The interrogation room was dimly lit, the light bulb above the small metal table flickering on and off as the power slowly died. I looked into the small room the the one way glass. My eyes found a familiar face. Kaela. I knew the walls must seem to feel like their closing in on her. She’s tapping her foot, a dead giveaway. My sister had always suffered from anxiety even at the age of 23. That deep brown head of hair she has was fairly messy. I wished to just reach in and comb my hands through it like if do every morning before school when we were younger. Those hazel eyes are soft; eyes that don’t belong to a killer. The police officer, an older man with more gray hairs then he’d like to admit sat across from her, speaking a lowly like he was talking to a child.