𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚.
Shuffling on his seat to get himself more comfortable, Affie holds a water bottle between both his hands, as if that’ll help to ground him. “Affie Baldwin,” he states, voice hoarse.
𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝.
“I’m twenty-three... born on October 31st 1996.”
𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙣 / 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚.
“I was born and raised in Looe, in Cornwall, England. I lived in Calabasas, California before I came to Camp.”
𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙈𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙣𝙯𝙞𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙?
“I was, um...” Pausing, Affie ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “I came out when we heard a load of commotion, everything started to shake, and I watched Mackenzie getting pushed into the shed from just outside my cabin.”
“I was with, um...---Maxine.”
𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮?
Jaw clenching a little, Affie’s grip tightened around his water bottle before he nodded. “Yeah, they can.”
𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙧?
“I don’t know much. I’ve heard rumours about demonic possessions and other ghost stories but I never really believed it.”
𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝘿𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙨?
Looking only slightly confused, Affie shrugged a little. “I don’t know much about him, just that he’s the founder of Camp Intent.”
𝙒𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙣?
“What? Of course I was... yeah, I was.”
𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚?
Looking more confused, somewhat annoyed, Affie frowned. “It was awful. Why are you asking me this?”
𝘿𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙬?
Noticing a change in the detectives behaviour, Affie opened his lips to answer, but didn’t get anything out before------
ARE YOU GOING TO PLAY ̶̨͓͍͖̮̙̠͔͙͎͌T̶̬̘̥̈́̒͐H̶̨̨̞͇͈̰̍̈́̓̋̂͒Ĕ̶̛̘͔̜̺̺̌̾̒̊̃̃Ι
A long stream of profanities left the boy’s mouth as he suddenly rushed to get out of his seat, tripping as he hurriedly took himself out of the interrogation room. Once he was outside of the police station entirely and the door was closing behind him, the Brit automatically leaned forward to vomit, an accumulation of everything that had happened finally getting to him.
