Novel

Detective Crusoe (Unfinished)

Diary Entry #1

Date: July 11th, 1935

I don’t like people, really. I’ve never liked people.

“So… How much do I have to pay you?”

Though, there’s no person that I hate more than Mr. Daynard. Mr. Daynard is a gruesome and unsightly man.

Even as he began to file through his pile of dollar bills, flashing a smug grin as an attempt at charm, I couldn’t help but feel disgusted by the sight of him. Mr. Daynard always has an oily look about him— and he especially had one tonight.

Tobacco juice smeared his lips. His hair appeared to have been slicked back with grease. His palms were sweaty.

It was impossible to go anywhere in his vicinity, without smelling the filthy scents that lingered around him.

“I don’t take money from mob bosses, Daynard,” I said. “How many people did that bust across the room cost you, by the way?”

Mr. Daynard’s marble bust— which Daynard mistakenly thought to have been designed in his likeness— sat across the room, staring at me in a chiseled expression of rage. While the real Daynard had minimal resemblance with it, he did share the bust’s rage.

“You know that’s not true,” Daynard said, sneering. “You and I— we’ve had a few scuffles throughout the duration of our relationship. But, even in the face of all the investigations, you’ve found that I’m clean!”

Mr. Daynard shoved his cigar into his mouth, letting charred bits of ash fall onto his coarse neck.

“You’re right, Daynard,” I said.

I felt my veins pulsate, and my fists clench. If it hadn’t been for the fact that my arm wasn’t feeling so weak at the time, I might’ve— well, I suppose I would’ve done nothing.

“I’m still not taking the money though— I’d prefer not to be under any bias. If you haven’t caught on yet, I’m an officer.”

“As if you haven’t made that clear enough…”

Mr. Daynard gave a grubby gesture to the badge on my chest. I felt the sudden wish to polish it off—the very fact that Mr. Daynard was staring at it made me feel as if the badge had filthened.

“Thanks for trying to help me out, anyhow,” he continued. “I can’t thank you enough for it. And, I really do hope that you take the money, eventually.”

He paused, to smirk.

“Even so, I’m not overly disappointed. I’ve lost enough money tonight…”

I opened my mouth to say something more. I couldn’t find anything to say. The atmosphere of Mr. Daynard’s entrance hall had left me feeling unnerved. Nicely decorated as it was, he had a bit too much detail put into it…

If there’s anything that I’ve learned in my investigative work, people always have something to hide. It’s people like Daynard—the most ostentatious of society—that tend to be the most corrupt.

I went for Daynard’s exit.

“I hope that you’ll be able to cover all of the property damages,” I said.

Before I left his house, for the police car waiting for me outside, I took a glance back to his wall— it had been defaced with red paint, and a wooden stake was pounded into it.

“Mob activity…” I muttered under my breath. “When will these cretins ever learn?”

Diary Entry #2

Date: July 15th, 1935

Miss Lucille Prestel

2056 Cannon Drive

Chicago, IL 60615

July 11th, 1935

Lieutenant Charles Jackson

850 W Addison St

Chicago, IL 60613

Dear Lieutenant Jackson,

as you’ve requested, I’ve sent you this letter as an account of what I remember taking place during the recent robbery, which occurred on my estate— Prestel Manor. I apologize for the prolonged wait, but I toiled over this manuscript without rest. I needed to perfectly convert my memory to text. I’m aware that you would’ve preferred for me to have told you the account in person during our past encounters. However, this was unfortunately the only way. Every time I speak of the event I feel as if my wits have been knocked right out of me.

I’m somewhat of a poet, so my prose should be amongst the most elegant you’ll ever read. I hold the belief that my writings are arguably the most refined of all literature. Since I know that you’ll find yourself envious of my jaded skills— even the strongest willed men feel envy—I’ll give you a tip as to how to recreate my excellence. Do as I did, and explore all five of our flattened Earth’s continents. Speak unto the stars, and let them answer you. Stare into the darkness, and try your hardest to listen to the voice of the ether. Only through doing that can you become as great as I.

Although, enough about myself. While I’m sure you wish for me to tell you of all my stunning adventures and journeys, I simply don’t have the time. After meeting you, I can attest that you’re a strapping young gentlemen of fifty— however, you’re not quite deserving of my greatest secrets, darling. Over the eighty-three years of my life, I’ve learned the beauty in brevity. That’s why I’m going to begin my wondrous account. I promise that you’ll be in awe. I showed it to my eighth husband’s ghost, and he adored it!

There was something strange during the night of the robbery... It was in the hair— I could feel it in my face. I should’ve brushed it before I went to bed, but I’d neglected to.

I could also feel the strangeness in my gut. It was rumbling and growling. While it might’ve only been because of hunger, I felt that there was something more to it— I think it was also my laxatives.

Whatever it was, I couldn’t take it anymore. I rolled out of my modest master bedroom and through my humble entrance hall. Creaks followed my footsteps, and I could’ve sworn that somebody was watching me. I looked around, and then saw that there was something watching me— a monkey skull.

I have a very grand collection of monkey skulls, and it’s a source of great pride. All of my pet monkeys have been kind enough to offer me this collection— but every time I see one of the skulls, the ether’s essence leaps out of my mouth. That night was no different. I wailed with a force that could’ve crumbled a mountain.

It was after I’d finished wailing that I discovered the wail wasn’t in vain. I heard footsteps begin to pound through the hall, and my favorite glasses and silverware crashed through my kitchen. The moment that this clatter reached my ears, I reacted with the agility of a lion. While people might state otherwise, I still have a very youthful vigor. My practice from on the moon’s jungles has yet to leave me.

As I ran toward the site of the sound, I could hardly feel the weight of my dressing gown. Once I’d made it to the area where the noise had come from, I pounced toward the culprit. He was dressed in extremely roguish garments. He had an oversized jacket, with a collar that covered his face. He also had a fedora pulled down over his eyes to complete the nonsensical getup. Because of this, the only feature that I could clearly catch was that he had a rounded, clean-shaven jaw. Just by the look of him, I could tell that he was a criminal.

Even with my Olympian speed, I was too slow to catch the man. He leapt from my grasp, and charged out of the room. Before I could yell for him to stop, he’d leapt out of my window and left in shards.

Studying the remains of my kitchen, I found that he’d pilfered my box of savings, and all of my legal documents. The very sight made my jaw slacken. This was all it took for me to call the police.

However, I would hate for you to believe that I went down without a fight. It was anything but that. I saw the man jump back from out of the broken window and back into the kitchen, displaying supernatural strength. However, it was no match for my own. We soon became caught in an enthralling battle. There was only one moment where I struggled. But, it passed quickly, and I soon had the man pinned to a wall. He was in my power, and I could’ve easily stopped him. The only reason that he—

“I can’t believe Lieutenant Jackson took this seriously,” I told myself, pushing the document across, to the other side of my desk. “But, why am I surprised? He had me go into Mr. Daynard’s house, after all.”

I paused, and then let out a chuckle.

“But, now this… This is the most ridiculous letter I’ve ever read.”

I’d been reading up on the Lieutenant’s case-file, concerning a string of recent crimes. Although, I seriously question the legitimacy of the case. Every document in it seems to either be falsified, or ambiguous. Miss Prestel’s latest letter was probably the strongest pieces of evidence yet— and that was saying a lot.

“What have I been worrying about?” I asked myself. “Crusoe can’t be back… How could I have ever let myself think he was?”

While there was comfort in knowing that the sightings of Crusoe were largely unfounded, the fresh robbery still retained an ominous atmosphere.

I’m not sure why I was so upset at the time, now that I look back on it… Crime is always an issue—even the return of Crusoe wouldn’t change that fact… Not that much, anyway. If I were to have been honest with myself, a few robberies are the least of my problems.

I’ve been trying to ignore it for the past few months, but the police have lost complete control over the skyrocketing crime rates—our handle on the law is slipping through our fingers, like grains of sand.

I looked the window of my moonlight smeared office, and saw a destitute street. It was littered with a grimy fog of trash, and a few flickering splays of light. There were even a few articles of clothing left on the ground. They moved in the wind, as if they were trying to flee from my sight.

“I should’ve moved to California…” I said, pulling at my silvering hair.

My eyes moved to the nameplate on my desk— Sergeant James Kyler. Those words used to glisten in a radiant gold. They’d dulled since then… Dust had covered the etchings. Years do that though. They leave the world to become but a fragmented memory of what it once was…

Memory…

My memory trailed back to the day I’d received the title of Sergeant, and the pride I’d felt.

“If only I could’ve seen where it was heading…” I whispered.

Memory and hindsight can be so treacherous…

I pulled out a pen and a sheet of paper from under my desk, and began to transcribe my observations concerning the Crusoe case. My breaths heaved, and my eyes started to lull. Though it wasn’t until the moonlight faded from my window, and the paper obscured, that sleep finally subdued me.

My jaw slackened, and my posture dipped into my desk. If my heart hadn’t been beating a dozen times a second, I would’ve fell dead. My heartbeat only rested for a moment, as the remaining sliver of silky moonlight dripped from the curtains of my office.

On a normal late night, I preferred for the moonlight to be drowned out— this allowed me to think without distraction. However, I welcomed the moonlight that night. It allowed me to see what I’d been ignoring. For the past few months, I’d been feeling my resolve begin to compromise. The world around me seemed to be doing the same. Poverty’s stroke was imbedded upon nearly every street in the city of Chicago. For a cop, an outbreak of poverty was one of the worst things to experience.

Poverty is the source of all crime, after all…

“If only it wasn’t so hard to detect for the past few years… Why has it taken until now for me to notice it?”

That’s a question that I can’t answer. For the past five years, there’s hardly been a Chicago street that wasn’t vacant or neglected.

I suppose that the reason I’ve ignored it all is because I’ve found a way to skirt by. I clung to my job, to the point that my clinging‘s intensity painted my knuckles white, and forced my eyes shut.

For a while, I thought that my clinging was the reason I’d kept my job. I reasoned that I’d worked hard enough for it. I thought that, by some act of pure skill, I was entitled to the right of keeping my career— everybody else had earned their misfortunes.

At least I was right about one thing— I was entitled.

Despite my ignorance, the problems were harder to dismiss. I can’t quite tell what it was that woke me up. Maybe it was the day that I went to the police department, and realized that half of the police force was missing. Maybe it was when I went to the store, and saw a vacuum. Maybe it was when I went to my apartment, and found my neighboring apartments to be empty.

Maybe it was the combination of all of this.

Whatever it was that woke me up, it was running me ragged, to the point that even sleep had become tiresome. Whenever I settled down in my bed for the night, my eyes wouldn’t shut. They’d stare up at the ceiling, for hours— and, they wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard I tried pulling them down.

Sometimes I’d wonder what I was looking at. Though, that wasn’t the right question. I should’ve asked myself what I was looking away from.

I can’t overstate this fact enough— I’ve always thought myself to be a good cop. Although, skyrocketing crime rates clearly say otherwise. I’ve kept my job only because nobody else has a job.

Nobody else has a job.

This sentence ticks in my brain, and it ticked in my brain then, with each tick of my office clock. A friend of mine recently lost a job— and I haven’t seen them since, because of it.

I looked at the clock, partially to check the time and partially to distract myself. It was 1:01.

I’ve been coming back to my office every night that I can’t sleep. A swamp of exhaustion has settled where my brain once was, but I can’t stop the habit. My mind is always going somewhere, but it never reaches where it’s going. It constantly drives me to act in the inky hours, and I always find myself looking for something— something that is never there. There have been some nights where I stay in my office the entire night, through to the daytime, and don’t leave until night falls again.

“Kyler!”

I snapped my head up from my paper, and looked around the room. Shadows still flooded it, and the moon’s milky wisp was still all that I could see. However, there was something else too, even if I couldn’t quite see it. I could sense another presence— another person, staring me down. For a moment, I nearly thought that I’d been dreaming. What I’d detected was something as slight as the breath of another— but it changed the room as much of an effect as the wind would have in a dustbowl.

My fingers edged near my flashlight.

“Well, no need to whip your head about,” the person chuckled. There was a bumbling slyness to it. It was coming from Lieutenant Jackson.

I’ve always thought that hate is a strong emotion. Respect towards authorities is a virtue that I’ve constantly tried to uphold. I make an exception when it comes to Lieutenant Jackson.

He’s the kind of person who likes to stick his nose in everything. The man has a special type of intuition that lets him know whenever there’s a conversation that he has no part in. If I didn’t know his middle name, I would guess that it’s, “Eavesdropping”.

In fact, dropping is a word that suits him in more ways than one. With nearly every step he takes, he looks like he’s about to trip and fall. Perhaps this is due to his sickly, lanky build. He has dark saggy eyes and a pale complexion. The only thing of color on him are tufts of strawberry hair, which poke out from under the hat that he constantly tucks over his head. From the way he wears himself, he’s indistinguishable from a walking corpse. Whenever I see him pass by, I can’t help but hold back a scowl. He’s inept in everything he does, he’s a terrible leader, and a disgrace to all Lieutenants. If there was anything about him that I feel confident in, it’s that he doesn’t deserve his title.

“What do you want, Jackson?”

“Well, you’re out of line— you’re to address me as Lieutenant Jackson.”

I grinned.

“I’d address you as Lieutenant if you were one— but you’re not,” I almost said. Looking back on the scene, I wish that I did. I wish that I’d torn my badge off my chest, and stormed out of the room. It would’ve served me better than what was to come out of my mouth.

“My apologies,” I said instead. “Why did you come into my office?”

“Uh… Well, I was wondering why you came to your office. You’ve been coming here early for the past week. I came here early, hoping to catch what you’re doing every night. What are you doing?”

“I come here to clear my head,” I said, plainly.

My plainness was but a guise. I was becoming anxious. Jackson was already studying the room around me, scoping it out for anything suspicious. Once I caught him distracted, I took Miss Prestel’s letter from the top of my desk, and shoved it into my back pocket.

“Huh…” Jackson said.

He hung on that word for a second too long. It was usually his way of saying that he didn’t believe a word of mine, but he didn’t feel that I was worth the time to interrogate. His eyes rolled to meet mine, and he savored the intimidation he held over me.

Huh… I thought to myself. The word huh says a lot more than I thought it did…

“Well, there’s no need for me to keep prying…” Jackson said.

That’s something else that I hate about him. He overuses the word well, well more than he should— something cruelly ironic, considering his unwell features.

“Well, there was another robbery at Lincoln Park,” Jackson said, leaning back and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well,” I said, mocking him. “That sounds like something we should be taking care of. Why didn’t you get to that subject sooner?”

“From what we can tell, Crusoe was there,” Jackson said, suddenly. “Detective Crusoe. We’ve had several eye-witness accounts, and they all point to him.”

He said the word Detective with a leer.

“What does that masquerading joke have to do with me?” I asked.

Sweat was pouring down my forehead, and I hardly knew why. Then I caught Jackson’s gaze. As sickly as he looks, Jackson can still muster an overpowering aura.

“It has everything to do with you— you know that. This is the third time this week that a crime correlated with the— Detective. And you’ve been coming to the police department each midnight— around the same time that Crusoe commits a crime. Are you going to tell me that there’s no correlation?”

“Correlation or not, I haven’t seen that man in years,” I said. “Everybody knows that. I’m surprised that he’s come back, but it has nothing to do with me.”

“That’s just it, Kyler. Nobody has seen him for years. If he was who you said he was, then why would he come back? The city has been ravaged by crime and poverty. Are you going to keep playing dumb, or are you going to talk?”

“I’ve been talking Lieutenant. Crusoe isn’t any of my business.”

“Fine then…” Jackson said, with a defeated look— something I long thought him incapable of making. “Well, Miss Prestel has finally sent me her witness account concerning the robbery. I can’t show it to you, because I misplaced it. Not that it matters, because it’s mostly full of absurdities— but, it’s provided enough new information to convince me that I need to make another investigation around her house. Most of our dogs were sick during the night of the robbery.

He tucked his hands into his pockets, and studied around my room once more. I knew that he was waiting for me to beg him to join. But, I wasn’t going to fall for his parlor tricks.

“Well I suppose that, if you really want, you could join me,” Jackson finally said, garnishing his words with a staged reluctance. “After all— you’ve been stuck in this office very often, as of late.”

Perhaps it was just me, but Lieutenant Jackson seemed to wield his every word like a dagger, steadily jabbing at me with them for long as he could. I simply did my best to ignore him.

As he walked off, he gave me one last glare.

I made a leer.

Diary Entry #3

Date: July 16th, 1935

I looked at the globe seated on my desk. Daylight drenched one side, but shadow dominated another. Absent-mindedly, I spun the globe around several times before stopping it to clasp two of my fingers onto a red pin. The pin which marked my city— my home.

I could hardly recognize it as my home though. The globe was obscured by the dimness of the room.

“Well, it’s time to get in the squad car,” Lieutenant Jackson said, intruding into my office.

I scowled. Thankfully, Jackson couldn’t see it, due to the veiled darkness of the room. This was perhaps the one benefit of me always keeping the shades drawn.

“We’re heading to Prestel Manor?” I asked.

“Where else?”

“As you said before, this will be your second inspection of the property… I never thought that you’d be in a rush to leave for there, this early…”

I looked down to my silver watch. It was eight in the morning.

There was something else on the watch too— a man with thick bags under his eyes, and a worn visage.

My reflection.

I really need to get more sleep… I thought to myself.

“I don’t expect to find much, but I suppose that we might as well give it a second look… We could use your second opinion,” said Lieutenant Jackson. “And, we need probably have this done first thing. Miss Prestel isn’t a person who understands the concept of brevity, and I have a busy schedule today.”

Jackson backed away into the doorway, before pausing to crack a smile.

“With that said, when I notified her of our coming arrival, she said she doesn’t want us to stay there too long. She, ‘prefers to keep company away.’ That fits with my agenda, I suppose…”

Jackson paused to grin.

“But, I’m not sure how she could feel that way, especially after the contents of her letter. I suppose that old age and the oversized house of hers made her become somewhat senile.”

Jackson let out a laugh, and I forced myself to join in. As our laughs evaporated, the journey from out of the aging police department and into our dated squad car was markedly silent.

“Well, you know, this reminds me of the Brad Duncan case…” Jackson said, once he’d gotten comfortable in the driver seat.

I still don’t know how he could’ve gotten comfortable in it. The whole car rattled once it was put into gear, and the seats were made of a stiff, torn fabric. It’s not just me who shares this sentiment either. Tin-can has become a nickname for it among much of the police department.

In retrospect, it was probably because he had to. A car-ride in silence would’ve only made things even more unbearable.

“Remember him?” asked Jackson. “Squinty-eyed… Had a wobbling gait. Not too bright?”

I remained unresponsive. Jackson was bursting into laughter though, even as he was backing out of the parking lot.

“I don’t think I’ve met such an idiot since! He thought that he’d been robbed, because his door had been left open, a few of his possessions were missing and his floor was covered in muddy footprints. But then… Then…”

Jackson was wheezing so hard that I decided to give him mercy.

“I remember… We found out that he’d just left the door open, and that the missing items and the muddy footprints were from his dog.”

“His dog! Yes! Right! Exactly!”

The rest of the car ride was like this. Lieutenant Jackson made uncomfortable jokes, jabs, and comments, while I forced myself to humor him. It was just short of torture. There were half a dozen times when I had the urge to cringe, but forced myself to stop.

