It Was, But It Wasn't

IT WAS, BUT IT WASN'T

Sitting in a police interrogation room at 8:00 in the morning was not the way I wanted to start my Sunday. They said they just wanted to ask me a few questions, but I was pretty sure it was more than that. They sat me down at a small table and then left, saying they’d be back in a couple of minutes, which of course meant more like twenty in police jargon.

Detective Pat Henson finally came into the room and introduced himself. He sat down across from me. He was the stereotypical Barney Miller cop, wearing suspenders over his arm pit-stained long sleeve shirt, five o’clock shadow bristling over his square jaw, and a cold look in his stern, gray eyes. A snub-nose 38 special in a shoulder holster completed his ensemble.

We stared at each for a few moments before he at last broke the ice.

“Let’s not play any games, Angus. Just tell me why you did it.”

“Did what?”

“Kill all those people.”

“Oh, that? No, that wasn’t me. Well, it was, but it wasn’t.”

I could see that pissed Henson off, but that wasn’t what I was trying to do. I try to keep the memories of those killings buried deep in my mind, and him making me dig them back up just wasn’t right. In fact, it was downright cruel.

“Goddamnit, Angus!” Henson suddenly blurted out. “I said we aren’t playing games! If you think you can beat this rap by claiming insanity and using the schizophrenia defense, you got another think coming!”

He’s yelling at me, Angus. Make him stop yelling.

“Please, Detective Henson. Don’t yell. It gives me a headache.”

“I don’t give a fuck if it makes your head explode! You just confessed to murder, but at the same time you’re telling it wasn’t you! Are you claiming insanity or not?”

You know you’re not insane, Angus. Just tell him.

“I’m not claiming insanity, Detective, but I can explain.”

“You can explain how you’re seen on a security camera stabbing Dougie Porter to death in the EZ Mart? How the surgical instruments used to remove Carla Greene’s eyes had your fingerprints all over them? Can you explain how Michael Thompson’s head was found in your apartment?”

Wasn’t that fun, Angus? Go ahead. Tell him and I’ll make the memories go away for good.

So I did. My Sunday was already shot to shit, anyway.

I told him about the tumor on my brain and how I only had a few months to live. I told him about waking up in the hospital bed after the surgery. I told him about the doctor coming into the room and telling me the partial brain transplant was a complete success.

And then I told him about the new strange voice in my head saying, “You are going to enjoy me too much, Angus!”





479 Werdz