Chapter 3Her Peeping Accusation, My Prosthetic Eye

The cold iron door clanged shut behind me, echoing heavily.

I was locked in a temporary holding cell.

The room was small, with only a hard cot and a toilet.

The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant mixed with despair.

I fumbled my way to the bed and sat down, quietly listening to the sounds outside.

Footsteps of officers pacing back and forth echoed in the corridor, interspersed with hushed conversations.

“Is that the peeping pervert?”

“Looks decent enough, but he’s utterly disgusting.”

“He’s supposedly blind, but I bet he’s faking it.”

“Who knows? Anyway, he’s finished now. Of all people to cross, he had to cross a college student.”

These voices, like countless tiny needles, pricked my ears.

I had long been accustomed to darkness, but for the first time, it felt so chillingly cold.

After about two hours, the iron door opened again.

It was Detective Miller.

He held a transparent evidence bag in his hand, a triumphant smile on his face.

He dangled the evidence bag in front of me.

“Lucas Rochester, look what this is?”

He seemed to forget I couldn’t see.

He revealed the answer himself, his voice full of satisfaction.

“Under your windowsill, we found this!”

“A pair of military-grade binoculars!”

“And this!”

He took out another evidence bag, containing a digital camera.

“Inside the camera, we found a large number of candid photos of Amy Lestat! Various angles! Indecent!”

“Now, what do you have to say?”

I remained silent.

Inside, however, a storm raged.

They were fast.

So quickly, they had prepared all the “evidence.”

Detective Miller saw my silence and assumed I had conceded.

He pulled up a chair, sat opposite me, and spoke in a tone as if lecturing a misbehaving junior.

“Lucas Rochester, Lucas Rochester, I ask you, so young, good-looking too, why choose such sordid acts when you could do anything else?”

“Now the evidence is conclusive, denying it is useless.”

“Just sign and put your fingerprint, and I can still plead with the prosecutor for you, so you get a lighter sentence.”

He pushed a document and an inkpad towards me.

“Come on, put your fingerprint, finish this early, it’s good for everyone.”

I could “hear” the perfunctory and impatient tone in his voice.

He didn’t care about the truth at all.

He just wanted to close the case quickly.

I slowly lifted my head, facing him.

“Detective Miller, if I put my fingerprint, does that mean I admit to all the charges?”

“Of course!”

“Will I be sentenced for sexual assault and disseminating obscene materials?”

“Yes, with multiple charges combined, at least three years, to begin with.”

“Will my name, my life, forever be branded as a ‘sexual predator’ and ‘pervert’?”

Detective Miller’s patience seemed to have run out.

“Why are you so verbose! This is your own doing! Who else can you blame?”

I smiled.

My laughter sounded particularly eerie in the empty holding cell.

“Yes, who else can I blame?”

I murmured to myself.

Then, I reached out, fumbling for the transcript.

Just as Detective Miller thought I would press my fingerprint, I used all my strength to tear the transcript into shreds.

The paper scraps fell like snowflakes.

Detective Miller was stunned; he hadn’t expected me to dare to do such a thing.

“You… you’re crazy!”

He stood up abruptly, pointing at my nose and yelling.

“This is resisting arrest! An aggravated offense!”

Facing his rage, I spoke each word clearly.

“I didn’t do it, and I won’t admit to a single word.”

“You can fabricate evidence, you can beat confessions out of people, but you will not make me bow down.”

“You want me to confess? Over my dead body.”

My words were like a resounding slap, hitting Detective Miller hard across the face.

His face turned from red to green, then green to purple.

“Good! Good! Good!”

He repeated “good” three times, trembling with rage.

“You’ve got guts! I’ll see just how tough you are!”

He turned and stormed out, roaring at the door.

“Guards! Cuff him! Request formal detention!”

“I’ll make sure he learns what the dignity of the law means!”

Soon, two officers rushed in, roughly dragging me off the bed.

Cold handcuffs again clamped onto my wrists, this time tighter than before, cutting into my skin.

They pushed and shoved me, making me stumble forward.

Just then, my phone rang.

It was the monotone electronic sound typical of blind-accessible phones.

One officer impatiently reached to hang up.

But I spoke.

“Let me answer.”

My voice held an undeniable calm.

The officers paused, surprised.

Detective Miller yelled: “Answer what! Take him away!”

“If this call delays the ‘truth’ you seek, the consequences are yours.”

My words made Detective Miller stop.

He looked at me suspiciously.

Finally, he motioned for his subordinate to hand me the phone.

I fumbled and pressed the answer button.

On the other end, a cold yet familiar female voice spoke.

“Lucas Rochester, I am your landlady. I demand you vacate my property within three days.”

“I don’t want a disgusting pervert living in my apartment.”