I tried enjoying the scenery. I tried looking out into the street. Instead, I found myself staring into a dark and cloudy atmosphere. It was so thick that it looked something like a massive blot on the window. Fog and rain had poured on the city so relentlessly, that it had been left unrecognizable.

Can a diamond ever lose its beauty? I would’ve once answered that question with a no. Though, I’ve come to sympathize with a different view.

The streets steadily faded out, and the bleary silhouette of a slumping Victorian house was lit up by our headlights.

“We’re here,” Jackson said.

I watched as his face sloped downward, and he let out a slight sigh.

As he pulled into the Manor’s grove, and the surroundings became less obscured, I found it to be more elegant than I’d initially believed. Despite me knowing the Chicago streets as well as I knew my own apartment, the manor still had a new and enchanting look to it.

I’m sure that if I’d told Jackson what I felt, he would’ve disregarded me with a smothered chuckle. He wouldn’t have done so without reason, either. The manor had crumbling walls, a roof that was stained from chimney smoke, and a lengthy dirt driveway. Most of the manor’s bottom half was cloaked in a fog. Its pointed crown of a roof was folding in on itself, due to its aged and meagre architecture. I could even smell the manor’s thick mustiness, whilst I was sitting in the car. Yet, I somehow still let it take me back to a time when I was younger. There was something to it that gave me a jolt of energy.

I suppose that our opinions of things sometimes have a way of surprising us.

A woman strode out from the fog. She was clearly advanced in years, and had caked makeup over her face to hide it. To be frank, nearly every part of her was either doused in a cherry makeup, flowery garments, or a disgustingly sweet perfume.

“Welcome to Prestel Manor,” she said ceremoniously, as me and Jackson stepped out of our car. She beamed at the sight of Jackson, but construed her face at the sight of me.

“I’m Sergeant Kyler,” I said.

“More like unwelcome…” the woman muttered. “I’m Miss Prestel,” she said, putting on a false, cheery smile. “This is my manor, Prestel Manor, which has lasted throughout three generations.”

“That’s quite a long time!” Lieutenant Jackson said, gawping. “I wasn’t aware that this house was so old. From which side of your family did you inherit it?”

“Neither. I bought it. When I said, ‘three generations’, I was referring to the three generations of my pet monkeys. I’ve only had this house for thirty years, darling. Hardly enough time to—”

As I listened to her nonsense, I followed her up to her rickety porch. I could already tell that she was going to be quite the character.

“Let’s keep in mind that we’ve come to inspect the premises, not converse” I said to them, while staring at Miss Prestel’s fake diamond ornaments, which were draped across the overhang of her porch. In hindsight, it’s not a wonder that she was robbed.

“How did you happen to come into such a fortune, Miss Prestel?” I asked.

I asked this question presuming that knowledge on how she made her fortune might have an amount of relevance to the robbery at hand. However, after I asked the question, Mrs. Prestel gave me an aghast expression.

I still can’t quite tell what to make of it.

“It’s a strange thing, actually,” she said, awkwardly turning her head away for a moment. “I dabbled in a little bit of stock here, and a little bit of investments there… It was just a thing of savviness. It didn’t hurt that I did a little bit of exploration and treasure hunting in my younger years.”

Her servant swung the entrance doors open.

“This is my butler, Eustace Gretchen,” she said, as I and the Lieutenant thanked him. “I found him in my travels— oh what wild adventures I had.”

We were led past melancholy stuffed heads of monkeys that she kept nailed on her entrance hall, before being brought into her parlor. It was a small, square room— compared to the massiveness of the rest of her house, anyway— but she’d managed to stuff it to the brim. In the left corner, opposite to the entrance door, there was a couch. To the right of that, there was a coffee table that contained pictures of Miss Prestel and her several husbands. Along the walls, there were more pictures— most of them containing monkeys. Eerily, in each image of the monkeys, they were wearing the same outfit as one of Miss Prestel’s husbands.

Despite the parlor being full of pinks, purples, and blues, I still felt it was grungy. As Miss Prestel offered me a place in a purple chair with a swirl painted on it, I shook my head no. The very thought of taking seat in it felt unclean. I couldn’t help but wonder how she’d earned money for such a furnishing— undoubtedly by scraping through rich husbands, to pave her way to wealth. I wasn’t willing to rest on a chair that had been bought through such means.

“This is one of my favorite rooms,” Miss Prestel said, sitting at a pink, round table that had been placed at the center of it. “These images hold a sense of weight and meaning in my heart. I can’t quite say why, but they each make me feel as if I’m traveling back in time, to my happier days…”

I nodded.

“Is it true that you’ve had eight husbands, as your note declared?” I asked, trying to coddle her ego.

Miss Prestel frowned.

“No,” she said. “I had nine. But, I thought that you came here to study my case…”

“I was just curious… You inherited their wills each time they died, correct?”

“For most of them. But why do you—?”

“Do you think that any of their relatives have any sort of grudge against you? Perhaps a father or mother in law…”

“I already told you in my letter— I’m confident that the robber matched the gallivanting ‘Detective Crusoe’ figure. It’s unnecessary to try steering off into absurdities.”

Lieutenant Jackson nodded in agreement, and gruffly took one of the purple seats. He looked ridiculously out of place as he sat down in it, with the chair clashing with his dark uniform. I grinned.

“Well Sergeant, you’re overstepping your boundaries. If you wish to ask her questions, make sure that they’re relevant to the case at hand. Miss Prestel’s personal life can stay out of it.”

I stopped grinning.

Miss Prestel blushed, with her cheeks turning crimson— and my own cheeks turned the same color. I hadn’t expected such chastising from Lieutenant Jackson. Though, what hurt worse was that he was right.

I’ve gotten rusty, I thought to myself.

Jackson pulled out his notepad and a pen. As he did so, his pen opened with a crisp click, followed by the clucking of his tongue. This habit of his always found a way to get under my skin, but I managed to keep my jaw shut, and my eyes focused at the pink table.

“Well,” Jackson said, “where were you the day before you were robbed?”

“Right here in my home, all day. If you’d like proof, you can just ask my butler.”

“And this butler,” he continued, furiously writing in his notes, “Mr. Gretchen, as you call him? Where was he before the crime?”

“On weekdays, I pay Mr. Gretchen to sleep in my guest room, so that he’s here for me as needed throughout the night. However, with the crime having occurred on a weekend, he was at his house, near Roscoe Village.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows for a moment, but continued writing.

“Has he ever had any suspicious behavior before?” Jackson asked.

“No. Never! He’s served me for forty years. I—.”

“You said that you’ve only owned this house for thirty years,” I said.

“Yes, well… Mr. Gretchen has served me since before then. He’s a very loyal servant. The very suggestion of him attempting thievery is absurd.”

“Then, are there any other suspicious suspects surrounding the robbery?” Lieutenant Jackson asked. “Anybody who’s acted odd?”

While Miss Prestel might’ve been overjoyed to be in Jackson’s presence earlier, she looked somewhat disgusted now.

“I already told you both. The robber was Detective—.”

“It’s fine that you have your suspicions, ma’am,” Jackson said. “But we need to narrow things down to the facts. Supposing the robber really was Detective Crusoe, we’ll need to know all possible suspects— that’s the only way we’ll be able to figure out who this ‘Crusoe’ figure really is.”

Miss Prestel’s incredulity finally simmered.

“Well, I can’t think of anybody who might’ve been willing to rob me. The only thing that has been acting strange lately is my newest pet monkey— he doesn’t seem to be getting better from any of the help that my personal veterinarian has been giving him.”

“You have a personal veterinarian… could you please elaborate?”

Miss Prestel’s eyes fluttered, and she pushed her hair out of her face.

“He’s a wonderful and charming person. I have him come over to my house several times a week, to check on my monkey… And he’s so very kind to the creature. He goes by the name of, ‘Dr. Martin Smith’, and drives here in a funny little model T— I thought that people would’ve stopped driving those things by now. Oddly enough though— he stopped coming over and answering my calls a few days after the robbery.”

“How and when did you come to meet this, ‘Dr. Smith’?” Jackson asked.

He was now writing so fast that I thought his pen might break.

“He came to my door a month ago, asking me if I had any pets.”

“Thank you, Miss Prestel,” Lieutenant Jackson said, standing up from his chair. “I think that I’ve gained all the new information that I needed, as far as suspects go. Now, could you please give us a tour around your house. I’d like to get a better idea of how the crime might’ve been committed, and who might’ve been able to commit it.”

Miss Prestel nodded eagerly, and led us out of her parlor. Her elderly thumped on the floor, dragging us through her monotonous maze of oversized corridors and hallways. While there were several times where she claimed that she’d kept a, “unique and varied collection,” most of her decorations kept the trend of being adorned with some sort of monkey ornament, or bust. There were only a few items of hers that stood out from this trend— and they were usually images of her past husbands. However, one of them did retain a significance in my memory.

We passed a coffee table, with a brownie camera sitting on it. Just as I’d taken my last step away from it, the camera snapped a picture of my leg. Perhaps it had a loose spring, or perhaps the button was jammed. It probably wasn’t anything that I should’ve focused on. However, as a photo filtered through the two lips on the camera’s side, I was glued to it. I couldn’t take my eyes off the photo.

Could any of these fluke pictures have been taken at the crime scene? I wondered.

I was being too optimistic.

Any fluke picture that might’ve been taken probably would’ve been too dark and unclear to make out. Furthermore, even if such a picture could’ve been clear, Miss Prestel would’ve shown them to us.

That, or she hid them…

I quickly waved the idea off— but, that didn’t change the fact that I’d thought it. As Miss Prestel took us up her steps and into her bedroom chambers, my mind was only focused on that thought.

Our entire visit to Miss Prestel’s might’ve been meaningless.

“This was where I was sleeping when the terrible robbery took place,” Miss Prestel said, with a melodramatic wail. “When I heard the man come in, my heart leapt in shock.”

She showed us her bed.

“That was the very place I was in when it happened. It’s made of the finest silk, imported straight from China. I collected it during my journey to the—.”

I tuned her out and began studying the room for myself. There wasn’t much in there, besides her overabundant furnishings.

I let out a sigh, and brought my hands into my face.

The visit had become a little more than an excuse for Miss Prestel to show off her money.

“And this is where I leaped from my—,” Miss Prestel said, showing off her bed.

I cut her words off before she could finish.

“I think that I’ve seen enough. Could you please take me to your kitchen, where the crime was first committed?”

She gave a huff, and then rang a bell at the side of her bed. Within moments, Mr. Eustace Gretchen was standing in the entrance door.

“Could you be a dear and lead our guest to the kitchen?” Miss Prestel asked him. “He wishes to study how our robber might’ve broken in.”

I couldn’t help but gag when she described me as a, “guest.” It was as if she thought that she’d brought me over for one of her pitiful dinner parties.

However, I luckily was uprooted from my anger when Mr. Gretchen nodded, and began leading me out of the room. As I followed him, I heard Lieutenant Jackson’s voice faintly trail after me.

“I’ll be down with you in a minute. I just need to look over a few more things.”

I probably needed to hear that, in that moment. Some time away from Jackson is always a relief.

“Are you pleased with the madam’s house?” the butler asked me.

“Uh, Sure… Very much so. But, I really don’t have time to chat.”

Taking the message far better than I expected, Mr. Gretchen led me to the kitchen in a mere five minutes— a massive change in pace when compared with the twenty minutes that Miss Prestel would’ve taken.

“What happened to all of the glass?” I asked the butler, taking a glimpse of everything. “I thought that the robber had broken your window.”

A faint scowl formed between Mr. Gretchen’s brows, which he promptly erased.

“I was actually brought here from in the middle of my weekend to clean it up. The mess was a ghastly ordeal, and it became even more tedious when the window had to be replaced.”

I was about to ask him more— but a flare protruded through my vision before I could open my mouth to utter a word. There was a shard of glass on the ground.

I picked up. Though, it began to crumble in my hand.

“Gretchen, were there any other maimed items from the robbery?”

“Several actually… You wouldn’t believe it, but the window sill and the countertop were completely deformed afterward. We replaced the countertop and the window, and I tried repairing the deformed windowsill by putting on a sort of sealant… However, it hasn’t been quite the same.”

I did believe it.

I’d read the initial police reports. They had discussed some oddities concerning the broken window. There were suggestions that the deformity might’ve been caused by a sort of flame-thrower. Although, I knew better.

“Acid,” I muttered, under my breath. I let the dust in my hand fall to the floor, and Mr. Gretchen give me a look of dismay.

“You might want to consider giving this counter a deep scrubbing,” I said. “From what I can tell, it needs it.”

He didn’t seem to be listening— Gretchen was too focused on sweeping up some remaining bits of glass, along with the bit of dust that I’d dropped.

“Yes sir, very well sir,” he said, with an absent-minded glance in my direction.

I’d become focused in my own work as well.

Making a rough judgement of the counter’s height, I found that it was five feet in the air— high enough to keep anybody with a short stature from jumping on top of. It also had a somewhat flimsy build— but, I partially attribute that to the acid that was probably poured onto it.

My guess is that the person who’d escaped through it would’ve had to be light on their feet and agile to have made it through without injuring themselves. Moreover, if they had weighed more, they likely wouldn’t have had the need for the acid in the first place.

For a person who was willing to rob a house, they must’ve been fairly weak.

Backtracking to the accusations that the robber had been Detective Crusoe, I can’t help but laugh— the very thought of him leaping over five-foot hurdles comes across as humorous to me. While it would take me talking to somebody I trust deeply for me to admit, I know Crusoe very well— and his figure is far too robust to have performed such a stunt. Especially since he’s aged the same amount of years as I have since we’ve last met.

I now realize now that I’m much further along in this case than most of the police in the area. I know so much more about Crusoe than all of them combined. They don’t know what they’re looking for… They think that they know so much, but they haven’t gone around this city fifty times, like I have. They don’t know this place like the back of their head.

I do.

I was never able to inspect that kitchen as thoroughly as I might’ve liked to through. I was stopped when a shriek tore my eardrums. Thinking that something was horribly wrong, I charged out of the kitchen and up to the bedroom where I’d last seen Miss Prestel.

As I ran, I felt my body groan from the stress of it all, but it didn’t matter—I kept on running.

I made it to the room doubled over, and gulping as much air as my lungs could hold. To my surprise, I found the room to be just as I’d left it— with Jackson and Miss Prestel standing by the bed. They looked as shocked to see me as I was to see them.

“What happened?” I asked, still panting.

“Nothing,” said Jackson, looking slightly bemused. “Well… Nothing might be a bit of a stretch… We were just looking out the window saw a man running on the roof of the mansion. He was dressed in the typical Crusoe garb. But… how did you know that there was something wrong?”

I returned his expression.

“I heard a scream. Didn’t you scream at something, Miss Prestel?”

Her lips scrunched into her cheeks.

She said, “No dear… I’m not the sort of person who screams at danger. To be honest, I didn’t hear a thing. It could just be that I was too focused on the fleeing form of Detective Crusoe… But, maybe you’re hearing things?”

I nodded to her in understanding. Though, there was no part of me that understood.

There was no doubt in my mind that there had been a scream. My feet had felt the floor vibrate. My head was still throbbing from the sound of it. I found it stranger that they hadn’t heard it than the fact that I had.

Searching for any potential sources of the scream, I peered out the window— there was nothing in sight. I turned my head back and forth, from Johnathan to Miss Prestel. Neither of them compromised under my questioning gaze. Neither of them were willing to alter their stories.

In the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something flutter and take seat on the rain-smattered roof— Crusoe’s designated fedora. I whipped my head to the spot where it would’ve been, but I saw an owl take flight instead. It moved too fast for me to tell if it had taken the hat that I thought I’d seen. In fact, the only way I’d even been able to determine it was an owl was by the way it shrieked as it disappeared into the smoky clouds.

The only possible proof for whether the robber had really been Crusoe… And it was taken by a bird…

“Lieutenant, I think I’ve seen enough,” I said. “I’m ready to go.”

. . .

The ride back to the police department was silent. Though, this silence still managed to say everything that needed to be said.

“Why did you make such a fool of us?” I heard, in Lieutenant Jackson’s seethe.

I gave a cough, and leaned back in my seat, as if to say, “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

I didn’t though. Underneath my relaxed demeanor, I was tense. My mind raced as it tried to find answers. The Lieutenant’s disapproval was overwhelming.

The streets were obscured in a thick fog.

I used to see a thick cream amongst the fog. I used to see it as if the heavens had decided come down to anoint the streets. Now, I only ever see a map of gray.

I suppose the fog is the perfect allegory for life. Upon first looking at it, we see how mystifying and broad-reaching it is. However, the years pass, and we come to see it as it really is— constricting, random, and blurring. Past the fog, one’s destination could await them… And yet, some terrible accident— some unperceived undoing— could also await.

I guess that’s another reason why I can’t sleep at night. I’ve come to recognize that both destiny and travesty have drawn themselves closer and closer to me.

For some reason, I’d let Jackson bring me closer to travesty. I let him bring me back out into the field that morning.

I severely question whether that was the right choice.

I looked back across to Lieutenant Jackson. He had a scowl across his forehead, and a squint in his eyes. I know that he just might’ve been straining to see through the intense cloud. But, I still think he was directing his anger onto me.

Droplets of water dripped on the side of my window. As each one slid down the window, a minute passed by on my clock. I know, because I counted each one. I eagerly watched time slip away, as I reminisced on my office, which stank of ink, polish, dust, and stacks of mildew papers.

Twenty-seven droplets of water had slid down my window by the time we reached the police station.

“What did you think?” I asked the Lieutenant, as I trailed behind him to his office.

“I’ve thought quite a lot of things… None of which I particularly wish to share with you,” he answered me, without even thinning his stride.

“I’m sorry about how some of the ways I acted were— amateurish,” I said, trying to appeal to him. “It’s just been awhile since I last worked on a case that was this personal. You have to understand— the topic of Crusoe is an uncomfortable one for me.”

“Well, if you’re going to be any help to this case, you need to get comfortable with it.”

He unlocked his office door. He went in.

I followed him.

The Lieutenant’s office is perhaps the single most consistent element within the police station. As far back as my memory can go, it had a soft coating of graininess, a floor that was cluttered with strewn papers, an untouched bookshelf that was covered in dust, and a desk, which was complete with a lamp that provided the only light in the room.

As my feet pattered against his carpet, the rain pattered against his window-pane with me. Despite his office’s sloppy textures, there was something uniform about it. It was one of those few places that I could go to, and be secure in the fact that nothing was being hidden from me.

Lieutenant Jackson was an insufferable slob— but he was always straightforward about it.

“What are you still doing here, Sergeant?” he asked.

Jackson had already slipped behind his desk. He glowered over me, leaning into his desk with his hands spread out to give him support

I went to speak, but felt my tongue go numb. My vocabulary had slipped from in between my teeth like water might slip through cupped hands.

“I wanted to tell you that I don’t think Crusoe could’ve committed the crime. I was studying the kitchen— and what I found didn’t support the claims.”

Jackson’s face softened— at least, in comparison to his usual gaunt look.

I began relaying everything that I’d studied of the crime-scene to him, and how it couldn’t have been caused by a flamethrower. For once, Jackson appeared legitimately impressed.

“It was after I studied these warped areas that I realized an older, thickly built man, like Detective Crusoe, couldn’t have made such a leap. It could’ve only been done by somebody who was skilled at doing hurdles and light on their feet.”

