The story so far:
The desk Sergeant gave me a dirty look as they shoved me past her. She was a dour woman in her mid forties and looked like she hadn't had a stiff one in twenty years. The arresting officer shoved me into a booking room and pointed at a chair. I sat down, not even sure why I was there.
I was walking along next to the lake downtown when a black and white sped up and screeched to a halt. Two uniforms jumped out and approached while the driver spoke into the transmitter on his shoulder. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was obvious that I was their target.
Before I could open my mouth and utter a word, four more units arrived and officers lept from the vehicles, guns drawn.
I raised my hands and lowered myself to my knees. Two officers grabbed me roughly and the next thing I knew I was cuffed and tossed into the back of a cruiser wondering what the hell was going on. No one spoke to me after I had been Mirandize. Not a word. They just dragged me to the station and sat me in a booking room.
After what seemed like forever, two men in suits entered the room. One took the seat across the table from meand the other leaned against the obvious two-way mirror. The man sitting down slid a microphone in front of me and flipped a switch on a small box in front of him.
"Alright. Let's begin. I'm Detective Lawrence and that's Detective Davis. We'd like to ask you some questions about your activities tonight."
"I'd like to ask some **** questions too," I fired back. "Like, for starters, why am I here?"
Detective Davis shot across the room and leaned down over my shoulder.
"We'll do the asking, you do the answering. Is that clear?"
I looked up into his bloodshot eyes and nodded. I figured that I should probably keep my cool if I was to ever find out what I was doing here.
"Where were you this evening?" Detective Lawrence began.
"I was down at Rodney's Bar and Grill having a few drinks and shooting some pool," I replied coldly.
"Beer and billiards," said Davis, "how totally redneck of you."
I shot him a glance but kept my mouth shut. The questioning went on for a few hours but the only thing that was accomplished in the whole mess was that I was more confused as to why I was there and the detectives were frustrated and running short on patience. I was moved to a holding cell with a bunch of drunks and people that were waiting to be processed for their crimes.
A young man in a concert shirt and blue jeans strolled over and sat down next to me. He studied me for a moment before getting the courage to speak.
"Whatcha in for?" he asked me, the stench of whiskey overpowerig.
"**** off," I replied and stood to get away from him.
The scraggly young guy followed me to where the door of the cell was.
"You hear there's a psycho runnin loose?"
I looked at him blankly. I hadn't heard any such thing.
"Whaddya mean a psycho?" I asked.
"Some sick bastard slaughtered a whole group of tourists and left them stacked on top of one another in a hotel room. It takes a sick mind for some of the stuff I heard he did," scraggly slurred.
Hours later I was the only one left in the cell. I hadn't been able to make any calls and was denied a lawyer. I sheet of thim metal was mounted on the wall to pass as a mirror. As I passed by it, I noticed my clothing. it was not the same clothing I was wearing when I left the house. I left my home wearing Jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. I was now wearing a running suit. That only added to my confusion.
What I saw next made my skin crawl. My hands were stained slightly pink and there was some weird substance under my nails. All of a sudden my body felt totally worn out, like I had run a marathon. The depths of my confusion suddenly had my end. I tried to think back to the previous night. I remembered going to the bar and I remembered getting arrested. I couldn't remember much in between.
My heart skipped a beat. Where had I been? What had I done? What happened to my clothes? Suddenly, everything I knew was wrong. That was three years ago. In the time since, nothing has become any clearer. I was convicted of twenty three murders. Now I'm strapped to this gurney, waiting for the executioner to inject me with death. Just waiting...