Tanner remembered the glint of an old lighter catching his eye. He remembered flicking it open and closed again with a satisfying metallic click. He remembered the warmth as the flame danced and weaved as it called for him. He didn't remember igniting the curtains swaying out of an open window.
Tanner could still feel the heat on his face, smell the thick smoke, see the rising flames engulfing the house and hear the screams of the family trapped inside whenever he closed his eyes.
Tanner was scared. As soon as the sirens had broken his trance the flames had cast, he ran. His calf stung bluntly where the police dog had sunk its teeth, the pain killers doing little. Tanner sat in a metal chair at the metal table in the middle of the room. The room consisted of the table, two chairs, one of which Tanner currently occupied, a microphone and a large mirror set into the wall to his left.
Tanner rubbed at his wrists where the hand cuffs had dug in more out of anxiety than anything else. He was breaking out in a cold sweat and could feel his heart racing, as if it was trying to break out from under his ribs. Tanner jumped as the door swung open. The detective stepped in.