Jackson rested his chin on his fist, and grinned.

“I’ll admit— your skills are still sharp. For a man who has been out of practice for nearly a year, you haven’t even begun to rust… If I didn’t know any better, I would almost think that you hadn’t missed a single day since you decided to stop doing detective work.”

Jackson turn around in his chair, to face away from me.

“Keep it up Kyler. I can’t wait to see what other secrets you know.”

I nodded, but I still caught the underhanded undermining. There was an amount of toxicity behind his words.

There’s no doubt— Jackson still thinks that I’m still working with Detective Crusoe. If not, he thinks that I’m Detective Crusoe.

I’m disgusted by the very notion of being a suspect in Jackson’s mind. Yet, I can’t deny that I also feel flattered. Detective Crusoe has the best mind I’ve ever encountered when it comes to abductive reasoning.

“I know that it might be easy to think that Detective Crusoe is still at large. However, couldn’t it be possible that the man has merely decided to hang up the magnifying glass and trench coat? Like you said to me earlier today— poverty has hit everybody hard. Maybe Crusoe finally decided to stop playing his high-stakes version of dress-up, and began putting his focus onto other endeavors.”

“Kyler,” Jackson said, filtering through papers on his desk, “you and I know that Detective Crusoe is still out there. Whether he’s still performing acts of vigilantism is beside the point… He’s been associated with numerous murders and robberies, among other things. He supports acting outside the law, despite trying to enforce the law.

“Even if this new criminal isn’t him, and even if Detective Crusoe is being framed, the reason that somebody would even be able to frame Detective Crusoe is because of Crusoe’s history. No matter what, this current problem rests on his shoulders.”

Jackson furrowed his brow to look up at me, and let out a sigh.

“I know that he was once a man that you were a great friend with— but you need to let that memory go. It’s not the twenties anymore, when you had nothing to lose and the city had a lot less grit and cracks. Time is moving on, and you’re not moving with it. This Crusoe figure is nothing but a hypocrite. The world would be better off if he just turned himself in…”

I wanted to fight Jackson. Yet, his words still resonated with me

Crusoe had done a lot to hurt me, over the years. He’d blighted my name.

He’d stunted my career.

Although, there was something that the Lieutenant said that I couldn’t get past… I still haven’t gotten past it.

This current problem rests on his shoulders…

I wasn’t so sure about that.

While it’s tempting to blame something like this solely on Crusoe, I think it stretches further than that. This isn’t just Crusoe’s problem. This is everybody’s problem.

Though, if it’s everybody’s problem, is Crusoe truly to accountable for everything that he’s done? This is where my thoughts always trip on themselves. It’s the questions like these that make me want to give up entirely.

“Are we going to search for our lead— Dr. Martin Smith?” I asked Jackson.

He gave as gruff of a snort as his pencil-wide frame could muster.

“What else do you think that I’ve been doing all this time?”

He turned up the book that he’d been filing through—the white pages.

“I’ve looked through all of the names in this area that go under Smith, Martin,” he said. “But, none of them seem to be located anywhere near Prestel Manor. Moreover, none of them have any connections to a vet, like Miss Prestel had told us. Whoever this, ‘Martin Smith’ really is, he certainly knows how to make his business relatively hard to find…”

“Did Miss Prestel ever give you a description for this man?”

“Even if she did, we both know that it would’ve been tainted and exaggerated by her nonsensical fantasies… The only way we’ll be able to pinpoint this person is by tracking other crimes in the area that are like this one…”

“If he has any sense, he’ll quit while he’s ahead.”

Jackson looked me square in the eyes.

“If this man had any sort of sense, he wouldn’t have tried robbing an old lady in the first place.”

I smiled. He smiled back. The smug slyness was washed from his face, and I saw the man that I’d looked up to, over a decade ago. Despite some of the recent strains in our professional relationship, his words were strong enough to make me forget about all of them. I was reminded of the times when he and I had first worked together. Our work was defined by nothing less than thrill.

Things were far simpler then— blacks and whites didn’t bother masquerading as one other. Perhaps it’s just me, but it seems that time has made the world become darker.

Diary Entry #4

Date: July 19th, 1935

I met a beggar of the street today. Couldn’t give him anything, so he tried picking my pocket.

Fun.

I always wondered why people dare pull stupid things like that. Gotta think that one of them would’ve figured out not to mess with me by now.

I was sentimental again today, too, and don’t know why. I called up all my old friends. At least, I tried to. Nobody picked up the phone. However, I guess I shouldn’t have expected that much. There’s only five of them.

I hate Crusoe. I don’t think that this crime was his, but he definitely did his best to make me think that. He’s the most confusing person that I’ve ever met, really. One day, he was there… The next, he was gone. He’s never really been gone, though. He just tried to make me think that.

I hate him.

So far, none of the things that I collected from the crime scene have gone anywhere. The acid remnants were unrecognizable, and had already mostly been cleaned up. My physical approximation of the subject hasn’t gone anywhere either. And, as for Lieutenant Jackson? His focus has meandered elsewhere. This case isn’t going anywhere, and he knows it. He’s essentially given the entire investigation down to me.

The problem is that I don’t know enough. I wasn’t there on the night of the crime, so I have no idea if I have the right lead right now. I’m essentially just looking for a needle in a haystack.

I just hope that the Lieutenant ends up appreciating everything that I’ve done. Because, right now, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to give him anything.

Diary Entry #5

Date: August 5th, 1935

It’s been weeks following my introduction to the Prestel case. Just found myself driving around Lincoln Park, for the eighteenth time. My eyes have begun scanning every miniscule detail that passes by. Hardly anything that escapes my sight anymore.

Read every aspect of this case, inside and out. Searched for the potential answers to questions at each junction. There isn’t an hour of the day when my mind doesn’t stop to dwell on the case. Always trying to find a solution that’s alluded me. The only way I could be doing more is by being in multiple places at once.

Despite being restless about all this, I’ve found that I’m only more energetic than before. The more that I work, the more I feel like I’m coming to the end. It gives me a sort of joy that comes with solving a puzzle. This all might be very exhausting, but I’m now reminded why I like a good detective case so much. I’ve even forgotten why I’ve come to loathe the job, up to this point.

That is, until I was scathingly reminded at the end of today— a Monday that has been full of more “moans” than “mons”. It all occurred after having returned to my apartment.

I was turning the knob of my door when I heard a man’s voice call after me. That’s rarely ever a good sign. I swiftly went into my apartment, and slammed the door behind me.

As I settled into my living room, there was a knock on the door. At first, I tried to ignore it. But, it continued, until it had risen to pounding.

The voice in the hallway had been familiar to me. I went to my door.

While I feared that the person at the door could’ve been a crook, I had a bit of self confidence in my abilities to ward him off.

“I’m a police officer,” I told myself, reassuringly. “I don’t have to worry about being able to defend myself. I know what I’m doing.”

I wouldn’t have been able to defend myself at that moment, should I have required it. I had no idea what I was doing.

Taking loud strides, which would’ve easily alerted the trespasser of my presence, I brought my eye to the peephole. I was greeted by the sight of an old friend.

“Hey, James,” he said, with his muffled echoes littering my apartment with old memories, “It’s me—Eddy. You know— Eddy Mulligan.”

Naturally, I opened the door. Eddy had been a good friend of mine throughout the duration of my high school years. He’d been one of those friends who livened you up when you felt exhausted. He was the sort of friend who bridged the gap between innocence and the rebellious trail to adulthood.

I would often skip classes with him, and explore the deep Chicago streets without a care in the world. The slippery wetness of the pavement threatened me, but I didn’t hear it. The buildings cracking concrete threatened to fall onto me, but I didn’t see it.

Like it is for most childhood friends, I can’t remember exactly what made us become friends. I can’t remember how we first met. I can’t remember what caused us to drift apart, either. We only see each other a few times a year now.

I suppose that our relationship deteriorated as our lives began to separate.

Perhaps that’s why I opened the door— a gesture of gratitude toward good memories.

Once he’d stepped inside I realized what a mistake I’d made. In retrospect, nostalgia never has offered me anything good.

I was greeted by a stranger who had taken over the body of Eddy. His hair was matted. His beard was even worse. He was dressed in tattered clothes that looked like they’d been pulled out of a garbage dump.

In fact, I think they were. He stank of trash. He clearly hadn’t showered in weeks, if not, months. At this point, I saw him no different than any of the other desperate hobos who I found on the street, vying for a job or a scrap of food.

I should’ve never let him in here, I thought anxiously.

My eyes widened. I watched him filthy my carpet with his crusty boots, and walk over to my fridge.

“So… What brought you over to this side of the neighborhood,” I asked him.

I walked over to my entrance, to relock the door of my apartment. Eddy hadn’t given the thought to try shutting it, and I could already hear my neighbor’s coarse yells and crashing glass.

“It’s been months since we last spoke,” I said.

“‘I was in the neighborhood’, as they say,” he explained, shoving a bit of my food into his mouth.

“Funny coincidence. I just phones you the other night, but you never answered.”

He didn’t seem to listen, and started shoving more of my food in his pockets.

“I have to say,” he continued, talking as he chewed, “I haven’t really realized until now, but you have a nice setup over here. Be proud of it. I’m practically living in the dump.”

He laughed. Although, he hadn’t fooled me. Even after years of infrequent meetups, I could detect jealousy and sadness in Eddy’s eyes from a mile away. If he’d been telling a joke, it had been the most somber joke I’d ever seen him tell.

“Yeah…” I said, not taking my eyes off him. I needed to make sure that he didn’t steal anything. “To be honest, I could’ve seen myself in a lot better of a place, ten years ago.”

He nodded, and looked around.

“I could’ve seen you in worse places, considering the way that we ran around this city when we were younger…” he said.

We both shared a laugh. Though, it still didn’t feel right. There was a hollowness to it, when compared to laughs that we’d shared in the past.

At least it was a real laugh this time.

“Yeah… We were wild back then. I’m glad that neither of us had a car. We would’ve crashed holes into just about every building that we drove by.”

He nodded, and grinned.

“You don’t have any time for that nonsense now though, do you?” he asked. “All busy and serious police work, eh?”

I looked at him quizzically.

“Is something wrong, Eddy?”

Eddy put down his food, and walked up to me. He was several inches shorter than me, but with the way he stood himself up, I was compelled to think otherwise.

“It’s not your absence that has been getting to me… It’s time that I got straight to the point,” he said, doing what I think was an awful job at getting straight to the point. “You see… Well it’s… Have you ever been put in a situation where you know something that none of your friends know, and they need to know it— but if you tell them what you know, then you risk losing something? Have you ever been in a situation like that?”

I told him that I hadn’t particularly experienced anything quite like that. I told him a lie.

“I need to tell you something, James… But you can’t tell anybody else that you got this from me.”

“I can keep a secret Eddy. If I couldn’t, then I would’ve sent you to prison a dozen times over.”

I smirked, and waited for him to laugh, but all I got was a slightly frustrated huff.

“I need you to give up the Crusoe case,” he told me.

My jaw dropped.

“How do you know that I’m working on the—.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “All that matters is that you drop it. Stop working on it. Get your whole police station to dump it as fast as they can. And, if they don’t, quit your job.”

“What are you talking about? You can’t just barge in here and tell me all this, without any explanation!”

He gave a smirk.

“You have a nice place James. I’d hate to see you start living in the streets, with the rest of us bums. But, I don’t think it’s worth what’s coming for you. You’re in way over your head with this Crusoe guy— you might remember him as some nice guy who could fix all of your problems. Nowadays, he’ll definitely fix you up with something— but it’s going to be something that you regret.”

He walked over to my door, and began unlocking it. I was dumbfounded, but he didn’t even bother to make eye-contact with me. Screams and shouts flooded back into my ears, and my apartment’s dim lights began to leak out into the arms of the unsleeping city night.

“If unemployment is good enough for two-fifths of the population,” he said, taking one last bite in a roll of mine, before tossing it away, “Then it should be good enough for you. Thanks for the meal.”

As he shut the door, I watched his eyes turn to my windowsill. He stopped chewing.

I watched his pupils dilate.

“No…” I heard him say, in a muffled whisper. “Not here… Not now…”

I turned to the window, but all I saw was the shadow of the American flag, billowing atop rippling winds.

“What are you talking about?” I began to ask him. That is— I began to ask the only sliver left of him, disappearing behind the crack of my door.

“Goodbye,” a tendril of a voice said to me.

I can’t quite tell for sure if it had been Eddy’s voice. As I went to lock my door back up, I heard a coarse howl, followed by a crack of thunder. My lights flickered, and I watched my window flash in the swipe of God’s blade. The howl had caused a rift in the sky itself.

I don’t know how I knew it… But, somehow I knew that, had the voice who’d said goodbye been Eddy’s, it was the last time I’d ever hear it.

Every hair of mine stood on end.

I ran to the telephone, and called my Police Department to alert them of the situation.

“A police officer calling the police,” I said with a chuckle, as I nervously looked out the peephole of my door. “Never thought the day would come…”

To relieve myself while awaiting their arrival, I settled into my chair and turned on the radio. I was hundreds of miles away from the nation’s capital, but I could still hear the steady voice of F.D.R ringing through my ears. It was full of static, and I had no doubt that it was been recorded a couple of years prior. Though, as the confident and resolute words of the leader of the free-world sifted into my ears, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort.

“There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.”

I mouthed those words, letting my breath reutter them. I almost felt as if I were casting some sort of spell onto myself— a way to assure myself that, no matter what, nothing would go wrong.

Then, I looked up to the American flag that had been hanging outside my window. Except, when I looked, there was no American flag. There was nothing at all. With a jolt of shock, I realized that the American flag couldn’t be seen from my window.

What had that billowing thing been?

I felt my body begin to quake, and the screams of Eddy echoed back into my ears.

“There’s nothing to fear but fear itself,” I said again.

If I’d hoped for those words to have driven the screams away, it didn’t work.

“You better have been right,” I said, looking at the radio. Despite Roosevelt’s words, I couldn’t help but speak in the same terrified whisper that I’d last heard Eddy speak in. Fear had succeeded to consume me. It was at this specific moment that I was reminded of the horrors of my career.

I now know what Eddy meant when he said that I should abandon it.

The Prestel case had been put aside to focus on the disappearance of Eddy Mulligan. Police cars arrived at my house fifteen minutes after I’d heard his shrill scream. In time since, I’ve wondered what might’ve become of me had they been fifteen minutes later, but I’ve preferred to avoid such thoughts— they’ve left me with continuous nightmares.

After arriving, my colleagues asked me the routine questions of where and when I’d last seen him, why he was here, and If I could give them any details that might prove to be of use. I did my best, but what I had to give wasn’t nearly as keen or insightful as I hoped it would’ve been. I came to the humiliating realization that useful words from a witness of a crime were just as valuable and hard to obtain— if not, more so— than a good police officer. There was an entire week where I and the rest of the force were investing more than five hours a day on this missing person’s case. I worked harder than any of them, since I was the one who’d watched it all take place— though, I knew that my work and research was hopeless.

I could still hear the scream ringing in my ears, days after Eddy had vanished. If he was kidnapped, there was no chance for the police to find him. If he was murdered, then the killer had done a tidy job of cleaning up after themselves. Perhaps too tidy.

I wasn’t one to believe in the supernatural— but, with everything I’d witnessed, I’d begun to consider it as a possible explanation far more than an officer as myself should have. Whenever I was honest with myself, this case had resulted in me being the most stumped that I’d ever been before.

All evidence seemed to point to this having been a kidnapping. Though, then why had Eddy screamed in such a way that his voice was unrecognizable? Had he been the one who screamed? If he’d been kidnapped, then why? Even if he hadn’t been murdered outside my apartment building, did he survive after he’d been kidnapped? Was he still waiting for somebody to come and rescue him?

My mind was like a spinning top, going in far more circles than one might think physically possible. I thought it to be unrelenting— however, this was a lie. Every top has its time of falling.

It seemed to me that, after Teddy’s disappearance, the sky itself cried. Its tears spilled onto the gravel, making the streets runny from its muddy mascara. The buildings and streets became blacker with the rain’s grime, looking as if it had dressed in the coating to morn. Inside, I felt the same as them. I caught myself beginning to wear darker attire— and when I forced myself not to, the rain made sure to darken my clothes anyway.

If Eddy hadn’t died, myself and the world around me made sure to treat the situation as if he had.

I came to work on a Wednesday, over a week after Eddy’s absence. Life felt as if it was barreling down on me, and I’d been trying with all of my abilities to barrel down on it.

Exhaustion filled my lungs, knives were in my chest, and my legs felt weak and numb. The disparity of everything had begun to take hold of me, and choke all of my energy from my throat. There was rarely an hour of the day where I didn’t feel my heart begin to flutter in terror. All that I could think about were all of the strange happenings that were going on around me, and how they seemed to be swirling inward, like sharks in an ocean. Eddy had used his last words with me to make me aware that the search for Crusoe was one that would leave me and my department in shambles.

I’m not sure why, but I hadn’t told anybody about the words Eddy spoke about. Sometimes I think that I should’ve— I could’ve decided to indirectly cause the future murders of several people in the decided to keep quiet.

It was on that Wednesday morning that the thought of having potentially cost several lives hit me like a truck. I’d come to the police department early that morning— at only three A.M. However, when I pulled into the parking lot, I found something that made my mouth go dry and my stomach churn in a sickening slush.

There was a man strapped to a lamppost— tied to it by a crude rope. I ran up to the man, and found him to be in healthy condition, save from a few bruises that were on his arms. Although, when I asked him what had happened, his jaw went stiff. I looked down at his arm, which had suddenly locked to the side of his body. That’s when I saw a note taped to it— not just any note either. It was a note that was distinctly written in the hand of Crusoe. There was no mistaking its skinny sprawl that seemed to smear across the page. Just the look of it beat me on the back of my head, and made me feel as if I’d taken just as many bruises as the man tied to the lamppost.

On it dribbled the ink of these words:

I figured that you’d be here early, Sergeant Kyler… You always are when you’re amidst a case.

As a token of my respect, here’s a gift for your hard work. I captured your man— Dr. Martin Smith. Or, should I say, “Martin Smiths”? He’s one of many, old comrade. These crime sprees and mysterious disappearances aren’t a work of mine, and they’re not— at least not entirely— a work of the pervasive poverty either. These crimes have been committed by a league of schemers.

I’m afraid that I neglected to provide you with any proof of this man being guilty, save my word that he gave his word. However, I was able to get him to squeal— via my methods of interrogation. And, after talking to me, I’m sure that he’ll be compelled to squeal for you as well. To be concise, I’ve given him a few, “incentives” to tell you the truth…

Though, supposing that he breaks my contract, I’ll be there to make sure that I enforce my conditions upon him. All you have to do to alert me is place a note on this lamppost— just like old times— and give me the date and time that you wish to meet me at— I’ll make sure to be in this parking lot accordingly. Like yourself, I won’t rest until all of these criminals are eradicated.

No matter what anybody says I’m not the outlaw that I’m being framed to be. Currently, I’m amidst a trail of clues that can only lead me to my vindication. This convict is a necessary piece, and I’ll require your help to make him run accordingly.

In the meantime, always be wary. Always be watching your back. Always be on my side.

Sincerely,

Detective Crusoe

P.S I have reason to believe that Eddy Mulligan is alive and well. Keep hope tight to your chest.

