Another Day

While I imagine policing is much different than it appears on television, the interrogation room is exactly as one would expect. Drab white walls, a large one-way mirror, and a simple table-and-four-chair set up in the center of the room. An analog clock, which reads 10:03 p.m., makes the only sound in the room as it ticks forward slowly. I sit opposite the one-way mirror, finding it hard to stop staring at it. My lawyer, Davis Elm, sits next to me, a stark contrast to my anxious, knee bouncing demeanor. He sits straight backed, expensive suit without a wrinkle at this late hour, confidence pouring from his pores.