//------------------------------// // Interrogation // Story: The Curious Case of the Unicorn Twilight Sparkle // by The Rising Tide of Night //------------------------------// Detective Night Eye leaned against the glass with a sigh. He stared through the two-way mirror into the dimly-lit interrogation room, trying to fathom the disheveled unicorn sitting there silently. She looked as though she had been hiding in a haystack, her mane a wreck of tangles and straw and her fur dirty and covered in bits of dead grass; in fact, that was exactly where she had been found after yesterday’s fiasco. He glanced down at the journal he held in his hooves with some trepidation, feeling both a sense of excitement and a sense of dread. On the one hoof, he was certain that both the journal and the pony on the other side of the glass were the keys to solving the horrific crimes that had been plaguing Ponyville for weeks. On the other, he was afraid of what the contents of this journal meant for the filly in the room and her friends. “Might as well get this over with,” he muttered to himself as he slipped out of the observation room. Pausing for a moment to get into character, he pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The unicorn sitting in front of him flinched at the sound of the door opening, but continued to stare down at the table in front of her, as if inspecting the wood for imperfections. He remained silent as he approached the table separating them, content to let the force of his presence work its magic. He had broken more than one petty criminal just by staring down at them with his intimidating frame and piercing eyes. Reaching the table, he paused and waited for the unicorn to look up at him. It was a while before her head moved; she seemed determined to ignore him as much as possible. When she finally lifted her violet eyes to look into his hard green ones, he slapped the journal down on the table in front of her, the harsh sound echoing through the small room. She really flinched then, nearly tumbling to the floor before catching herself. A slight pang of remorse hit him at frightening the poor mare, but he didn't let it show. He was determined to get the answers he needed. This case needed to be closed so that ponies could sleep soundly in their beds once more. “I found your journal,” he said quietly. “It took some digging, but we managed it.” Turning away from her, he sauntered over to the mirror on the wall. He knew that his partner was standing on the other side of the mirror where he had been only minutes ago, but he could only see his dark blue face framed by his jet-black mane. “You didn’t make it easy on us, did you?” he called back to her, watching her reaction in the mirror. “Hiding it behind that horseshoe switch in the library bookshelf. We tore those shelves apart, you know. Had to rifle through every book there before one of my men accidentally stumbled upon the switch.” He chuckled inwardly as her face flew up with an expression of horror and decided to give her a small respite. He wasn't completely unfeeling, after all. “Don’t worry; my men are busy re-shelving everything. Wouldn't want to leave the town library a mess, after all. It is a public space.” The relief on her face was almost palpable, and he decided it was time to bring her off balance once more. His face set, he turned back to her. “I read that journal,” he said in a harsh whisper. “You knew exactly what was going on, didn't you?” He began to stalk towards her, eyes narrowing with each step, voice growing louder as he approached. She began to edge away from him, slowly pushing herself away from the table. “Even if you didn't know for certain, you obviously suspected who the killer was.” His hoofsteps clicked to a halt as he reached the table. Her back was up against the wall, and she was trying to look anywhere but the journal on the table or his accusing face. “Well?” he shouted, causing her to flinch once more as he slammed a hoof down on the table. “ Aren't you gonna tell me why? Why you let your friends die? Why this town lost some good ponies?” He heard a small sound, a sniffle that turned into a sob. Changing tack once more, he spoke much more softly, easing a tone of condolence into his voice. “It hurts, doesn't it? When you finally realize that it was your decisions that lead to their loss.” She nodded almost imperceptibly, tears trickling down her face as she continued to stare off into the distance. He sat back, giving her a minute to gather her thoughts before speaking once more. “I know you've been through a lot. Heck, there aren't a lot of ponies that can see what you've seen and still be standing.” His voice hardened once more. “But you need to come clean. I need to know how this,” – he gestured with his hoof towards the journal – “came about, and why you didn't tell anyone what you suspected until it was too late.” He watched her intently, scrutinizing her like a bug under a microscope. He could see that the thoughts were whirling around her head; she was shifting from side to side unconsciously, as he had seen many others do while they were deciding how much to tell him. The seconds dragged on and on, turning into minutes, but still he sat patiently on the cold, unfeeling floor tiles, waiting for her decision. With a practiced eye, he saw the moment she reached a decision. He unconsciously leaned forward slightly as she stopped shifting and began to turn her head towards him. Looking him in the eye, anguish plain on her face, she opened her mouth as if to speak. Her mouth hung open for a moment, before she closed it and hung her head once more as her courage failed her. Under his sudden surge of disappointment, he barely heard her voice, almost missing the nearly inaudible words she spoke. “I’m sorry.” He kept his face blank, but the disappointment and frustration seethed under his skin. He stared at her for a minute longer, hoping for some