friend?”
John took a deep breath. The cop was actually listening.
“He’s my friend’s—my ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend. I saw him sitting with some girl at a Starbucks a few days ago. He’s weird, I don’t trust him. So tonight, after my own girlfriend broke up with me and I decided. . .”
The cop looked up. “Your girlfriend broke up with you tonight?”
Did she? Why did he keep saying she did?
“Yeah, what does that have to do with anything?”
Come on, John thought. Let me tell you about the trail of bodies Frank left around tonight. The ones I can’t get out of my head. Every time I picture them I want to throw-up.
“Are you okay with the break-up? Did it surprise you? Did it piss you off?”
John’s mouth tasted sour and dry again. It seemed like the saliva on his tongue was drying up or creeping back down his throat. He felt as if his body was imploding.
He knew where the cop was taking him with these questions.
“No! I didn’t kill them. They were going to kill Frank and me. They were going to shoot us. Frank just took them out. He told me, it was us or them. He shot them. He shot them!”
John’s hands flexed into fists and pulled against the chains of the cuffs. The metal dug into his wrists sending electric charges up his arms. He pressed his feet flat into the floor. The chair squeaked back a few inches on the ground.
The cop leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“Easy, buddy. Easy,” the cop said.
“I’m not lying to you,” John said. He was out of breath. “I didn’t kill anyone. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I could be dead right now.”
“You said they had guns, these guys. There weren’t any guns found at the scene. Nothing. Just the bullets in their chests.”
John saw them again. Saw the fire exploding from their hands. Saw their own bodies explode in red. He swallowed hard.
“How can you think I did it? What’s going on here? I’m just a teacher. I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have followed Frank. I should have stayed home. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t do it. The wrong place. That’s all it was. I was in the wrong place. Let me go. I’m getting a lawyer.”
“Okay. All right.” The cops hands were held out before him now, palms out.
“You have to help me,” John said. His ears felt warm. There was pressure at the sides of his temples.
There was a knock on the door behind them. The cop got up and walked over to the door. John tried to breathe through his nose.
Don’t pass out.
When the cop opened the door, a man handed him a piece of paper. The cop read it and then looked up at John.
The cop put his hands on his hips and twisted his neck as if he was cracking it.
“Tell me what happened tonight.”
“I did.”
The cop slammed his hands down on the table and leaned across it. Some coffee spilled over the top of his cup.
“Tell me.”
John took a deep breath. The right to remain silent. That’s all he had left. He’d said too much already.
“I—”
“Yes?”
“I need to wait for my lawyer.”
The cop stood up and picked up the coffee and notebook. He guzzled the coffee, then said, “Fine.”
****
Two hours had passed and still no Michelle. No lawyer. John had already counted the tiles on the floor—trying to do anything to occupy his mind. He was also pretty sure the odor in his cell wasn’t shit. That didn’t solve the problem of what it was.
Distraction didn’t help. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. There weren’t any guns at the crime scene? He saw them. He kept seeing them in his head. Every time he saw them, he’d come close to losing it again.
He sat on the cot and brought his knees up to his chest. The burning in his wrists from when they’d taken off the cuffs had finally faded. What was he involved in? He couldn’t get the blood out of his brain. Just like the water. The last time—the only time—he’d ever seen someone die before tonight, the only image he’d remember was water.
****
They were at
Learning to Kill: Stories