The Rain Does Softly Fall
by Jewls Winter
all rights reserved
"Murder?" Edward licked his lips, eyes hooded, flickering from the door to the window. Rain trailed down the window, dark in shadow, looking thicker than water.
The detective across the desk, hard eyes, back to the widow, what little light filled in the small office highlighted his short trimmed hair, leaving his eyes dark, full of condemnation. "We know what happened. It's clear. You made," the detective's voice deepened, disgust a fine shadow of dust, "sexual advances to him, repeatedly over the course of your junior and senior years at Harvard. We have witnesses. We have your letter threatening to openly accuse him of homosexual behavior. It was your blackmail, your 'advances', your deviance that caused Mr. Lawrence such emotional distress that he hanged himself. Just the thought of your imagination roaming over him was enough to ruin a good young man. That you threatened to smear his name makes this a homicide."
Edward leaned back against the cold metal chair, closed his eyes. Henry's eyes were blue. Had been blue. With his eyes closed those blue eyes swelled, whitened, like a dead fish and Edward started back up, a hand going to his tie. "It's not like that. We loved each other. I think his brother killed him."
"You would. You fucking faggot. Brother's don't kill each other. Maybe your brother should have killed you. Did you kill your brother? What kind of twisted mind comes up with something like that? It's because of you that Henry Lawrence is dead. Say it."
He blinked, only a second in the darkness, but thick wet slipped down, running down his face with no more emotion than the rain ran down the window, just dripping shadow. "I'm the reason Henry's dead." Those words bled the life out of Edward, his soul dripping away even as his tears stopped without him even knowing they'd started. "I'm the reason Henry's dead."
"That's right. Sign the confession, you sick fuck," the detective demanded as he pushed the gray paper towards his prisoner.
"What am I signing? Why am I signing something? Oh my god, Henry's really dead. He won't have killed himself. He won't. He loved me."
"Stalker. That's what a stalker would think, isn't it? Just sign. That's the best thing. You don't want any trouble, do you? A homosexual like you could come to a lot of trouble. Sign right here, Mr. Cording. Everything will be alright."
Shock. Edward ran a hand through bohemian sandy hair. "We're working on a book. I was doing the last edits."
"Sure," the detective said, putting a pen into his prisoner's hand. "Just write your name."
Edward put the pen down, leaned back, his hand going to his loosened tie. "Why are you holding me? I'm so tired."
"Sign, then you can rest. It'll all be over, just sign. It's your fault he's dead."
Edward pressed his knuckles to his mouth, then with rapid movements, he signed. Only then, blinking again, he looked at the paper. 'At nine o'clock pm, I strangled.' 'He begged.' 'I was just so angry!'
"What is this? What did I just sign? Those are lies!"
The detective grabbed him spun him around, slamming him hard against the gray police station wall. "You stupid fuck. Did you think we were going to let a senator's son commit suicide? Or be a faggot. Have you ever heard of Alcatraz? Nothing gets in or out. It's a great place to forget a rotten little shit like you."
"No! Stop! Was Henry strangled? I didn't kill him! Someone killed Henry! Stop! Let me go!" The wall hit his head hard. Black funneled into his vision, leaving him alone with Henry's eyes.