I stumbled in shock. A part of me must’ve misread the last sentence, because instead of holding hope tight to my chest, I merely felt my chest tighten. My heart began beating again, but the beat left me with more pain than I’ve ever felt before. It was as if dozens of needles had been shoved into my chest. The world around me began to spin, and I came to the realization of how fragile and exposed that I was— even at my own office, where I worked every day, Detective Crusoe was watching. He was returning to haunt me over the alliance that we’d made in the past.

For a moment, I still wanted to think that this was the fake Crusoe.

Somebody could’ve easily forged his handwriting and signature, I thought. And, Chicago is a big city… Maybe there just so happens to be a lot of people who bear similar handwriting.

It was but a lie that I’d constructed to comfort myself. All the proof was there— Crusoe had even gone so far as to place the note on a lamppost, just as he’d placed notes back when I and him were still allies, bent on freeing Chicago streets of all crime.

The only thing that I want the Chicago streets rid of now is Crusoe… I thought. I need to make sure that I act on to this desire.

Though, contrary to my initial belief, terror caused by Crusoe’s return wasn’t what made my chest pound. It wasn’t even the knowledge that Eddy Mulligan might still be alive, or that the criminal responsible for Miss Prestel’s robbery might’ve been captured.

It was the very fact that I held a thrill in the event of his reappearance that haunted me. I shouldn’t have felt gladdened by the fact that he was back— and yet, I did. I couldn’t quite defend why, or even how. Although, when looking upon the note, I was returned to a world that hadn’t crashed and burned into a pile of rubble. I was returned to a world that only had hope for improvement— a world where, “the American dream” was still alive and well.

Back then, a single man deciding to set out and make a difference, however outlandish his attempt to do so might seem, was a positive thing.

Despite all of these feelings of joy and nostalgia, I still knew that I was amongst a trash heap. Earth itself was moaning at the sloping state of everything. Its surface was filling with cracks and dust— and I was supposed to be among the people who were trying to fill in those cracks. With each hastening toward the memory of Crusoe, and each swell of the chest at the thought of his name, I was allowing myself into a place that I should’ve long since abandoned. It was a place that was the closest thing a person could have to an “illegal thought”.

I began untying the battered man from his restraining ropes, placing a pair of cuffs on his arms, behind his back, in their place.

He certainly wasn’t the sort of person who was nice to look at— he had a bit of a gnarled expression, a reddened rash checkered across his cheeks and forehead, and an overall filthy complexion. While there are some star-studded faces who walk the streets of California, making their way to movie-screens by their perfectly symmetrical features, it would’ve been borderline cruel to suggest that this man could do the same. Nearly everything about him was stretched in one wrong way or another. The only thing in his favor was that he looked somewhat young— around his early to mid-twenties. He also held a formidable build, with rippling muscles, runner’s legs, and cauliflower ears that could’ve only been achieved from several survived fights.

“I didn’t do anything!” he said, with an indignant shout. “I’m a good citizen! I haven’t done anything wrong! You can’t just arrest me!”

It might’ve just been exhaustion and a burst of anger that was shouting for him, and I should’ve been far more patient and smoother than I actually was— but, that doesn’t change the script that came out of my mouth.

“You say that you haven’t committed a crime,” I said, “But you can already tack resisting arrest onto the list. As for you not having done anything wrong, I have reason to suspect that you’re in league with the criminal vigilante, ‘Detective Crusoe’. To say that I can’t arrest you is the same as saying that a hound can’t chase after a squirrel— perhaps they shouldn’t, but once they’re set off, there’s no pulling them back.”

He writhed and struggled, and I found myself having to writhe and struggle with him— fighting wasn’t nearly as easy as it’d been when I’d began my career. I started listing off his rights, but he didn’t want to hear it. His forehead knocked me square in the nose, and he started trying to run off. I clung tightly to his cuffs, but, with the stream of blood coming from my nostrils, my grip began to slip as it would on something coated in grease.

“Stop,” I shouted to him, with my breath heaving louder than a vacuum. “You don’t realize what you’re doing.”

If my words had made any sort of difference, I certainly wasn’t able to detect it. Within ten seconds of my speaking, I practically found myself being dragged across the pavement. Any bit of myself that was still invested in the chase had been reduced to a mere sliver and was merely running off the egotistic side of myself that still believed I could overtake this man.

However, I can’t say that I don’t appreciate that stubborn, prideful sliver for the arrangement that it left me with. A fluke occurred where the man slipped on a puddle of misty rain and grime. Within moments, he was reduced to a crumpled heap that looked sorrier than I had when I’d been dragged.

I seized the opportunity and pulled him along by the collar. In my eyes, it was both an act of poetic justice and a way of showing just how far the tides had shifted.

There was something inside of me that wanted to say, “I don’t want to do this, son— but I have to…” However, I felt as if I couldn’t speak at all.

I should’ve been put into a better mood by this miniature triumph— there should’ve been some sense of pleasure that went off in my head. Instead, I felt troubled.

It shouldn’t have been that hard, I thought. I shouldn’t have beaten him by a trick of luck.

There was another layer to it that I was reluctant to recognize. In taking the convict, I’d in turn taken a bit of Crusoe’s advice. I’d let him manipulate me into working with him again— albeit, only indirectly.

In retrospect, that always had been an irritating aspect of Crusoe. He was amazing at pulling people around like marionettes, making them move to his will. The whole reason that we’d joined in the first place had been caused by a similar act of manipulating will, and strategizing ways to seat himself into a place of influence.

I felt the urge to back away when I saw Lieutenant Jackson’s nostrils flare at me. All of my muscles had lost their firmness, and gone weak. Any confidence that I’d had when arresting the man tied to the lamppost was gone.

“What made you think that arresting this man was ok?” Jackson said, yelling so loud that I wished I could be back in my bed, struggling to sleep.

“He was tied to our lamppost, bearing a sign of Detective Crusoe. What else was I supposed to do?”

“’What else was I supposed to do?’” Jackson repeated, with a scoff. “If I were to hear those words coming out of a newbie’s mouth, I’d whip them into their place… But out of the mouth of you? You’ve had years of experience, Kyler. This man was clearly either mugged by some punk, or by the actual Crusoe. You know exactly what you’re supposed to do in these sort of situations.”

Jackson dipped his head into his desk.

“We’re going to be the laughing stock of the entire Chicago police force…” he said, with a sigh. The creases on his forehead suddenly became more prominent than I’d ever remembered them being. It almost looked as if age had decided to build a roadway there. His position as head of the police station hadn’t been good to him. I suddenly lost a bit of my fear and jealousy, and felt a pity for him.

“I’m sorry, Jackson… But, didn’t you read the note? It was definitely by Detective Crusoe’s pen. And, if we interrogate his victim, we might actually be able to find out the answer to our case. My decision to arrest the victim might’ve been rash and unwarranted… But, I had the right purpose at heart.”

“Are you really sorry?” he asked me. “I know you well, Kyler— unlike a good portion of the police, you’re a good person. You came into the force with the intention of making the world a better place. However, the world is a lot more complicated than simple intention. I would’ve expected that you’d get passed your faith in Crusoe by now.

“Supposing that Crusoe has the best intentions at heart, you forget what he did to his victim— he pulled out all of his information by force. No good abductive mind does that, Kyler. No self-respecting cop does that either. I refuse to interrogate his victim. I’m sure that anything that comes out of their mouth won’t even be their words.”

“But, Crusoe has never failed in the—.”

I stopped myself before I finished the sentence.

“You’re not just going to abandon a good lead, are you?” I asked him. “We can’t just drop the charges without trying to get his side of the story. Besides— this man resisted arrest!”

“We can’t just drop the charges without looking like fools either. But we’re going to. I’m sure that somebody on this force is going to break my ruling, and ask this man a few questions— if the news is slow and the press gets their hands on this incident, then all sorts of stories will be going to the media. But like I said before— after reading Crusoe’s note, all I can say is that nothing the victim says can be taken as fact. And he’s not a ‘good lead’, Kyler. He’s a man, with his own family, his own life, and his own story. I prefer not to look at innocent people as if they’re just tools that we can manipulate to our digression.

“Did he resist arrest? Yes. But, considering the circumstances, you’re lucky that I’m not going to pin the entire incident on you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m taking full responsibility for everything that happened, Kyler.”

Suddenly, Jackson’s scrawny build had gained a vigorous regal spirit to it. I could hardly believe that this was the same man that I consistently silently ridiculed.

I might have my reservations against Kyler, I thought, but he’s a great man when it comes to being loyal to his own crew.

I thanked him earnestly, and then stood up to leave his office. However, his voice found a way to pull me back down into my seat.

“While I’m against looking at innocent people as tools, I have quite a different view towards the criminal element,” he said, with his smug look returning to his face. “After this incident, I’ve realized just how much we need to put this Crusoe figure down. We can’t let him keep torturing the people of my city like this. But, he’s too fluid and graceful to trip up through any normal means— he has too many things plotted out and accounted for.”

“What are you getting at?” I asked him, wearily.

I already knew what he was getting at, and I grew more terrified every moment he drew closer to revealing it. Despite his reveal’s inevitability, its buildup remained a terrifying one for me. It was like escalating up an abandoned carnival’s rickety rollercoaster as it readied for its initial drop.

“I read the note of Crusoe’s, and, like yourself, I’m convinced that it’s really from him. I’m going to need you to call in the favor that he offered you. I plan on preparing an ambush for him.”

“I thought that you just spent these past ten minutes telling me not to manipulate people. You’re having second thoughts?”

“I’m having my priorities put into place. We can’t let this man continue to go around and act like he’s one of us. If stopping him means stepping over the line a bit, then that’s what we’re going to have to do.”

I stood up.

“I have a history with this man. We can talk again next week.”

“Good,” said Jackson, leaning back in his chair to create a false sense of ease, “I should have plenty of time to prepare then.”

I looked at him, and held back a scoff. I’d known Jackson long enough to where he couldn’t hide from me. I could tell that he was just as unsure as I was.

Opening the door to his office, I began to walk out.

“One last thing,” Jackson said, “I don’t want you to be that inevitable traitor on the force, who interrogates the victim against my will.”

I assured him that I wouldn’t. However, there wasn’t a power in the world that could’ve made my assuring true.

*

“What do you know about Detective Crusoe?” I asked with a leer.

I was staring down into the eyes of the criminal slime, who I’d just learned was named Job. Not that I cared. The only Job that I gave any care to was my job— making sure that justice was put out.

Job grimaced at me through the rusted bars of his prison cell. He had the grimy stink of poverty, and the look of a man who had crawled out of a mud pit. While I deeply wanted to believe otherwise, I knew that he was innocent of his crimes. My fury towards him came from the embarrassment that I was currently dealing with, my wish to usurp Lieutenant Jackson’s authority, and a confirmation bias that would stop at nothing for my two former thoughts to be validated.

Though, when I looked into the eyes of Job, I couldn’t help but see his undivided fury toward me. All it took was a look at him, and the spite between us locked onto our chests, and throttled our minds into positions that they wouldn’t have held, should we have not come into opposing positions.

“I already told you the extent of my knowledge on the situation,” Job said. “I don’t have any more to say on the matter.”

“I know that you’re not telling me the truth. There’s more to this story than the guise that you’ve chosen to put on.”

My hands clenched tighter around his iron bars. I began clenching them with such a ferocity that a part of me feared that I might rip them from their place. Job merely laughed at my exercise of superiority. Despite him being the one in the cage, he looked at me as if I were an amusing animal from in a zoo.

“Yes,” he said, mockingly, “continue your charade of strength. Continue your dance of hypocrisy. Continue displaying threats to me that would get me put under high security, should I have given those threats to you… After all, you control the law— right? You can stand on the top, while we all stand at the bottom…”

“As offensive as that statement might be, I couldn’t care less… Your personal view of me is wrong, and irrelevant to this conversation. All I’m here for is Crusoe.”

“You’re here for more than Crusoe, and my view of you is very relevant to the conversation… ‘The good man does not grieve that other people do not recognize his merits. His only anxiety is lest he should fail to recognize theirs.’

“That was a quote from Confucius— at least, I think it was… I can’t tell for certain, since I found it on an old scrap of paper in a trashcan. But, I don’t think that makes the words any less true. If you were really out to help people, why bother coming here to prove yourself? Why bother making a rebuttal to my senseless provocation? If you cared about the people around you, then you’d be spending time lamenting the fact that I’m unjustly in a prison cell for doing nothing more than walking down a street at night.”

I felt a harsh beating rise up in my chest, and I had a strong desire to put Job in his place. Yet, I also felt that I was getting nowhere with him, so I turned from his prison cell and started walking off.

I didn’t realize it then, but the main reason that I walked off had nothing to do with feeling that I was getting nowhere at all. I’d dealt with plenty of people who weren’t willing to comply during interrogations in the past— my slight break from my job hadn’t sanded my skills so smooth that I could no longer pass this obstacle.

No. The reason that I’d turned to leave was over Job’s words. They had a venomous bite to them. It was the very fact that I didn’t want to hear any more of his words that I felt that his words no longer had any merit to them.

“How ironic,” Job said snidely, as I went to leave. “You come here all high and mighty, only to be torn down by a few simple criticisms… You act like your will is so firm and unwavering. You act like your morals are above all others, and that they’re immune to the pettiness that seems to plague most of humanity. But, I see that you’re exponentially worse than many of the people to admit to their inherent flaws, and don’t pretend that they’re above others.”

I turned back around shocked. As angered as I was at his statements, I could no longer turn a blind eye to them. They had a challenging element— they contested everything that I’d come to believe, and put all of my logic into scrutiny. I no longer felt as if I were on a mission to validate Crusoe, but that I was now on a mission to validate myself.

The language used also had the impact that is found in one’s epiphany. When I heard it, I couldn’t help but see the flaws within myself. It forced me to look upon my ignorance and arrogance, which I’d constantly strived to convince myself was false. Even in trying to tell myself that it wasn’t real, and that the belief in such a thing was unfounded, I was only proving the point made by Job.

Still, I was stubborn. I didn’t want to believe that Job— a man who looked like the very embodiment of poverty— could’ve knocked me down from my intellectual high ground. I didn’t want to believe that he could’ve painted me into such a corner, and knocked me into a place that I thought that I would’ve been able to knock him into.

“I don’t want to hear you say any more of this,” I said, trying my best to act as if the words hadn’t phased me. “You’re acting as if I’d placed you in some archaic form of torture, and decided to scorn you and look down upon you. Though, it’s quite the opposite. I care about you— I care about the whole of society. As a police officer, that’s all I care about. Yes— power and authority is undeniably a pleasant thing to have. But, I’m motivated by something far greater than that. As odd as it seems, that’s why I had you arrested and put in prison. I felt that you were threatening yourself and society, and so I had you placed in a position where the justice system must now assess whether my belief was true.

“Perhaps you can take the stance that this is all about Crusoe, and perhaps you can take the stance that this is all about some sort of self-righteous vengeance and vindication. However, if that was so, then my end goal would be one that’s circular. And, somebody like you to be making such a claim as that might be considered hypocritical— especially since you’re the one that’s now keeping something that can help society secret. You’re wasting your time in refusing to supply me with needed evidence. Your argument is circular.”

After finishing my monologue, I was actually quite proud of myself. Looking back on it now, all that I can see is how smug and foolish that I was. My only defense is that hindsight almost always proves to be wiser than that of a present thinker.

Though, I did learn one thing from my rambling— the very act of doing so is how you know you’ve lost the argument. When one begins slinging insults about in order to justify one’s position, they no longer should be able to justify their position.

“Your argument is circular,” Job said, creating a circle between the end of my statement and the beginning of his. “You punish me to spare others of being punished, despite the fact that I never showed any sign that I needed to be punished in the first place. The only thing that validates your position is your personal thoughts— and your personal thoughts are wrong.

“I don’t know much about Crusoe, other than the fact that he’s a bully that thinks himself to be some sort of hero… Which is kind of funny, since it seems that you didn’t know that. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised— after all, if you can’t see the flaw of arrogance in yourself, you wouldn’t be able to see it in others.”

I was dumbfounded by his statements— and was even more dumbfounded when I opened my mouth to speak, and found that I couldn’t utter a word in rebuttal. He had completely proven me wrong on every front.

Yet, I didn’t believe a word he said. I couldn’t believe a word he said. The very thought of doing so offered Job the victory— and, while I liked to think of myself as the bigger person, I was unwilling to allow him the win.

So, I left. I should’ve pursued him further. I should’ve looked deeper, and studied everything about him. Though, he won— he’d beaten me by making me think that he’d beaten me.

I now look back on that decision, and wonder what would’ve happened if I’d just continued asking him questions, then and there…

***

I’m aware that the world is a festering and decomposing soup of waste. I’m aware that the sludge that surrounds me is nothing that I can control. Though, as I look out my window, and see the world in its imperfections and vileness, I suddenly realize that I’m looking out the window— I’m not helping anything. I contribute to the problem.

Is it just myself, or is society a think that’s prone to self-corruption. Perhaps this is an immature and unfounded belief, and perhaps I look at the world with a cynical pair of eyes. Though, when I look at what civilization has accomplished, I oftentimes only see conquest— conquest, and oppression. Things that were put into place with the intention of helping oftentimes become the source of such oppression and conquest.

I’m not a scientific man— I don’t deeply understand the laws of physics, or have a strong affinity for new discovery. Though, I can’t help but feel that, with each discovery we make— with each grand progression— we also place ourselves into a bit of digression. We come to realize how insignificant and pitiful our existence really is. We come to terms with the fact that we’re actually more of a problem than a help. And, with every attempt we make to create such unrealistic ideals as, “peace,” “hope,” and, “freedom,” we slowly start to gnaw away at their definitions.

One might be able to argue that I’m looking too deeply engrossed in the negatives, and that my views aren’t positioned onto the positives enough. Though, the tendency to focus on negativity is the very nature of humanity— isn’t it? So, if my own negativity is being focused upon humanity’s negativity, is my additional negativity compounding onto the problem? Or, does my negativity multiplying other negativity somehow make a positive?

This is a question that’s been riddling me for the past day. I stare out my gray window, covered in the dust that caked on after years of me staying in the same place— the same rut. In a way, this dust haunts me. I can only see from inside the layer of dust— the rut that I’ve let myself fall into. My vision is completely clouded, but it’s entirely my fault. I’ve allowed the dust to smother me. I try to see past it— I think that’s the only way that I can solve my problem. Yet, as I try to see past it, the dust keeps falling, growing more mountainous.

I could use my duster to try cleaning it— but that itself has been covered in dust, and become irrelevant as I neglected it. If I try cleaning the window, it would take work, and potential wasted time— time that I could be using to find an alternate solution. The duster might also only make the mess even worse. Though, if I don’t clean it, the problem remains, and it clouds my vision— it keeps me from easily finding another solution.

So, I sit, breathing in the dust, and thinking that this could somehow solve my problem. Yet, the more dust that I breathe in, the more that I become part of the dust.

Life isn’t as grand of a thing as many prop it up to be. As human beings, we like to think that we’re amongst the greatest objects in the universe. Though, as Einstein has proven, something as simple as light is far beyond anything any of us were prepared to understand. It dwarfs our insignificant culture— our insignificant planet— and makes us into a sort of joke.

I laugh at jokes, and find joy in them— but all jokes require a bit of misery to them, in order for them to retain an element of humor.

