January 26, 2016- Now
“Now” by Joywave from How Do You Feel Now?
(photo from tees.ac.uk)
Heart racing, dizzy, I approached the Watch Commander.
“I’ve come to confess,” I mumbled, unable to make eye contact.
His eyes narrowed. He looked me top to bottom before exhaling heavily, as though shouldering a heavy burden. “Fine,” he replied, “What crime?”
I gritted my teeth, clenched my fists, and spat out the ugly word. The hideous truth. “Murder.”
He seemed surprised a moment and then an expression flickered across his face, an expression I could only describe as “being impressed.”
“Alright, alright,” he replied, “The victim?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Don’t know?”
“It was a ghost.”
He studied me for a minute. A literal minute.
“Really?”
I nod, trying to make eye contact and failing. Instead I stare a patch of wall just over his left shoulder, hoping it passed for steady eye contact.
“And you, what, pulled some Ghostbuster game on ‘im?”
“No. I—that’s not a real thing. Ghostbusters are just a movie.”
“They’re also a cartoon, a toy line, a comic book. Don’t be reductive.”
“I won’t,” I snarl in exasperation, “But I’m being honest. I didn’t…vacuum them up. I…I killed him. Ran him through with a sword.”
“Oh, for real?”
I indicate that, yes, for real.
“You killed a ghost, with a sword, and you wish to confess that?”
I nod again.
He grimaces and gestures to another officer. The officer takes me into an ill light interrogation room. I feel compelled to ask her if this is what they call “the box,” but I resist. It seems poorly timed considering why I’m there.
After I sit, she sets me up with a form and a pen and sits opposite me. She looks surprisingly disinterested considering circumstances. After I feel out my confession, she looks it over, nods, and informs me that I’ll stay here while they send someone to catch the crime scene at my home.
“Do you want to handcuff me?” I ask.
She snorts, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
Thirty minutes later I’m being dragged out of the room by the collar by a very annoyed Captain and tossed out the front door.
“Don’t waste our time again or I’ll see you checked into the loony bin, jackass!” the cop shouted at me.
With a groan, I peel myself off the sidewalk and begin to walk away.
“That’s far enough son,” a voice drawls.
I look around and see nothing. Then a shimmery, a vague outline of a person.
“Ghost cop,” the voice gruffly explained, “You’re coming with us, murderer.”