White Space Season 2

Henry before the man could say boo.
    Heart racing, Jon opened the door and was ready to run down the hall, but was surprised to find Cassidy standing right outside, leaning against the wall, crying, without a gun.
    She looked up, “I can’t watch any longer.”
    “You don’t have to,” Jon said. “But I should go back.”
    Cassidy grabbed his hands and met his eyes, “You don’t think he’s innocent, do you?”
    Jon didn’t know how to answer. He knew what Cassidy wanted to hear, and what would make his life easiest. It was also what might provide her the most momentary solace — but it wasn’t the truth.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “Something’s not right.”
    Cassidy looked at Jon as if he’d punched her in the gut. “How can you say that?”
    “I’m not going to lie, Cassidy. I don’t know. Yes, we saw the video, and yes it’s damning, Houser carrying that blanket over his shoulders. Extremely damning, but shit, it just doesn’t make sense with the man I know.”
    “Maybe you’re not such a good judge of character,” Cassidy said. “I mean, you didn’t know I was a junkie, using again, did you?”
    Jon shook his head, his eyes wet and sad. “I’m going back in. I need to hear what he’s saying.”
    He opened the door and slipped back inside. Cassidy stayed in the hall.
    Houser was still sitting at the table, again stone silent, his gaze lost to the photo of Emma’s dead body.
    “Did I miss anything?” Jon asked Henry.
    “Nope, he hasn’t said a word since you left.”
    Jon approached the two-way glass to get a closer look at Houser, hoping to draw something from his empty expression.
    Brady resumed speaking, easing back into conversation. “Can you tell me what the last thing you do remember is, Mr. Houser? I’d love to help you, help us both get to the bottom of this, but I need something to work with. Something I can follow up on. Can you give me anything?”
    Houser started rocking, ever so slightly in his seat. He said something Jon couldn’t quite decipher through the speakers.
    Apparently, Brady couldn’t either. “What was that, Mr. Houser?” he asked, leaning forward.
    Houser kept rocking, and mumbled again, this time his voice was split by a staccato crackling of static in the speakers, followed by several seconds of high-pitched, piercing feedback, then a squawk, which caused all the men, in both rooms, to cover their ears and turn their heads from the speakers. The lights flickered, off, on, off, on, the last off stretching a full five seconds before the lights came back on.
    When they did, Jon looked up to see Houser holding a small knife to his own throat, about to dig in.
    “No!” Brady screamed, trying to intervene.
    Houser shouted, “Stay back, or I’ll do it!”
    Brady halted then retreated carefully back to his seat. Calmly, he said, “You don’t have to do this, Brock.”
    Houser’s hand shook at his neck. “Tell Jon I’m sorry,” he said.
    Jon banged on the glass and screamed, “No!”
    Houser turned, staring at the two-way mirror, though he couldn’t possibly see his friend. Houser’s eyes were wide, tears streamed his face.
    “Jon?” he asked. “That you?”
    Jon turned and raced past Officer Henry, who tried to stop him but was too late. Jon ran into the hall, noticed Cassidy missing, but didn’t stop to wonder where she might be as he twisted the knob on the interrogation room door.
    Locked.
    “Let me in!” he shouted to Brady.
    The door opened and Brady appeared between Jon and Houser, who was trying to look past the chief to his friend.
    “Let me talk to him,” Jon said, “Please.”
    Brady stepped aside and let Jon into the room, obviously trying to avoid a suicide in his interrogation room.
    Houser’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Jon? Is that you?”
    “Yes, buddy, it’s me.”
    “Please tell these people I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her.”
    Houser’s knife shook violently, tipped with blood. His hand seemed a second from slicing, but some part of him continued to resist, a part that seemed to be trying to connect with Jon.
    “Please put the knife down,” Jon said. “ Please .”
    Houser looked down at his hand as if it confused him. “Do you believe me, Jon? You know I didn’t kill her, right?”
    Jon stepped closer, now six feet from Houser.
    Houser’s expression turned angry, “Don’t come any closer, Jonny, I’ll do it.”
    “Please, don’t,” Jon said.
    Houser stared at Jon. His expression