We aspire for greatness, and then settle for mortality. We stack our Jenga blocks up to the sky, only for them to come crashing down atop our heads. We build vast inventions, machines, laws, governments, and cities. Though, they’re all distracting from the fact that we know so little, in spite of thoughts to the contrary.

We’re limited in the confines of our fleshy bodies. We believe that we can achieve immortality, yet still retain our current form. Little do we realize that our form is one of limitations and falsities, and that we’re digging ourselves into a pit. Little do we realize that the immortal things— the rocks, the stars, and the planets— are things that have no conscious. We fear death, but we fail to recognize that most of the things we observe in nature are most definitely dead by every definition— and they have far less to fear than us.

I don’t know why any of this matters to me… I don’t know why I even bother delving into this well of odd reasoning… Maybe I’m just partially insane, maybe the world’s cynical outlook has finally gotten to me, or maybe I’ve begun to see something that I’ve tried hiding from myself all my life. Whatever it is, I no longer believe that my career is a source of good. I’ve begun to suspect that I’m no different from the element that I fight against.

The day prior to me feeling these emotions and running thoughts, Job was broken out of prison during the night watch. The guards of the prison were suspected to have been working with him, and have broken him out through cohesion. Legitimacy of these claims were both invalidated and speculated. There was no substantial proof that the guards were in on the act, despite it strongly being suggested by the surrounding events.

Though, the ambiguity of the crime wasn’t what had made me feel so lost, and dazed. It was quite the opposite. I knew that the guards had committed the crime, or had at least played a part in it— they had no legitimate defenses, and the likelihood of Job escaping under their watch was extremely unlikely. What I was truly dazed and confused about was the complete denial of everything the justice system stood for. I’d thought for the force to be a somewhat infallible wall, over which crime couldn’t go. Although, this latest event had put me in my place. I’d thought that I was called on some mission to validate Crusoe’s innocence— but the world around me was crumbling.

Deep down inside, the very thing I hated the most was that everybody was right. I’d only just begun unraveling the mystery— the secret behind what might’ve been going on with the Prestel case and the kidnapping might’ve been right under my nose— and I’d let it slip by.

Jackson had warned me about this. Even Job, who’d clearly taken a firm stance against me, warned me that I was in over my head— that I was too proud for my own good.

I then knew that they were right, and the only question I had left is why I’d been so willing to accept my personal ignorance and arrogance, completely pushing aside any logic or reason.

Though, I secretly knew the answer to that, too. I just hadn’t been willing to admit it. I was proud, and I’d thought my personal ethics and morals to be above everybody else’s. To a degree, Job had been right— I had only taken my career as a police officer because it suited my ego best. In a way, it gave me a sense of power and superiority over others. I’d use it to display my authority.

At least, that’s what I’d thought until Job put me in my place.

I’d sent a letter directly to Miss Prestel the day that I’d spoken to Job— two days before Job had broken out of jail. I’d explained to her the current situation, and how progress had been stalled by the fact that we were busy with other cases, which we thought to be of greater concern.

She responded back with a letter that I found to be very insightful. She criticized me of having a double-sided code of ethics, and that I had an eschewed meaning of what it meant to be a cop— there was a point where she went so far to claim that, if I’d cared about her case, the police force would’ve already solved it.

As senile as I knew she was, and as wrong as I thought her to be, I couldn’t deny her of these words being truth. I believed them myself. I was an incompetent cop. It had been a month of me working on her case, amongst others— and I’d found that none of my research had brought me anywhere. In fact, a lot of it had stunted me, and pushed me further back from the truth.

There are some people who claim that the result of careful study and meticulous research is the truth— though, I combat that logic and say otherwise. If the laws of careful study applied to everything, then there probably wouldn’t be much crime remaining. In spite of police officers upholding their ability to properly assess scenarios, and deduce things, I’ve found that we know far less than we claim to. There have been many cases where I believed that I was getting somewhere, and that my constant studying was bringing me to a place of enlightenment— and yet, it had constantly and almost exclusively had all been a farce. More of my cases had ended in me coming up inconclusive than they had with me coming up with all of the answers.

One of the greatest questions in all of philosophy is who makes the watchmaker— who oversees the thing that must oversee? The answer to that always has been, and always is, that there isn’t one. Everybody in power is steering a ship without any steering, and directing everything through a sea of nothing— pretending that this sea of nothing was something.

Us police officers— us directors of authority— know just as much as the sea that surrounds us. We might pretend that we know that we’re doing, but we only pretend based on the faint glimmers of stars that we manage to grasp from out of this deep sea. We try to form a constellation. We try to paint a picture. Though, what nobody seems to realize is that constellations and pictures alike aren’t the great things of revelation that we often make them out to be. They’re merely randomized smears of imagination, spread across a canvas— a canvas that’s only called, “canvas” because that’s what we needed to call it when we first discovered it, in order to bend it to our wills and our desires.

There’s so much unknowing in what I do. There’s so much uncertainty and assumption that it’s no wonder that we need Judges to weed us out— it’s no wonder that many of us our corrupted by the confusion and much that encases us.

That encased me.

I wish that I had all of the answers— I wish that my head hadn’t been spinning and turning every which way, as if it were a carcass that was being wrestled about by a pack of wild wolves. I wish that everything could be solved so simply as the world makes it seem, with me asking the right questions, and with me getting the right answers. I wish that the morally right and the morally wrong had a clearer distinction than that of which I see in Crusoe and Job.

Yet, things can’t be so simple as these idle wishes. I know not why, but the will of things is that they can’t be changed unless an outside force is acted upon them. And, as somebody who isn’t on the outside but is very much trapped on the inside, how am I to change things?

There are thousands of instances of irony in life— the very word ironic is ironic, simply because I called it so. Though, the greatest irony is that I’m among the constellations of stars, looking out my window upon their canvas, staring into their expanse, clouded by Chicago’s cheap city lights, and smoggy air. A single star pokes out of these constellations, deciding to shine upon me, and to bust into my eye’s iris.

And, though, wish I may and wish I might, that star would never enact a single difference upon the earth. In spite of all of man’s superstitions, words, and claims to the contrary, the wish on the star would never make a difference. The star would fall from its peg in the sky before it would ever intercede in my personal and miniscule affairs.

Irony— a cop feeling as though he’s a criminal.

***

A day after my deep entrenchment in the philosophical ponderings of my purpose and usefulness in society, I came to realize that my purpose wasn’t one that could be answered so simply as by raising the question. That was because there was no known answer. I’d reasoned that, if there us, I wouldn’t have been looking for the answer in the first place. The whole world would’ve provided the answer for me.

So, I paced in circles around my apartment, considering hanging up my badge. I wasn’t quite sure why I thought of doing this— I wouldn’t have gained anything out of it, and neither would’ve the world around me. However, there was a slight relief in the thought of being able to toss everything away, and turn from things as if they’d never happened.

I’d come at a moral crossroads. Contact with Detective Crusoe was the only way that I’d be able to solve my problems— but, I couldn’t talk to Crusoe without compromising myself, and the instructions of Lieutenant Jackson. However, if I dared have Jackson know that I was willing to contact Crusoe— if I were to allow Jackson what he wanted— then I would compromise Crusoe’s will.

It had taken me a day to sift out this line of logic, but I knew that a kindergartener would’ve been able to surpass my line of reasoning within a day. The truth of the matter was, I was refraining from any sort of decision making, because I’d subsided into the realm of cowardice— I’d planted myself in a position where I had my loyalties conflicted, and I was going to have to pay for it.

“Why do you always do this to me?” I whispered under my breath as I pulled out a pen from my rickety old drawer, and tore out a piece of note paper. My hand was still shaky from my fit of indecision, and it showed on the paper. Though, once I’d wrote out the last line, I had a sense of weight let off my chest. I still didn’t know what I was going to do, but the very act of having written to Crusoe gave me, at the very least, and illusion of having gotten things figured out.

It read:

Dear Detective Crusoe,

I’ve become aware that strange activities are going on around me, and I no longer think that I’m capable of tackling the mystery through my own accord. The questions that revolve around me are as numerous as the stars in the sky— and are probably even more so. It’s simply not something that a single mind can take on by their own, and you’re the only person capable of giving me the mental boost that I need. As I’m sure we can both agree, you possess one of the greatest deductive minds known to the justice system— you’ve helped me out of so many mazes that I sometimes look at myself as the lab-rat, and you as the viewing scientist.

Perhaps I should’ve appealed to your advice sooner, and tried asking for your aid— and I know that you might hold a bit of bitterness towards me from my cutting of our past ties. But, you and I both know full well why I cut those ties, and why I have such hesitance towards the notion of retying them. While we once worked together fairly well in the past, you can’t possibly expect for me to be open to a continuation of our relationship after your immoral conduct— it’s simply ridiculous. And, you can’t hold my reluctance against me. If you happen to do so, then we will forever be on opposite sides of the law. We both uphold truth and justice, and I’m certain that I’ve given you your justice. If you act against my dubbed justice, then I’ll have no other choice but to put you in your place— just like you’ve done to countless others.

I want our meeting to be a cordial and kind one. I’m sure that both you and stand on equal ground when I state that we desire for this meeting to be similar to our past ones— where you humble me by showing me my ignorance, and where I rein you in, and keep you from going off the deep end of the law.

Now, before I end this, I just want to leave you with one question lingering in your mind— why is it that you decided to take the path that you did? If you weren’t ever guilty of your heinous act, like you’d once claimed, then why on earth did you ever disappear? And, if you disappeared, what compelled you to return?

I have nothing against you returning, save the fact that it was followed by a series of aodd crime sprees— in fact, I applaud it. Though, I can’t help but wonder what brought you back. Do you even know what brought you back?

But, if it was to help me— if it was to help the city around you— then you’ve done a great job at failing to do so in the greatest time of need.

I don’t wish to weigh you down with my tedious and depressing rantings. In fact, I hope that you’ve skipped my letter, and read to the end— my handwriting is so sloppy that it’s probably too hard to read this all the way through. Though, I just want you to remember— you’re supposed to be fighting on the side of the law. And, as long as that is so, I want you to act accordingly.

As professional and unemotional as our relationship has been, I do care about you— even if I’ve never seen your face, and even if I’ve never been given any reason to trust you, or see you as anything other than a masked criminal.

We might be on opposite sides of the law, but that doesn’t change my internal nature. While others might see you as some sort of deranged monster who deserves to be placed in some sort of cage, I see something different. I’ve come to see everybody as the deranged monster, including you and I. The only difference that you have amongst them is that you recognize the monster within yourself— and you’ve come to try and utilize it to do good.

Maybe I’m making baseless assumptions when I say that. However, out of all of humanity’s monstrosity’s and unspeakable acts, I believe that our greatest achievement is the compassion that we’re able to have amongst ourselves. It’s the ability to place our bodies into that of another that truly makes us into something admirable— something that just might make up for all of our errors.

Sincerely,

James

I reread this letter over and over again. I’d been the one who’d wrote it, and every word jotted onto the sloppy and thin sheet of paper had been dictated by the wells of my mind. Though, I couldn’t help but stumble through it, exploring each word as if it had been written by a stranger— as if it all had some foreign meaning to it that I hadn’t seen before.

This didn’t make sense, considering that, if anybody should’ve known it’s meaning, I should’ve. However, at the same time, my mind told me that it made perfect sense. The truth was, I didn’t know my intent was. I wanted to believe that I knew who’s side I was on when I wrote the words on my note to Crusoe. Nearly every ounce of my being wanted to be able to prove myself as a true friend to him. I’d put so much work into my words to him— I cringed at the thought of them being an illegitimate farce, crafted to ease my own mind.

Yet, that’s what they were. Reading the note over and over again, I could only perceive hollowness from within it. While I’d told myself that the note had been written for Crusoe’s benefit, it was, in a sense, more about me than anything else. There was no beauty or emotion behind it, outside of the comforting fiction that my min had built for me.

I left my house at noonday, when the fog had been reduced to a golden wisp. It acted as an unwanted cushion between my car and my sight of the road, but I didn’t care for very long. My mind wasn’t on the road, but where the road was taking me. In a way, I was the master of the streets. While I still hadn’t discovered a way to dictate the web of my mind and its intentions, I’d mastered the web of the ground. Every turn it took was simple and calculated— I would’ve been able to navigate it if I was sick as a dog.

I am sick as a dog, I thought as I rode down a hilly street, and felt my stomach lurch up through my throat, and my chest pang in a crushing pain.

If I was right in anything on that day, I’m certain that I was right in thinking that. I knew where I was going— but I didn’t know where I was going. I knew where my loyalties lied— but I didn’t know where they lied. I knew where my words told me I was— but I didn’t know where my words told me I was.

The only thing that I knew for certain was what I felt inside. The only thing a person can ever know for sure is the feelings that the world around them endows upon them. There’s never any telling if the world is real, or if any of the senses it gives are justified. There’s never any telling if the feelings that the experiences amongst the mess of experiences are true, or even if the interpretation of the experiences are correct— everything perceived is a sort of fiction. As people, we rely on the information provided by our minds and thoughts, hoping that these thoughts might help advise us in making sense of the world.

Even our own thoughts are unreliable, with them always changing and altering according to new knowledge, stimulus, and outside interaction. We like to think our brains to be infallible, but they’re clearly the most unreliable things in our existence— they’re the very reason that we’re such faulty beings.

Though, they’re also the only reason that we’re beings at all. We rely on our faulty evidence because that’s all we have to make judgements, and escape the prison that is our internal consciousness.

My feelings— the only thing in the world that I could truly rely upon to give me any guidance— were telling me that I didn’t know a thing, and that I was on the precipice of uncertainty and a dangerous decision. While my feelings might’ve been wrong and unjustified, and while they were worth nothing.

Once reaching my police department, I rode up to the lamppost. I felt a shudder down my spine as I pulled up to it— my memories of last time betrayed my resolve, and gave me uncomfortable images of Job having been tied to it. I once again began to question if my choice to side with Crusoe would be a right one— he’d committed too many atrocities in his day, acting against everything that I upheld and believed in. He was a man that I should’ve never considered working with, and was disgusted at the prospect of working with.

However, as I stepped out of my car, and placed the note on the rusting lamppost, I felt something entirely different. The straggling remains of morning’s long evaporated dew found its way up my nostrils, and I had better memories come to mind— memories of a time when I could hold a conversation with Crusoe, without fearing that he’d swoop down and attack me.

The words that I’d placed in the note came flowing back to me, and I remembered what a great man that Crusoe was.

Those memories had a feeling to them— a feeling that I couldn’t deny. As I walked back to the inside of my police department, within which my office resided, I contemplated and weighed the potentials of what I was going to do. Suddenly, everything became clear— clearer than it had felt in a while.

The pang in my chest had begun to subside.

*

Night’s cloak had been draped over the sky. For many people, the night is a place of quiet and solace. It’s a time when the lights go out, and slumber flows into the air. It’s not so in the city.

As I paced upon the pavement outside my police station, awaiting Crusoe’s arrival, I realized just how odd the night really was in the city. For many people, it might’ve appeared to be some mutated form of itself— a foreign creature, unbeknownst to most.

Whereas nights in a small town might be flooded with quiet, this night was clouded in the outbursts of clunky car engines and horns. There were also the occasional footsteps, and shouts that trickled into my ear.

This night also wasn’t limited by the natural laws of the night. Light darted everywhere, breaking through the bonds of the dark. It flowed from car headlights, dribbled down lampposts, and crept out from under thickly screened apartment windows. Some of the time, this light was so blinding that I found my vision becoming clouded with black spots.

The night needs to find a way to get in somehow, I thought.

There was a younger version of myself that had been overwhelmed by this overabundant stimulus. The sound of traffic horns might as well have been the wailing of a ghost. Though, I found that enough exposure to it had desensitized me, making me immune to its once terrifying effects. It was a strange thing. Similar to the city night itself, I couldn’t tell if my unnatural adjustment was one to appreciate or admonish. In a sense, the city had marked me, with its crude cement elements leaving its mark on me. Though, without the mark, I surely would’ve been swallowed whole by the city. I wouldn’t have been able to function.

I couldn’t quite tell what these thoughts were trying to get at. Perhaps it was just a distraction from the matter at hand. However, I can’t help but feel as if there were more to my thoughts than just that. While I’m inclined to believe that thoughts are but a randomized mechanization that only acts accordingly to outside interactions, I can’t help but feel that every thought it makes is trying to discover patterns— discover patterns and make clever connections.

I believe that my thoughts concerning my insensitivity to the city night also bled into another insensitivity that I was facing— I didn’t feel any kind of fear, or anticipation, or emotion of any kind concerning my meeting with Crusoe. My thrift-store watch, always half an hour off, ticked by— but I didn’t even bother to look at it.

In denial, I tried attributing this all to me being overwhelmed by emotion. Although, I knew this wasn’t true. The past few weeks’ events had frozen me, turning my insides into a sort of stone. Not that I could place all of the blame onto the past few weeks. My job was shriveling me up, turning my spirit into a raisin. In returning to my career, I’d only increased the rate of this shriveling.

“Boo.”

I jumped, and my heart leapt. Grabbing my chest, I felt a terrible ache. After catching my breath, and regathering my wits, I found Detective Crusoe standing next to the police station’s lamppost.

A glare passed between me and him. I’d become accustomed to glares— they were oftentimes an unavoidable part of interrogations— but, Crusoe’s glare was one that was unavoidable. It was irreconcilable. His eyes had a stony glint to them. They looked so much like flint that I was nearly convinced that I could’ve lit a match off of them— or, at the very least, get a spark.

To be frank, when I looked at him, I thought that I did see a spark come from off of his stark black pupils.

In my years of working with him, I’d tried to convince myself that Detective Crusoe was just a normal man, bound by the laws that every human being must learn to face. Though, just looking into his eyes was near unbearable— and looking at the rest of him was just about unearthly.

He was dressed in his usual brown trench coat and contrastingly black fedora. They both smelt of their familiar grimy oil— he’d fallen into a pit of crude oil during one of our cases together, and never managed to clean the smell out—but, I didn’t see it as just a smelly trench coat and fedora. Just like Merlin had his robes and wand, and Buck Rogers had his spacesuit and blaster, Crusoe had his odd getup. Irrational as it was, there was a type of majesty I saw in it.

Along with this, there was his stature and features. Rather than possessing an intimidating height, or gaunt features, he was actually quite stocky. He was only taller than me by a few inches. His chin was also rounded, and clean-shaven, being mostly indistinct from the rest of his face. There wasn’t much else past his chin that I could identify— his fedora cleverly covered most of his features.

In spite of all this, he was still one of the most intimidating things that I’d ever beheld. Even with my conditioning around him, no matter how many times I met him it was like I was meeting him for the first time, all over again.

“Twenty years of working with you, and you still haven’t stopped sneaking up on me…” I said, with an annoyance.

“Twenty years, and you haven’t stopped calling me for help…” Crusoe said in response, making sure to keep his voice gruff so as to mask its true nature.

I would’ve laughed, if it hadn’t been for the fact that his very presence begged an utmost seriousness.

“Only because you wouldn’t stop asking for me to call you…” I said, thinking that I had the upper hand in this debate. “Also

“Only because I knew that you’d always end back up under this lamppost talking to me again… Only because I knew that this city wasn’t getting anywhere with your twisted justice system.”

Detective Crusoe, in spite of all my misgivings toward him, had a way with words. He knew how to paint a persuasive picture, and make the most resolute of men rethink their ground.

