Work Text:
The interrogation room was a coffin, cement walls on all sides, one bullet proof window in the back to allow a measly sliver of light. The two-sided mirror on the opposite wall reflected a man in blue with almost white blond hair, meticulously combed. The officer pacing the room cupped his hand over his mouth, exhaled, and pressed his palm to the back of his head.
“Mr. Gleeful, is it?” His voice was rough, tired despite the copious amount of coffee he had consumed within the past shift. He was getting too tired for this. Too old for this. His hair was barely greyed at the temples and yet he felt much older than he looked, weary from his years of the bizarre.
“Please,” the man’s voice was soft and smooth, smothered in a distinctly Southern accent, “call me Gideon, officer.”
Gideon had grown well, his eyes alert and calm, his hands pressed on the knees of his black dress pants. He was so tall that he slouched mildly over the table, taking after his father in this regard.
“Gideon,” the officer began, “do you know why you’re here?”
He could lie. It was easy enough to pull it off. After all, the people in this area tended to be less-than-sharp on some of the bigger details. The details Gideon could spot from a mile away. Perhaps that was just his way, his unrelenting attention to detail. He folded his fingers over each other, filling in the notches between, crossing one leg partially over the other.
He didn’t respond immediately. It took him a moment to gather what he wanted to say, lie or truth or maybe mingling the two.
Lying, he decided, may be in his best interest. “Yes, but I’m still unclear on some details.”
The officer flopped a folder down on the table between them, slouching into the chair and pressing his fingers to his own lips, mimicking a smoker taking a drag. He craned his neck from his position, brows lowered. “Celina Iberville. You know her?”
Gideon quirked his brows, lips barely parted. Celina. Yes. She had been attending his meetings for a while now. “I do. And what about miss Iberville?”
“She was found outside of town in a farmer’s field. Gruesome scene. Stabbed in the back real literally, asphyxiation was ruled the official cause of death, though.”
There was a while where neither Gideon nor the officer spoke. They sized each other up in silence, partially engaged in the matter at hand, partially engaged in each other’s guises. What were they getting at? Gideon blinked once. Twice. Uncrossed his legs, resting one arm on the table, leaning.
“And you suppose I have something to do with it?”
“It looks that way, yes.”
Celina had been going to the meetings Gideon held for those interested in the truth, in the world beyond worlds, in the things he could tell them. It was a scam, not unlike the Tent of Telepathy he had been the star of as a child. He had promised those twins - Pines, right? - that he would be a normal kid from then on. Since the events of Weirdmaggedon (of which he often had dreams) he had wanted a normal life. He’d wanted it long enough he almost convinced himself it was what he truly desired.
That didn’t last long. His hunger for something more had returned. The power he had held over the residents of Gravity Falls, and he had only been a child! He wanted it back. Of course he had been to therapy, what child hadn’t when Weirdmaggedon ended? But all it did was teach him to control himself. To think things through before he acted. All it had done was to make him more than he had been before. And for that, he supposed, he was thankful.
“Officer,” he spoke in a quiet voice, with such tenderness he could almost be addressing an old friend in need, “I trust you know I’ve made a name for myself in this community since I arrived. I’ve nothin’ to hide, you know this from searchin’ my home, am I correct?”
“We can’t go off looks alone, I’m afraid. We know about your time in Gravity Falls, your family and the Tent of Telepathy. It’s not like that was a secret.” The officer’s nose twitched, as though he smelled something foul, the air of the room musty and cold. The awful South Carolina sun poured cream light into the room, summer edging on the horizon. Gideon could only imagine the stench when they found Celina, poor girl.
“I know you know about that,” he lied, “but I am being truthful when I say I’ve nothin’ to hide. I’ve done well for myself, I’ve cleaned up my act. Yes, I still help people in a similar manner, but I’m no charlatan.”
“I’m going to level with you,” the officer clasped his hands together, elbows resting on the edge of the table, his form leaning forward, “we don’t want to have you here, but with your history, there’s not a lot of choice we’ve got in the matter. Did Celina seem right when you last saw her? Was she frantic at all? Nervous?”
“All people who come to me are a little nervous, officer.” Gideon chuckled, leaning back in the chair. His laugh had lowered over the years to a comfortable sound, something many had delighted in hearing. “That’s why they seek me out in the first place. A last resort, or something in that vein.”
“What I mean, is did it feel like she thought something bad was about to happen? Do you think she was in danger? Did she think she was in danger?” He was getting impatient. Gideon was a good man to the community, but his digging had proved he had been something else as a child. Rotten. Wrathful. Willing to see that the ends justified the means. Willing to carry out those means himself if necessary. And he knew from all his years that this was not something one grew out of.
Gideon paused. He was beginning to lose his patience with the officer, as well. He had learned better than to lash out like he used to, and so he simmered in his quiet frustration, his nails digging into his pants leg. He curled his fingers, tightening their grasp, knuckles paling.
“Sir, I assure you, Celina was fine the last time I saw her. She looked good, even. I think she was a bit frazzled, but she was an elementary school teacher, what teacher ain’t a bit frazzled?”
“Frazzled.” The word dropped out of the officer’s mouth, squirming on the table like an eel out of water. “Can you describe her behavior, if she was so… frazzled?”
Gideon swallowed, tightening his grasp on his pants leg. “She remarked she needed a drink, and I promised I’d go with'er if she needed a pal. She said her kids were givin’ her trouble, and I told her I understand. She calmed down mighty quick, and we talked like friends always do.”
“Did you think she may have been lying? Maybe something else was stressing her other than her job?”
Don’t lose your grip, Gideon. He had to remind himself this was all going on tape. He was not going to be judged by his intentions here. He was judged by his actions and words and he was not going to screw this up. He tightened his grip, knuckles turning white, white, bone bleached under already pale skin.
Gideon leaned dangerously close, slowly bringing his hands onto the table, clasping his fingers together, long digits locked. He arched his brows to give the man a clear view of his eyes, storm blue that hinted only partially to the rage that used to overflow in his younger years. He was twenty-four and had done so, so well for himself, and he had no intention of it going south now. With his neck craned and eyes locked on the other, torso looming above the table, he spoke in a low voice with such quiet intensity that it was felt like a door slamming against their faces.
“Officer, I’m fully aware of your convictions, and I will admit that I haven’t always been the best man, but I swear on my abilities I did not kill that woman.”