indication that she would change her mind, but she just continued to sit there, tears running down her face, staining her fur. Giving in for the moment, he sighed, and leaned forward to collect the journal from the table. Depositing it in the pocket of his uniform, he turned to leave the room. Pausing at the door, he looked back at her, seeing the combined weight of grief and responsibility lying on her shoulders, bearing her down to the floor. “I’m going to read this journal again,” he told her. “Go over it with a fine-toothed comb. I will figure out exactly what happened, whether I have your cooperation or not.” He waited for another moment to see if his words had any effect on the grieving unicorn, but she appeared not to have heard him. When no response was forthcoming, he pushed the door open and left the interrogation room. Slipping back into the observation room next door, he turned back to the glass separating the two rooms, joining his partner in watching the unicorn. “See anything I might have missed?” he asked the sharp-eyed forest-green pegasus. The pegasus glanced over at him, wings ruffling for a split second. “Unlikely,” he rumbled in his bass voice. “She’s clearly upset and won’t talk. I don’t think you’re gonna get much of anything out of her just yet.” Night Eye let out a rumble of frustration. “Thanks, Sharpshot,” he grumbled sarcastically. “You’re a huge help.” Sharpshot threw him a mock salute. “Anything for you, fearless leader.” They stared into the room for a minute longer before Sharpshot broke the silence. “I thought you already knew what happened. The journal was pretty detailed.” Night Eye nodded. “Exactly. It was detailed enough to get a sense of what happened, yes. But there were a few things missing.” He glanced over a Sharpshot, and as his green eyes met the confused brown eyes of his partner, he began to elaborate. “We don’t know what really happened between the end of the journal and this morning. A few days are missing. But really, Sharpshot, the biggest thing missing was the ‘why.’ There was no ‘why.’ She could have saved her friends with a few words, but she chose not to.” He glanced back at the unicorn in the interrogation room, watching her as she slumped to the floor, hooves covering her face. “I need to know why Twilight Sparkle chose to let her friends die.” Night Eye sat at his paper-strewn desk, a pot of coffee in front of him next to that blasted journal. He had left the observation room not too long ago, leaving Sharpshot to keep an eye on Twilight Sparkle. He knew that she had the real answers to the mystery, but just maybe, if he went through the journal once more, he’d be able to figure out… Well, he wasn't sure what, but it would be something, dammit. They’d already solved the case, for all intents and purposes. The killer had been dealt with, by Twilight herself of all people, the injured were being tended to, and the dead were unfortunately still dead. Still, Night Eye felt that there was something else that was missing. He needed to know for certain that the killer was gone. All Twilight had said after they’d pulled her out of that haystack was, “It’s done, she’s gone, it’s done.” She’d done almost nothing but hysterically repeat those words the entire journey to the station, aside from a few mutterings about her journal, before clamming up after being left in interrogation. Night Eye reached over and poured himself another cup of coffee. Taking a moment to enjoy the scent and taste of the bitter brew, he placed the cup down on his messy desk before eyeing the journal in front of him. Inspecting the cover, looking for any possible clue he may have missed, he read the title to himself once more: “The Journal of Twilight Sparkle, Volume XX.” …Huh. How about that. He just realized that he had never asked how old Twilight was. Judging by the volume number, she was at least twenty years old, probably around twenty-three, and that’s only if she kept one journal for every year. Putting aside idle thoughts of ages, he opened the journal, starting from the beginning. He knew from previous perusals that the important information didn't start until halfway through the current entries, but he at least scanned the first half, searching for anything that would give him an idea for the reason behind her actions. The first half was a lesson in domesticity combined with a guide to modern historical events. Events that both he and everypony else knew very well. Everypony had heard the stories of the Changeling invasion, and the subsequent reappearance of the Crystal Empire, though reading them from the point of view of Twilight herself was an interesting experience, to say the least. Details had been recorded in a manner that would have made the most studious historian squeal with joy. However, something about the way it was written set his teeth on edge. It wasn't the content that had him unsettled; it was the contradiction between how she had been acting and the emotion that she poured into her journal whenever she wrote about her friends. The dichotomy was a little jarring. One point she was writing about the Winter Wrap-up, going into almost obsessive detail about how she organized everything, the next the writing took on a playful tone as she talked about Pinkie Pie’s latest party, or a visit to Fluttershy’s cottage to see some new animal. It definitely gave him some insight into her character: here was a pony who took friendship seriously, and while she was an Element of Harmony and willing to answer any call the Princesses gave, she would give anything to help her friends in their time of need. It didn't make any sense when held up against the events of the last month. Shaking his head, he slowly flipped though the journal, eyes flowing over the pages, until he came to the point he was after: the point where he was pretty sure all of this madness began. Settling in and taking another drink of coffee, he began to read.