“I didn’t call you here to be lectured by your twisted moral code…” I said, with annoyance.

“And, I didn’t come here to bicker,” he said. “You came here for a reason— you believe that this city is finally getting out of hand. I can help you with that.”

“What I believe isn’t yours to claim over me… I only came here because I thought you’d have an explanation for all of the odd crime sprees going on around us.”

“And I have an explanation… At least, a rough one,” Detective Crusoe said. “I’m sure that you’re familiar with Job— correct?”

I nodded. I couldn’t tell if he’d been able to see my nod through the darkness or not— if he had, I couldn’t see the response on his face.

“Job isn’t the only man that you’re after,” Crusoe said, with a confidence. “There is a league of men, all plotting and strategizing toward the same goal.”

He paused, as if waiting for my jaw to drop. My jaw didn’t. Everything he said was among the most mundane and inconsequential drivel that I’d heard in a while. I’d begun to have my regrets in having bothered to come to the lamppost at all.

“You already informed me of this in your letter to me,” I said, allowing my sarcastic disrespect to bleed into my voice. Crusoe clearly caught the idea, because I saw him begin to move uncomfortably, and loose a bit of his imposing posture.

Until now, I hadn’t seen this part of him. Whenever I’d spoken to him in the past, I didn’t think about the man who might’ve been underneath the clothes, and behind the illusion of Oz. In truth, I didn’t want to. Over all of the years that I’d worked with Crusoe, I could’ve torn the cloak and fedora off at any time. If I’d really been interested in doing my job, I would’ve been willing to cuff him to the lamppost that we’d constantly met up at.

“Ah yes… I forgot that I’d informed you on this already,” Crusoe said, backing into his tracks. “However, there’s much more to what’s going on than I previously revealed to you. I hadn’t been able to tell you everything, in fear of being found out and compromised.”

“And what is that?”

There was no answer— just Crusoe’s steely look, which attempted to scare me into submission. However, I no longer submitted to his attempts at making me fall into cowardice. I’d begun to see through his wizardry. He didn’t know anything.

He suddenly began to appear as he really was— an unknowledgeable hooligan who’d stuffed himself into a ridiculous outfit. He hardly looked different from a stuffed turkey.

“Here they are,” he finally said— and slips of paper, along with various keys, articles of clothing, fingerprints, and pictures flew from his hands. “And these are only the tip of what I’ve found. There’s so much more that surpasses it, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what my discoveries entail.”

This time, my jaw really did drop. I began lifting up all of the evidence. The letter contained the signature from a man by the name of, “Bob Murphy”, and several passages that asserted that some sort of kidnapping was to take place. The articles of clothing were lab-coats and trench-coats. There wasn’t much distinct about the pictures provided. One of them was extremely blurry, and contained the image of a woman walking down a hall. Another was a bit clearer, with it taking place in a dark alleyway. Although, in the background there was a man who was carrying some odd sort of trinket in hand— it almost appeared to be in the shape of a monkey. Apart from the pictures, the keys were probably the most out of place of all these objects— but I quickly assumed that Crusoe would provide explanation.

“I found the lab-coat in Job’s house,” Crusoe stated. “Job didn’t hold any profession that would’ve required him having a lab-coat— and it certainly isn’t anywhere near Halloween time… He also had keys in his house. They had fingerprints on them that perfectly matched Miss Prestel’s, and were able to open Miss Prestel’s door when I tested them… The only way that Job could’ve gotten these keys would’ve been by stealing them from Miss Prestel himself.”

I was dumbfounded. “But, Miss Prestel never said anything about misplacing her keys…”

“She’s an old lady, Kyler— I’m sure that the disappearance of her keys were misattributed to old age. Plus, I happened to use Job’s stolen keys to access Prestel Manor, and file through Miss Prestel’s bills— it just so happens that she recently had to pay a locksmith to make her new keys.”

I shook my head.

“Did you find fingerprints that matched Job’s on the keys?”

“No,” Detective Crusoe said, with a hesitance. “Job was extremely careful in making sure that nobody would be able to prove that he was the one that had stolen these keys. He must have worn gloves whenever handling them.”

A wave of doubt passed over me, but I ignored it.

“And, why haven’t you shown me this evidence until now?” I asked.

“I already told you— it was too easy for me to be compromised.”

For some reason, I didn’t entirely believe him. Maybe it was cynicism, or the fact that we hadn’t talked in so long— but, I just didn’t feel that anything Crusoe said was entirely trustworthy.

Then, I looked down at the trench-coats and hats. They didn’t have Crusoe’s distinct oily smell to them, but nearly everything else about them was a perfect copy of Crusoe’s. I was convinced that they’d even been made by the same tailor. Even the hat was the right color— black. This was something that had taken me weeks with Crusoe to discover. With these facts combined, I discernably knew that whoever had produced these, supposing they had been wearing them, knew Crusoe well, and was looking to frame him.

“Job must’ve had a busy day at the costume shop,” I said, yanking on the clothes to test their durability. They weren’t made of the cheap fabric that I’d hoped they might’ve been. Just by feeling them, I gained the sense that they were probably more durable to testing than Crusoe’s own clothes.

“I didn’t find these clothes at Job’s place.”

I nodded— I’d half-expected that he’d say this, since he had yet to provide me any explanation. However, this didn’t stop me from feeling a sense of shock in my gut when he revealed this to me. For some reason, I had a sort of belief ingrained inside of me, which made me believe that Crusoe was immune to having enemies that would watch his every move. The larger portion of me held the belief that all of Crusoe’s actions, outside of his interactions with me, were apart from the spying eye.

“Where’d you find them? Who would’ve gone to all the trouble of assembling these?”

I didn’t want to have to ask this question. However, I’d been doing a lot of things that I hadn’t wanted to do.

“Those are two very different questions…”

Crusoe offered this answer in a very mechanical and meticulous voice. It was as if he were measuring every word he spoke.

“I’d like the answer to the second question first, then.”

“What you’d like isn’t necessarily what you’ll get. What I’d like isn’t necessarily what I always get, either. If truth be told, I don’t have full truth to tell. I only have a full answer to your first question.”

I couldn’t discern if Detective Crusoe was trying to hide something from me, or if he had other motives that were beyond my sight. I looked around me, in a slight tremor. Something seeped into my bones, making them weak and flimsy. It was the thought of a spying sparrow, disguising as a problem only of morrow, that had sucked out my marrow.

“Then give me the answer to my first question,” I asked, in a haggard grunt. My impatience might’ve been unjustified, but I no longer cared for what was just or unjust. There was too much discomfort going on around me, and I no longer felt that I could afford the wasting of time.

“Eddy Mulligan had a lot more in his house than the police were able to turn up… I found these clothes hidden in between the walls, and the rafters. If they’re merely innocent, and Mulligan had no intention of masquerading as myself, then I’m unaware of why he went to the great lengths of sealing these clothes in wall cavities— it’s quite the sorry replacement for a closet.”

I’d been prepared for shock, but not this level of shock. None of this made any sense— Mulligan had been a good friend of mine, and we’d had no conversations until very recently. The very notion of him being a criminal, trying to frame Crusoe of committing criminal acts, seemed so out of character that I could no longer hear a word that Crusoe was saying.

“Crusoe… Were you there when I first started my investigation of Prestel Manor?”

For some reason, I couldn’t avoid asking the question. I needed to know if it had been Crusoe that had been spying on us, or Eddy.

“It might’ve been a tempting notion, and it was certainly something that would’ve given me a head start in this series of oddities. But, while I was aware of your proceedings, I didn’t take the time to interfere. The Prestel case seemed, until now, a somewhat trivial and irrelevant case. I’d been busy with other, more troubling matters at the time. Why do you ask?”

“There was somebody there,” I admitted. “A person had dressed up just like you, and perched on the roof of Prestel’s house. That is— they’d perched on the roof until Lieutenant Jackson caught sight of them.”

“That wasn’t me,” Crusoe said, with a certainty in his voice. I wasn’t sure why he had to reaffirm his position with such a severity— but, when he used the severity, it allowed my mental faculties no other option but to accept his words as fact. I knew Crusoe’s voice well enough to tell when he was lying or telling the truth. “Did you happen to catch sight of this pretender?”

Giving a sigh, I looked Crusoe square in his shadowed eyes.

“I didn’t… Crusoe, he was too fast. Only Jackson saw him. But, according to him, this person was a man— and they were fast and strong enough to run off the roof before I was able to come upstairs and catch him.”

Crusoe placed a gloved hand on his chin. When I watched him do so, I half thought that a part of his chin had disappeared— his gloves were so black, that they were almost indistinguishable from the rest of the night air.

“Whoever this person is,” Crusoe said, “be he Eddy Mulligan or otherwise, has me incredibly outmatched. At every turn— at every connection I try to make— it seems that there’s a new one that contradicts my theory. If this is done by a group of people, they’re among the smartest and tidiest people known to mankind. There just aren’t any discernable trails that make proper links…”

My mouth dropped in shock. I’d never seen Crusoe come to such a defeated state before. That is— not until now. I’d never even thought it to be possible that he’d admit to defeat. I’d forever categorized such an idea as an impossibility. If there was anything I’d learned about Crusoe, it was that he had a consistency to solving mysteries of every kind. He’d always seemed impervious to the limitations of a normal man.

Though, it seemed that tonight I’d seen far too much of the weak side of him. He’d become just a normal man, masquerading as something greater. His mind had just admitted to being outmatched. I felt like a fool, tricked by a fancy light show. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that Crusoe had made me out to be a puppet, leading me on as if I were cattle.

Though, I’d always been caught up in the show. Even in the times when I suspected that he was leading me on, I‘d always followed him gleefully. It had never mattered that he might’ve been playing me for a fool. If I were to be honest, I’d always had a part of myself that had suspected this— I’d merely ignored it. It was almost as if he were a magician, and I was the viewer. While I felt entitled to knowing the secret behind his tricks, I didn’t want to— I didn’t want to ruin the fun.

I felt a stinging pain crawl down my backside, biting at my spine. It hurt to think that my love of the fun in Crusoe was becoming too much of a hindrance. It hurt to know that I was but a pawn upon his chessboard— and Crusoe had just been checkmated.

“Put your hands in the air!” a voice cried out.

I stepped back from Crusoe, and allowed an officer to tackle him. My time was up. Crusoe had proven that he didn’t have the answers, and that he was just as clueless as the rest of us.

As Crusoe tried evading the officer’s attacks and making an escape, I bent down to retrieve all of the evidence that Crusoe had provided me. Each one of them seemed to be tainted in Crusoe’s mysterious spirit, with them even smelling of Crusoe’s kerosene slathered suit. As I carefully observed each one of them, using my gloves so as to avoid altering them with my own fingerprints, I felt as if the evidence cried out in anger against me. It beckoned to the vulnerable part of myself, telling it that I didn’t have the worthiness for it. I could’ve sworn that I felt it tearing at my chest. One of the pictures of Crusoe’s even gave me a papercut.

The pictures, I suddenly thought. I never gave him a chance to explain these to me.

It was at that moment that regrets began to seep in, and I no longer knew if I was doing the right thing. If I had, it didn’t feel like that at all anymore. Just by looking at Crusoe’s face, I knew that I’d sold a part of myself. His coal black eyes tugged at me, just like his evidence had. His blackness drained the color from my face, just like the sun drains the color from paint.

I wasn’t quite sure what, but it was in that moment that I felt as if something were missing. Maybe it was my youth that I felt slip away in that moment. Maybe it was a part of my nostalgia that had disappeared. Maybe, nothing left at all— maybe I simply was feeling something that had always been there, and it had only taken me until now to figure it out.

I had the sudden urge to tell my comrades to stop. Nothing in the world seemed more important than for me to utter those words. As I watched Crusoe struggle against the police, it was like watching the struggle of a friend. Yet, for some reason, I didn’t do anything to stop what was going on. I felt frozen in time. It was as if time had placed me in an invisible capsule, just so that it clearly could display everything that was going on before my eyes.

Gunshots filled the air. I could smell the stink of sulfur, as it rippled from the tips of pistols and into my nostrils. Shouts were everywhere. Crusoe had left two men with bloody noses, and another two flattened onto the pavement. In that instant, I realized that it was too late. If I were going to do anything at all, my chance to do so had already passed by.

There was more to it than just that. As much as I wanted to do something, there was still the larger part of me that didn’t. It seemed that the primal instinct to stay true to my group, over a single man, had betrayed the will of my conscience.

It overrode my conscience. It overrode everything— even my feelings.

All that you can ever trust is your feelings. While I didn’t want to have to betray Detective Crusoe, I’d decided that it was needed to have been done. It was necessary if I ever planned on getting anywhere in my case.

Crusoe is a criminal, and, in spite of our past relations, this was an inevitability, I thought to myself. There was no avoiding this. Even if I’d never taken this action myself, somebody else would’ve done it. Somebody needed to knock down Crusoe, and it had to be me.

As much as I said this to myself, and as much as I wanted to believe that I had taken the right course of action, I felt a scratching at the back of my mind. It told me that I’d made the wrong choice and that I’d taken the wrong path.

I knew that I’d made my decision based upon a feeling that I had, but now I felt something entirely different. What is somebody supposed to do when their feelings— their only way of getting in touch with the vast and complex universe that surrounds them— begins conflicting itself.

It was an inevitability that an inevitability would clash with my internal moral code. Though, that didn’t change how wrong it suddenly felt.

“Crusoe,” I finally said, finally allowing the flow of breath to return to my body, “I’m going to ask you one last time. What did you do all those years, when you were away from me— away from all of us? You’ve gotten rusty, old friend. So rusty, that your skills have been peeled away to something almost unrecognizable.”

Detective Crusoe didn’t give me an answer for the longest time. Instead, he continued busying himself in his purposeless struggle against the police. At this point, he’d already lost the fight. Now, he was only battling to instill his superiority, and resist the bondage of handcuffs.

One of the police shouted at me for distracting from the task at hand, and one of them even pushed me away. There were so many shouts in the air that, if I’d been talking to anybody other than Crusoe, I would’ve thought that he wouldn’t have heard him. Though, I was talking to Crusoe. And, while he acted as if I hadn’t said a word, I could tell just by the look in his eyes that he’d heard every word that I’d said— he was simply ignoring me.

Finally, he spat in my direction.

“I could ask you the very same questions,” he shouted at the top of his lungs. I heard his voice crack, and, for the first time in my long history, I caught a glimpse of his real voice. “You’re a traitor. You’re never going to be able to solve this case without my help! Don’t you see what they’re doing here?! They claim to give out justice, and they’re capturing a man who’s done nothing wrong!”

I wanted to tell him that he himself had captured people who’d seemed to have done nothing wrong. I wanted to tell him so many things, and to put him in his place. Yet, there was a prominence to everything that Crusoe did— there was an undeniable passion. When I looked into Crusoe’s mysterious eyes— possibly for the last time that I’d ever see mystery in them— I saw a man who was lost, and looking for a place in the world. The concept of bringing the truth to him sounded to heinous to act upon. Perhaps I was being too soft on the man. But then, how could something that felt so wrong possibly be the right thing to do?

“You’ve driven me to this point of desperation,” Crusoe said, making no sense whatsoever.

“What are you talking about, Crusoe?”

At this point, his face was planted into the pavement, he was under five men, and was at the complete mercy of everything around him. However, he strangely didn’t act that way. As the moon shone from out of the clouds, I caught a glimpse of Crusoe’s determined face.

“Just because you think I’ve gotten soft in old age doesn’t mean that I have to be,” Crusoe said, continuing the rambling of nonsense. “Allow me to prove to you that you have no idea of what you’re talking about— and that you never did.”

Then, a blast went off. Smoke was everywhere, and my eyes began to burn. Suddenly, all that I could see was a grayness. And then, even that began to fade into a blackness. Each breath my lungs pulled in was harder than the last. I groped around, hoping to find a way out of the blackness— but, there was no way out. It was everywhere. Finally, I stole a glance at my watch.

“Lieutenant Jackson,” I shouted, in a raspy grunt, “you ambushed Crusoe earlier than planned. You—.”

I didn’t get to finish that last bit. Though, if I could’ve, I would’ve said, “You need to follow through on every plan with Crusoe. You can’t act earlier than determined.”

I think I blacked out completely before I could say that last bit. Though, it didn’t matter— the words were just as powerful in my mind when they were unspoken as they were when they were spoken.

Crusoe had a way of getting what he wanted, even when it seemed like he didn’t— even when he didn’t have the ability to get what he wanted. That was perhaps the biggest charm of Crusoe. It was also his biggest weakness.

*

I awoke to find myself laying on the wetted pavement, looking up into the inked skyline. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, though it seemed that it hadn’t been long— I saw several bodies of fellow police officers sprawled around me, and the night still maintained its throne upon the air.

There were a few officers that were standing, and walking around. Though, they appeared to be just as bemused and confused as I was.

Trying my hardest to make out what had happened, I began pressing my fingers onto the wrists of all my fellow laying officers— they all still maintained a pulse, and a breath. Then, I started studying the ground around us, to make out what the toxic inhalant might’ve been. As I looked, I found that there was an odd sediment caked into the ground, in between miniscule pools of water. I pulled out my pocket knife, and used it to pick up a bit of this caked sediment. It wasn’t anything like mud— it had a rustiness to it— nor was it like a sand, salt, acid, or liquid.

What is it? I wondered.

All that I had to guess was that, whatever it was, it had been used as a way to non-lethally incapacitate all of us. The grayness that I’d seen before I’d blacked out had been a result of the fumes— we’d been disarmed via poison.

However, I couldn’t get past the how and why of this odd event. If it had been used as a way to disarm us, I knew for certain that Crusoe could’ve strategized a much safer way to do so. And, if it had been Crusoe’s way of giving out revenge, then why hadn’t he finished the job? Moreover, this was out of Crusoe’s character. He was many things— eccentric, cruel, brutal, and unforgiving. But, he wasn’t one to resort to any kind of potentially deadly weaponry in order to get his way. I couldn’t help but wonder what might have driven him to this point.

Desperation gnawed at the back of my head. Not only did the desperation ask me to find the answer— it also told me that it was the answer. At least, it was part of the answer.

My memory brought me back to the plague that had nested in my city— in my country. It was a plague that had refused to let up. Everybody was desperate now— even myself. And, I suddenly had the feeling that desperation had infected Crusoe too.

The most terrifying aspect of this was that, if Crusoe was willing to do all of that, what would he be willing to do in the future? How much worse might his interactions with the city become?

What I found that night was that I felt weaker and more helpless than I ever had in weeks… Though, it wasn’t due to the pounding in my chest, or the bodies of fellow officers sprawled around me. It was the fact that, no matter how I tried spinning it, I’d been wrong about Crusoe all along— I’d led everybody to a beast, thinking that it was harmless as a lamb.

I’d been wrong.

This fact alone was probably what tore at me the most. People were oftentimes wrong— especially these days— but, being the proud and haughty human being that I am, I always thought that I was immune to the limitations of incorrect information and decisions. I’d believed that I was unable to make the wrong conclusion, or assess something in a harmful way.

It was this lapse of judgement that truly made me feel weak. At the end of the day, when I looked at everything that surrounded me, it was the fact that I was so small that truly made me feel punitive, and even insignificant. Because, no matter how hard I tried, and no matter how many places I looked, I was never going to be able to make up for the blunder that I’d allowed.

Crusoe had been the only person I’d trusted. And, now he’d joined the expanding list of people who I couldn’t even be around.

“I just don’t understand,” I said, half to myself and half to the wind.

“Then, why don’t you move it and help us out Sergeant,” Another one of the officers said, lifting all of the people who were laying on the ground.

Recognizing my idleness, I hastily joined him. There were about seven cops still laying on the ground, all of them looking up with their eyes all being covered by a curtain of skin. I tried looking at them with a courage. However, such was a senseless pride on my part. When I actually tried looking at them I felt an immeasurable fear rise in my chest. At first, I was unsure of where this fear had come from.

Although, uncertainty is just a gauze— an excuse— to allow oneself to remain ignorant of obvious truths. I feared the men because I knew that their current state was of my doing. I’d placed them in their terrible positions of weakness…

When I saw their lifeless looks, I didn’t see the looks of men. I saw the looks of Crusoe instead. I saw the fact that, while I wanted to believe that the monster I was afraid of was outside of me, the monster was inside of me. It was me.

I was pulled out of this somewhat sulky reminiscing after I’d brought a third person under the canopy of some squad cars. Preparing to hop into one of them, I slipped a pair of keys out of my pocket. I could already hear the coming hum of a newly started engine.

Then, I heard the sound of a lighting match— and all dreams of turning on the car engine faded away. I tossed the keys into another officer’s palms, and then looked for where the familiar sound of a lighting match might’ve come from. After turning three-hundred and sixty degrees, and listening to the squad car drive off, I thought that I must’ve been imagining things. Though, then I felt a hand softly press against my shoulder— and, at that moment, I knew without a doubt what was going on.

“Kyler, it wasn’t your fault.”

It was the voice of Lieutenant Jackson, sounding as smarmy and self-important as ever. Though, for once, I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to smell the terrible stench of tobacco and nicotine dripping from his lips. I felt lost, and his voice had found a way to bring me back to the shores of reality. It showed me that the simple and the quaint things of life still existed— that not everything had monstrous effects on the course of life.

“Things like this happen,” he continued. “I’ve seen you make bluffs and blunders on numerous cases in the past— it never stopped you then, and it shouldn’t stop you now. Most of us have a few tough cases. Maybe not as many as you’ve had, but still— my point stands…”

Suddenly, I realized that Lieutenant Jackson’s voice had endured five less years of time’s roughening than my own— and yet, he sounded far wiser than I thought I’d ever be able to achieve. For some random reason, I caught myself grinning. Usually, when speaking with Jackson, the only expression I could ever muster was a scowl.

“I could’ve pulled Crusoe’s mask off at any time I wanted…” I said, clenching my fist. “He was right there, in front of my face— he trusted me in that moment. And, I squandered it…”

“You can’t entirely blame yourself. I cut the time short.”

I chuckled.

“Yes, I caught that… We still have a few pieces of evidence that Crusoe never explained to me.”

“You haven’t caught on by now, have you Kyler? Maybe you’re just blinded, due to the fact that you are great friends with Crusoe. But, all of the evidence that he gave you was trash… It easily could’ve been faked.”

“But, he hasn’t given me false evidence in the past.”

“He hasn’t been in such a desperate time as now, either. He has an ego. He likes being the one who solves the case. And, I’m beginning to suspect that he’d even be willing to lie in order to do so…”

“But this picture of a guy carrying a monkey statue— you’re not even curious as to where Crusoe got this from?”

“Not really. Do you honestly expect me to believe that, in spite of the decades the Chicago police force has invested into solving these sorts of cases, a random guy from off the street with a magnifying glass and rubber gloves can outdo us?”

“Yes.”

I couldn’t believe that I’d said those words— I regretted them the moment that they came out. Though, I couldn’t deny that, somewhere inside myself, I believed them to be true.

Jackson thankfully didn’t take me serisously, and merely laughed. I watchd his head turn into the light of the slamppost, and the smoke from his cigarette waft into the night air. In a way, as the smoke left to join the clouds, I felt like Jackson left as well. He didn’t speak again until I saw another puff of smoke leap from his cigarette.

“Crusoe’s fumes must’ve gotten to your head…” he said, jokingly.

I’m not quite sure why, but I wasn’t able to take it as a joke in the moment. There was an odd part of me that had decided to take everything that Jackson said for verbatim. Looking back on it, I think it was due to just how confused and befuddled that night— I needed something to cling to, and believing that everything Jackson said was truth was one of the only things I had left.

Admittedly, lack of sleep also played a major role.

“What do you think Crusoe used on us, anyway?” I asked.

Jackson grinned, in his own gruff way.

“You’re begging answers from me, as if I were some kind of genie,” he said. “I’m not into forensics— there are other people that are far more informed in that subject than myself. Although, I will say this. Whatever the gas is, it’s something entirely new and unique to me. I’ve never heard of somebody using anything like it before… If Crusoe is the genius that we both believe him to be, then I definitely fear what he might end up using that special gas with. That, and I fear what else he might’ve been able to cook up.”

“Is that why you don’t trust him?”

“I’ll be blunt with you, Kyler– I find it hard to trust a man who hides behind a mask, and avoids answering for any of the questions that surround him. I would’ve thought that you would’ve joined me in this line of thinking by now— but, I start to suspect that your thoughts are oftentimes hindered by the fact that you once thought Crusoe to be a friend.”

I looked down to the ground, and watched a few drops of water plink onto the pavement. Though— they weren’t drops of water. They were droplets of sweat, sliding from off of my forehead. I felt my throat start to clog up— but I didn’t let that halt me in my conversation with Jackson.

“I’ve heard that same spiel over and over again,” I said, flippantly. “Everybody constantly goes around proclaiming that I made a mistake with Crusoe… But, have you ever thought that maybe everybody else might be making a mistake? I know that tonight was questionable— and, to be honest, it’s severely making me rethink my position, and consider Crusoe as a possible threat— but, I just can’t help but see Crusoe as an individual who’s misunderstood and misrepresented.”

The Lieutenant coughed— I couldn’t tell if it was from what I’d said, from his cigarette, or from something other. When I watched him wipe his mouth with his sleeve, my questions were no closer to being answered— he looked distant, and his smugness seemed to have peeled off. It was as if the distant, black expanse of the stars had sucked a part of him away.

“I simply wouldn’t call a man who dresses in cloaked attire and hides from everybody who tries talking to him is misunderstood… If Crusoe was the sort of person who wanted to be represented in a better light, then he’d come out into the light.”

“And why would he, when all of the police are after him?”

“And why are all of us after him, Kyler?”

Jackson walked further away from me, and leaned onto the lamppost where all of this had begun. Out of nowhere, I realized how old and tired he looked. It was if everything had finally found a way to wear him down— and he no longer had the willpower to fight against it. His gaunt features no longer looked loose and full of energy, but now withered, and sucked of a good portion of their life.

At that moment, I realized just how much more ancient and tired I must’ve looked.

“There are so many other cases that are far more important than this costumed wannabe,” Jackson said. “We’ve dealt with him for too long… I know that you see him as a friend, and you don’t understand what changed him. But, what you don’t realize is that Crusoe has been a vicious character all along. You’d simply used him as a crutch, unaware that the crutch had been covered in a corrosive mold.”

He put his hand to his forehead, and wiped off a layer of dust that had formed there.

“We can’t afford to have you continuing to waste away your talents in chasing after this fool… We need you to give out your best work, and rid the city of him. We’ve dealt with Crusoe for too long, and he’s no longer anywhere close to being relevant to our current times and troubles. He’s a relic— and, sometimes relics have to be forgotten in the papers of history. Don’t you understand?”

I understood completely, but that didn’t change the fact that I didn’t want to understand. It wouldn’t have mattered how eloquently Jackson had put it, or how heinous of a thing that Crusoe had done that night. I was too phased by my own ego to realize how much I’d actually have to sacrifice in order to achieve the most optimal state for the greater good.

My eyes went back down to the remaining clues that Crusoe had failed to explain to me. I knew that my internal feelings were irrational and unfounded— but I was suddenly determined to prove that Crusoe’s case wasn’t a fiction or a series of flukes.

“I can’t just give up my relations with Crusoe,” I said. “I feel as if you’re asking me to cut off my arm.”

“I’m asking you to cut off a leech.”

A breath came out of my mouth with a heaviness that I’d never thought possible. It became clear that a split had grown between me and Lieutenant Jackson— a split that I’d always recognized, but now suddenly no longer wanted to exist.

My eyes turned down to all of the remaining clues that Detective Crusoe had left me with.

“What if I could use these clues, and everything else that we have, to prove Crusoe’s innocence?” I asked. “Would that change your thoughts on him?”

Lieutenant Jackson gave an awkward pause that left me feeling disconcerted. Though, when I looked into his eyes, I saw that he was far more uncomfortable than I.

Then, he gave a sarcastic scoff, no doubt trying to hide his blurb of weakness.

“If you can prove that Crusoe is innocent, then I’ll vouch for you to trade positions with me,” he said. I could tell that he was only half-serious— yet, he seemed more serious than he was letting on, at the same time. “There’s nothing under the sun that can prove Crusoe’s innocence…”

“Are you saying that nothing can convince you?”

“I’m saying that, whatever could convince me, doesn’t exist. Do you realize how hard it is to prove a guilty man to be innocent? The only way for you to turn things around for Crusoe is to take all of the crimes he’s committed, and figure out a way to pin them on somebody else. But, even then, he’s a vigilante… We both witnessed it firsthand— he isn’t the kind of guy who we want roaming around our city, let alone trying to enforce his own personal form of justice.”

“I knew Crusoe— tonight was just a bad example.”

“He left the whole force unconscious, and some of them have to be hospitalized.”

Those words should’ve been enough to stop me— but, for some reason, I kept going. While there seemed to be nothing on earth that could convince Jackson I was telling the truth, nothing would convince me to stop fighting.

“He’s in the middle of trying to solve a crime for us… I don’t understand how you can so easily overlook that. Don’t you think that there might be a bit of a trustworthy person within Crusoe? What convinced you that he’s such a menace?”

“I was convinced that he was a menace the day that he betrayed you— betrayed all of us. And now, half of the crimes in this district are being linked to him. That’s not a coincidence Kyler. Like it or not, there’s somebody out there who calls himself Crusoe, and he’s not a good person. Just because somebody claims they want to help doesn’t mean they do…”

Jackson flicked his cigarette away, and began walking toward the street— his house wasn’t far from the police department, and he had the habit of walking between them.

“I’m going to prove that Crusoe is innocent!”

“You’d prove that you’re insane long before that would ever happen… Before you go on your crusade, make sure that everybody is safe at the hospital for me.”

*

The police force had been drained by the occurrence that had taken place between ourselves and Crusoe. Nobody was quite sure why, but it had produced a draining effect onto all of us. Whenever I walked by somebody down the hall of the police department, they no longer spoke to me. Even when I tried engaging them in conversation, they seemed hesitant and soft-spoken. I thought that this might’ve been in my head, but it went so far as there being sort of timidity to them. Whenever I looked into their faces, there was a distantness. I would make eye contact with some of them, but it was as if I were a ghost— they stared right through me.

Half of our force was gone for the next few days, with them all being treated with IVs. After speaking to the doctors though, I became aware that we were doomed to have them gone for far longer than anticipated. I was told that they’d been lucky to stay alive, and that some of them were having trouble breathing. I asked the hospital why this was, and what sort of chemical smoke might’ve been the cause.

There wasn’t any answer. They were just as clueless as myself.

On the subject of clueless, I also made sure to go to the forensics division, like Lieutenant Jackson had suggested to me. Ever since I’d done that, I found myself only feeling an enormous regret. Most of the people in there studied the sample I gave them, but said that it was nothing more than a simple dust powder— probably caused by the burnt butt of a cigarette, mixed with salts, sand, and dirt.

Angry with the fact that I looked like an idiot, I asked them to review the samples, and check it for any other potential causes. They didn’t even bother— told me to go somewhere else, and that I was wasting time that they could’ve been using on something far more productive.

I gave them what they wanted, even if it left me with an extremely bitter taste in my mouth. I decided that, if I was going to get things done and head somewhere, I was going to have to do it myself. I took the case into my own hands, omitting myself of any outside help.

A week was invested into trying to identify what might’ve been different about the samples. An entire week withered away, without me finding anywhere near anything. Eventually, I had to assume that I’d either picked a bad sample, or that the gas’s compounds had deteriorated.

I tried contacting Crusoe, but that of course didn’t work. He didn’t trust me any more than I trusted him. And, I’m sure that even if he did, he wasn’t going to be revealing his own secrets to me. If there was anything about Crusoe that I could be certain of, it was that he was the kind of person who wasn’t keen on giving. If I wanted something from him, I usually had to beg him for it, or strip it from him by force.

Though, I’ll give him this much— he wasn’t entirely wrong, and he wouldn’t still have his mask if he’d designed it any other way.

Moving on from the sample, I went to the evidence that Crusoe given me. Or, at least the closest thing that I had to evidence. I’d come to the conclusion that Crusoe had left me with nothing that could validate him as being a good person. However, he had left me with the clues— and, if I could prove that he’d been right with those, then I knew that I might subsequently be able to prove that Crusoe was innocent.

Another reason that I’d decided to turn the clues into a serious focus of mine was the fact that I’d been so busy with so many cases that I’d begun to ignore Miss Prestel’s. I assumed that, if I were able to find the meaning behind Crusoe’s clues, and they happened to be true, then I might be able to kill two birds with one stone and take care of Miss Prestel once and for all. I wasn’t going to be able to take care of Miss Prestel in any other way, that was for sure. For the past week, she’d made sure to send me a letter complaining about the tardiness of me finding a solution of her case. And, when Job had escaped, she’d made sure to give me no leniency on the blunder.

I’ll show her, I said to myself, when I finally cracked open Crusoe’s evidence. Job will be back behind bars, and she’ll be thanking the entire police force.

I was merely daydreaming. Deciphering the clues proved to be a far more menial task than I ever could’ve anticipated. It had taken me three days of reading and rereading Bob Murphy’s letter, and staring at the blurry photographs before I finally came to a conclusion—but even then, my conclusion was a fuzzy one.

My first attempt at getting of answer came when I started studying the photos. The first one I studied was the one with the man holding a monkey doll in an alleyway. Though, when my studies of it became inconclusive, I wetted the photograph, and then turned it face-down on a piece of paper. Once the ink of the image had bled onto the paper, I examined every etch and detail— most of it was blotchy and indistinct. But, I was able to make out the fact that the man’s shadow-drenched face had been bearded, and that he’d been dressed in a lighter-colored coat— probably a brown, or a yellow.

Perhaps the only piece of evidence that I found useful on it was a piece of graffiti that was on a nearby wall— it was an image of three lines, underlined by this series of numbers— 246.

None of this helped me as much as I would’ve liked it to, though. If anything, it only made me more confused. I had thought that I was going to be coming upon a clear answer, only to find that what I thought to be a clear answer was actually just another question.

Is there anything significant to this graffiti? I wondered. Have I seen it anywhere before?

I didn’t dare to ask any more questions. Something that I’ve discovered about myself is that, when I begin to ask too many questions, my questions don’t stop coming. It’s like unlatching a rusted faucet— once it’s turned on, it’s hard to turn off.

However, I did have a strong feeling that I’d seen the graffiti somewhere. There was a familiar aspect to it— it gave me the same feeling that I would have when walking down a street and seeing a familiar face— only to find that the familiar face wasn’t so familiar after all, and that I had no idea where I’d seen the person before.

I was wrong when Id stated prior that uncertainty is just an excuse. IT goes far deeper than that. Uncertainty is not only an excuse, but a blockade. It’s one of the main things that stops the human race from passing frontiers, risking to go over the border, attempting to study something unique, and daring to do things that nobody else had dared to do. Without uncertainty, the world would be a place that was far more diverse.

Though, then again, without uncertainty where is the mystery? Where is the itching for knowledge that propels us towards making something new?

Perhaps uncertainty is many things– a motivator, an excuse, a source of fear, and a hinderer.

Studying Crusoe’s evidence, I found myself experiencing all of these feelings from the uncertainty. However, some foreign part of myself refused to digest it. I had an internal resilience that pushed against the limits of my mind. A part of me believes that it was just due to the wish to be apart from the bondages of the world, and my own physical limitations. However, I’ve since begun to suspect that it was something far— something that I never could’ve guessed or dreamed of.

I jotted down notes about the studies that I’d conducted on the alleyway image, and then turned to look at the image of the woman walking down the hall. It was an extremely blurry image, and at first I wasn’t even sure if I was looking at a woman at all. It took me looking at the picture under one of my lamps to tell what I was seeing.

The picture was far brighter lit than the last, so that worked in its advantage. I was able to observe that the image took place in what looked like a hospital setting. There were pale, almost bluish, lights over head of the lady. The walls on each side of her were made of a pale brimstone, and there seemed to be a sort of stretcher far off from her. What was odd about this hospital was what I saw in the background— there seemed to be a loose pair of doctor uniforms at the end of the hall. But, they were a kind that hadn’t been used in years. It looked like it was coated in a blackening mold as well.

In spite of this decaying object, and the clear appearance of age in the hallway, the woman looked fresh and young— at least, that’s what her clothes suggested. When I looked to her skin, and her hair, it was too hard to discern anything. She was even giving a side-glance over her shoulder, exposing a bit f her profile— but it was still too unclear.

“If Crusoe hadn’t doctored this, he definitely should’ve given me a better commentary on it…” I whispered under my breath.

After having stared at the image, I started to feel far more clearheaded than I had in a long while. There was something alleviating about the picture of the woman. The connection to the hospital gave me a clarity that I’d been copiously searching for.

I’d come to the conclusion that the picture had been taken at some sort of abandoned hospital. However, which hospital was something that had persisted to gnash at me. I tried pairing the number from the other picture, 246, to see if it correlated with any hospitals that had been closed down. Though, I wasn’t able to find any matches on a map, nor anywhere else. I eventually brought the case over to Lieutenant Jackson, but of course he was no help. He informed me that I was working for a lost cause, and then shooed me off.

Still, that wasn’t enough to demoralize me and stop me from completing the task of which I thought to be right. I knew that there was something to the hospital lead, whether anybody thought that it was right or not.

What eventually brought me to a solid point of reference was when I started reading the back of the picture— it was labeled as having been printed at printing-shop— Jonah’s Printing Shop, according to the back of the picture. I knew that this lead was a pitiful one, and that it held no real importance. Still, this didn’t change the fact that it was all that I had to go by, and that I was desperate to find anything that might lead me to a solution.

Within an hour of finding this out, I had the address of the printing shop, and I was heading in my car towards the place. Traffic proved to be a blockade, but I managed to hurdle over it, and make it seem to be as insignificant as a flea. Another twenty minutes passed by, and I was already at the shop, preparing to go in and ask my questions.

I strode out of my squad car with a pride unlike any other that I’d felt in a long while. Though, it came to pass that when I started studying the printer’s building, my insides began to shrivel up. The building looked like it hadn’t seen maintenance in years, despite the fact that the sign said that it had only been established ten years ago. It had a grimy display window, crusty letters marking its stake, and a brick structure that looked as if it were one chisel away from toppling over.

This building was also squeezed tightly in between two other buildings, looking as if they were vying for dominance. Though, when I studied those buildings as well, it appeared that they were losing the battle. In fact, if I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve argued that the printer’s sickly decay had been contagious, and was spreading over to those buildings as well.

What made me feel most irksome in the presence of this building, however, had nothing to do with the building’s design at all, but the smell that it gave off. I have a habit of breathing as little as I can through my nose, when traveling through the city— you can never tell what awful scents you might pick up. Yet, this scent was so intrusive that it didn’t matter how I was trying to breathe through my mouth, instead of my nose. It was undoubtedly the same smell that accompanied rotting flesh. A few flies that flew passed my head confirmed this belief.

“Rats,” I said. “They have rats…”

If the owner of the shop had heard me, I’m sure that they would’ve driven me off the property. But, I didn’t care— the smell was too unbearable to go without being verbally identified.

I’d been to many places throughout my long career— some of them being just as grungy and revolting as this one. Though, if I’d ever come across a building that I would proclaim diseased, I don’t think that they could’ve been a better candidate for that title than this one.

In fact, I found it to be more than just diseased.

“This place must be cursed,” I said.

While even only a year ago I would’ve laughed at the thought of the supernatural, recent events had convinced me that perhaps it was far more around me than I liked to admit. I found that I’d become more open to curses— after over a year of trying to clean up Chicago, to no avail, using the word curse was oftentimes the best excuse that I’d been able to come up with for myself. I used to find it skeptical that supernaturalism typically went hand in hand with uncertainty— but, I’d begun to suspect that perhaps the reason they went hand in hand was because the supernatural was so uncertain. And this building had opened me up to that concept even more. Whether this notion of mine had been true or not, I knew this much— if I had opted to travel to the building at night, rather than in the evening, I wouldn’t have had the guts to walk in.

A bell chimed over my head as I walked into the printing shop, and I found the stench from at the doorstep to be even more penetrating to my nostrils. I was extremely tempted to leave, run down the street, and not return to this place. But, something had forced me to remain where I was, and keep looking in the room for answers.

Alongside the stink of dead rats, there was also a new smell of ink that accompanied it. I looked for where it might’ve been coming from, and found that there was a hidden room to the far side of the shop— it was behind an empty checkout desk, and shrouded in the sounds of noisy clacking and whirring.

AS I looked, I caught myself walking into a carousel. Thankfully, I managed to catch myself before I knocked it over. Not that it would’ve mattered if I had. It was completely rusted, and it appeared that it was about to unscrew from its stand anyway. There were metal carousels just like this one all around me too, full of old printing paper— and, overpriced printing paper at that. It all looked ancient, as if it hadn’t been touched by human hands before.

Turning my attention from that, I took a look at the floor underneath my feet— it was made of an older pine wood, which had clearly been laid down far before the mere decade the shop claimed to have been around. There were splinters all throughout it, and as I walked on it, I heard it creak with a brittleness, as if it were about to snap at any moment.

You would’ve thought that they would’ve replaced this by now, I thought to myself.

However, I knew the truth— I was only entertaining myself by pretending to be oblivious to it. This printing shop hadn’t made money since the Dust Bowl was born, and had probably been struggling even before then. It had the mark of desperation all about it. Every seam was splitting open, like its secret bits that it liked to hide were finally beginning to tear it apart from on the inside. This brought my mind to an image of a zoo that I’d remembered. I had a faint memory of a group of monkeys that had been in there once— one time, the monkey cages became too overcrowded, and one of the monkeys escaped.

The zoo was never able to get back on its feet after that incident— it allowing the animal to leak out had been its downfall.

That’s the reason why I’d looked down at the floor in the first place— I’d come to realize that you could learn a lot about a place, and the people who run it, by staring at the floor. After all— the floor is where nobody looks, but everybody walks upon. If a shop thinks it can get away with hiding its messes in plain sight, then you know just how little they think of you— and just how much they think that they’ll be able to get away with.

Just the sort of place that Crusoe would try printing a picture at, I thought, with a smirk. Of course he’d be trying to hide amongst the grime. Little does he realize how much hiding disadvantages what he’s able to do.

As I was thinking this, a door creaked open. Normally, I wasn’t able to hear the creaking of doors— my ears had been dulled so much by the sounds of gunshots and screams over the years, that hearing such acute things had become harder for me to do. However, this particular creak was so loud that I found my own ears beginning to howl in pain. I had to bring my hands to my ears, it hurt so much.

As I did this, I was immediately brought back to Miss Prestel’s house, when I heard the excruciating wail on the downstairs floor.

Had that been all that it was, I thought to myself. Just an unoiled door hinge?

I laughed to myself, and passed my association off as mere coincidence. Then, I heard a loud grunt from on my left side, coming from the same direction that the wailing door had. I turned around, and saw an angry looking man leaning over the previously unattended checkout desk.

While I might’ve been willing to laugh, this man clearly wasn’t in the mood to be humored. He took one look at my crisp police uniform, and then gave a scowl of disapproval. I’d become accustomed to people typically giving an expression of terror after glancing at my uniform. This new course of action knocked me completely off my feet, and I found myself stripped of all confidence and direction.

“What are you doing here?” the man asked, with his voice far removed from the typically cheery service.

I took a longer look at him. His face was coarse and leathery, along with having a haggard look to it. His lips were pale— I suspected from overexposure to some sort of chemicals from in the printing room— along with the rest of his face. The only thing that had color were his eyes and hair— both of which shared the color of gray. Unlike his eyes, however, his gray hairs still had a hint of brown in them. They were receding, and bordered by a line of gray, but that hint of color was still undeniably there. His stubble for a beard was an improvement, but still wasn’t that much more impressive of a sight. It looked as if the man had given up on shaving halfway through the job, and he had a greasy shirt that looked as if it hadn’t been changed in weeks. On this shirt, there was a plain title of the shop’s name, and the man’s name was printed onto a flimsy paper nametag— Jonah Gage. He had a tall and imposing height, but still maintained a heavy build. His arms were particularly broad and thick, so much so that they looked capable of knocking me to the ground.

His hands were probably my only advantage, if we were to get into a fight— they were smeared with ink and oil, and appeared to have been shriveled from years of working with the stuff.

“I was just here to ask a few questions about this picture I have— Jonah Gage is it?”

Opting to ignore me, Gage instead just offered a snide snort.

“You decided to dress up in that stuffy getup just to ask me a few questions? Give me a break… What are you actually looking for, officer?”

There was nothing about the man that I could truly find comfort in. No matter what light I looked at him in, he seemed to be able to find some new way to bring me into a squeamish state. Though, somehow, my lips and vocal chords managed to form the words that I needed to say.

“Answers… I’m looking for answers, and I think that you’re the only person that might have them for me.”

I tossed my pictures onto his desk. They floated down with a sort of angelic quality, arcing in and out from each other. It was as if they held some holy air about them. Compared to the shop around it, I found it almost impossible to believe that something so pretty and glossy could’ve been made somewhere so destitute.

Gage looked down at the pictures, with his eyes looking entirely unimpressed. However, his hands said otherwise, and they buried themselves into his chest, folding into the defense position.

“I don’t see what your point is…” Gage said, stiffly. “I printed a couple of pictures, and somebody paid me cash for it. Did you expect me to decline the offer? What does any of this have to do with me?”

“What I expect is for you to answer this question— who paid you for these pictures, and did they tell you anything about them before they did?”

“I’m not inclined to answer.”

At first, I felt like I was running in circles— even with my badge and my somewhat confident posture, it seemed that there was no swaying this man. However, then my nose gained an itch— and I remembered what ground of advantages that I did have over Gage.

Exaggeratedly, I took a large breath of air through my nostrils. Gage looked at me like I was insane, but I didn’t care— that was just the response that I’d wanted.

“You know a lot about this city, correct?” I asked.

Catching onto the fact that I was taking him through a sort of questionnaire, Gage became hesitant in giving a response. However, he eventually caved and said, “Yes.”

“So, I suspect that there are few people who walk in this part of the city that you don’t have any knowledge of or any connection with…”

This time, he didn’t answer me.

I took another whiff of air.

“I know that you’re not inclined to answer my question,” I said. “But, as for me— I’m inclined to believe that your shop is infested with rats, and many of them are dead and rotting. I’m not sure about you, but I think that you would’ve wanted to have taken care of this mess by now— you know, since you’re required by law to have paid an exterminator to take care of this mess… The fines for ignoring such laws are definitely hefty ones.”

This time, it was Gage who’d become squeamish. Although he had a different way of expressing it, such as by leaning backward, and by making his gaze move about the room, I knew without a doubt that he felt cornered.

Place a man where he’s weak, and he’ll always show his true colors… I thought.

Instantly, my mind went back to Crusoe. Thankfully, I managed to shove that thought away as quickly as possible.

“Answer my question. Or, would you like me to repeat myself?”

“Why not…” he said again, rolling his eyes.

I caught the roll of his eyes, however— and they weren’t rolling at all. It instead was the roll of the eyes that comes from a man who’s stalling, and searching for an escape.

“Who bought these pictures from you? And what are they pictures of? This is my last time asking you.”

At this point, I saw something within Gage shift— he had the look in his eyes of an animal that had finally been put in a place from which they couldn’t escape. Though, I was uncertain as to what decision he might make next— he could’ve either attacked me, in the same way that an animal could attack me, or he could’ve finally caved into my offer.

“She was really quiet,” Gage finally said. “She didn’t tell me her name. She didn’t even let me see her face.”

I had to keep my mouth from gaping— if there was anything that I hadn’t been expecting, it was probably the fact that Crusoe hadn’t bought these pictures.

“You’re sure that you’re not getting it confused?” I asked.

Gage looked incredulous.

“Of course I’m not getting it confused! I rarely ever get customers here, and when I do, I make sure to remember them as much as I can.”

I said nothing for a while, but couldn’t help but grin at that statement.

“How old did she look?”

“Couldn’t have been any older than forty— unless she dyed her hair. There wasn’t any gray in it. But, I didn’t catch much more than that. Like I said before, she didn’t tell me much… Her voice was too quiet to measure age with, and her face was too low to judge as well.”

“Did you happen to catch anything else?” I asked, being cautious not to pry too far— I felt lucky that I was getting this much out of him.

“Not much— I asked her what she wanted the pictures for, but she didn’t seem too willing to talk… I think that the hospital picture that you gave me was supposed to be from some attempt at exploration that she took, but I don’t know much else.”

I nodded.

“An attempt at exploring the hospital?” I said, making sure that I’d heard him right.

“Yeah,” he said. His eyes began to glaze over, looking as if he’d remembered something. “She’d said that she went there to check out the scenery— said that it was abandoned and that nobody went there anymore. I asked her the exact details of where she’d taken the picture at, but she didn’t seem quite as receptive when it came to that. She must’ve been trying to hide something from me, but I couldn’t tell quite what.”

“why do you think that she was trying to hide something from me?”

Gage’s own brand of squeamishness had returned.

He’s hiding something about somebody hiding something? I thought to myself with a smirk. That’s a new one…

“To be honest, I probably was a bit too abrasive with the amount of questions that I gave her,” he said. “I might’ve made her uncomfortable…”

I rolled my eyes.

I didn’t come here to be told about this man’s failed flirting attempts… I thought to myself.

“Where exactly do you think this hospital might be? And, did you get any specific details about it? Is there anything that I might like to know?”

“Considering the fact that you seem to want to know everything, I’d bet that there’s a lot you’d like to know… But, that doesn’t mean that I want to give it to you.”

“Come on, Gage… We’ve already been through what will happen if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Now, what do you think the hospital is? Do you have any ideas?”

“To be honest, I don’t know for sure,” Gage said. “But, considering that she came to my abandoned shop, of all places, I’m guessing that she was in the area… She was definitely a new face to me, so I’d assume that she wasn’t from here, and that she was just trying to get pictures of her visit.”

But why would Crusoe want this random woman’s pictures? I wondered.

“Spit it out already. What hospital is it?”

“It’s Harlem Grove Hospital… Well, it was Harlem Grove Hospital. Nowadays the sign reads, “Arlem Gove Pital” … Not nearly as catchy, but it does the job. Anyway, the hospital has been unmanned for years. Rumor has it, one of the doctors in there wasn’t following protocol, and it was found out that he was giving all of the patients diseases and sicknesses. Atop that, the owner mysteriously died from bronchitis, and then his broke son inherited the place… All of the sudden, nobody was going to that hospital anymore, and the place was shut down.”

“What sort of diseases were people catching…”

“I dunno— I hear stories that range from the common cold to polio. Personally, I don’t think that there’s all that much merit to them. People just like to pretend that they know something they don’t… What I believed really happened is that the owner died, and it was blamed on the hospital— after that, the blame kept spreading once the hospital was sold off. But, all that really happened was that the owner died of a freak accident, and his gambler of a son had to sell the place off…”

I made sure to place everything he said down in my notes. While I wasn’t sure if they would have any relevance, I felt a need to make sure that I was informed on every detail before I went searching through the hospital. I’d learned that, without a proper understanding of something’s history, that something becomes harder to understand and navigate.

“Is that all? Are there any dangers about the hospital— such as broken windows, locked doors, etc.”

“The doors can’t be opened,” Gage said. “To be honest, I don’t know a ton about the insides of the building— most of what I know is based on what other people know— and, what other people know about it isn’t necessarily true… But, I’ve heard that there’s broken glass strewn all throughout the halls, there’s graffiti spread throughout it, there are animals living in it, and there’s mold growing through it, all due to the place being unattended. Another thing is that there’s this weird rumor about ghosts wandering through there. Now, I don’t believe in ghosts, but I’d bet that there’s somebody living in the hospital who doesn’t like visitors— if you’re going to investigate the property I’d advise that you bring somebody with you. You also don’t want to go investigating through the east wing… I’m not sure why, but that’s what I’ve been told. I think the place is full of dangerous medical supplies or something…”

On my notepad I jotted down most of what he said, except for his latter words— I edited those to say, “Explore east wing.”

“Thanks for the information,” I said. “Now one last thing— I need you to tell me if you recognize the graffiti or number on the alleyway picture— the one with the man.”

Gage bent over and studied it.

“You know, I never did ask you how you got these pictures…” Gage said, making a suspicious gaze at the ceiling.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I don’t know about the numbers, but the three random lines just look like tally marks… I don’t see anything unique about them… Probably just the work of random vandalizers.”

I pretended to be satisfied, but I could tell that he was lying to me— I saw a look of recognition in his eyes when he took a look at the graffiti. There was even a sense of terror and dread.

“Well, this was a good chat,” I said, taking the pictures from his desk and placing them in my pocket. Then, I handed him a five-dollar bill.

“It’s the best I can spare,” I said, “but you earned it. Take care, and use it on something nice. If I’m ever in need, this is definitely a place that I’ll have in mind.”

Gage nodded and grinned. Then, he scribbled something down on a piece of note paper and handed it to me.

“It’s my phone number,” he said. “If you ever have any more questions, just call me.”

In that moment, I saw a sincerity— all of our suspicions melted off, and I found ourselves on level ground.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll call sometime.”

The smell of ink left as I hopped back into my care. I wish that I could’ve said the same for the stink of rat.

*

After the conversation with Jonah Gage I found myself feeling a strange mixture of confusion and satisfaction that I hadn’t expected. On one hand, the conversation with the man had gone far smoother than I thought it would’ve— it was to the point that I found myself considering that he could’ve been a great colleague. On the other hand, I was extremely lost in what I felt I was supposed to do.

As if there’s a time when I don’t feel that way, I thought to myself, half-jokingly. Though, I was joking far less than I led myself on to believe. It was becoming far harder for me to discern what I was supposed to do, as well as to push against my natural inclination to go at it alone.

If I explore the hospital on my own, then I’ll be at risk of being attacked or kidnapped, like so many others have been… But, if I don’t, then I’ll be at risk of being compromised. I don’t want Lieutenant Jackson to know that I’ve been working on my case based off of Crusoe’s evidence, or that I’m planning on basing everything on hunch and assumption.

There are many things about myself that I find to either be peculiar, or impossible to rationalize with. One of those things are my very rationalization. The truth was, fear had found a way to sink its teeth into my mind— and, there was nothing but myself that could shake it off. At hearing that Crusoe’s pictures had come from a woman, my confidence level had fallen to an all-time low— at this point, it wasn’t that I didn’t know what to do. It was that I was afraid that, no matter what I did, it would be the wrong thing.

For a seasoned officer, I haven’t learned nearly enough in my time on the force. Some might argue that I’ve gotten slow, too skeptical, and not willing to take the necessary risks.

They’re right. At this point, I’m wondering if this is the sort of job that people at my age should really be bothering with. It’s a game— a young person’s game.

There was a time when I wasn’t afraid of making a mistake. If it so happened that I died on the police force, I wasn’t concerned— I trusted that everything would be alright in the end. I felt that I’d lived out my life to the fullest, and that there weren’t any squandered years.

In the time since, I’ve lost that sense. It’s kind of funny, in a twisted sort of way— when I had nothing to lose, I had far more to lose than I’d thought. Yet, as time went one, and I found myself beginning to think that I have everything to lose, I suddenly realized that I have far less to lose. My reliance on rationalization and self-preservation increased to such a high level that I never could’ve believed I would’ve had when I was younger.

Such is the great rigging that mortality has placed on our lives. When death seems so far and distant, one thinks that they can fight it with ease— one thinks that about everything that’s far and distant. Though, once you begin to feel death in your limbs— once it starts to bite at you, and take away possessions that you once greatly enjoyed— the fantasies that you once told yourself suddenly don’t apply anymore.

I used to ask myself how people can let themselves get old… I used to wonder what it was that tricked people into letting go of carelessness, and putting fear and trepidation in its place. Little did I know, that had always been the wrong question to ask.

The real question is this— why do young people act as if old age is never going to catch up with them?

Nobody can stop it. As time goes one, death intrudes upon you— it makes sure that you become acquainted with it, whether you wish for it or not. To be honest, I don’t entirely place any bitterness towards death— whether or not how I like its order of business, business is business. And, if it’s going to spend eternity with me, it might as well get to know me while I’m still alive.

Perhaps that’s why I haven’t given up on police work, even after death shoved its foot into the ajar door of my life. Perhaps it’s because death represents everything that I hold dear— it enforces a sort of law that, no matter how much people try to avoid it, nobody will ever be able to escape. It also is among, if not on top, of all the greatest mysteries to be unsolved by man. While I might have fear towards it, I also retain a sort of reverence for it.

The greatest mysteries, as beautiful as they might be, are also the most terrifying and foundation shaking.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that there was nobody I could fully trust. And, even if there happened to be somebody who I could, I certainly wasn’t willing to put that person in harm’s way. The only people who seemed willing to sacrifice a good amount of their security for me were people who were too rare and valuable to risk.

So, I went from Jonah’s Printing Shop without saying a word to anybody. I acted as if nothing had taken place, and that I was still searching everywhere for answers. In truth, I was still searching— just not for the things that others thought I was. I was now searching for ideal dates to go explore the abandoned hospital, as well as other places that I might find clues…

Of course, I didn’t find anything. The best that I was able to come up with was conversation with Miss Prestel. I wrote her a letter in the morning, and the response suggested that she still felt quite a large amount of bitterness due to the way that our affairs had gone south, I didn’t care. In fact, I was slightly relieved by the fact that she seemed disgusted by the thought of conversation with me— it took one less worry off of my checklist of responsibilities.

Yes— responsibilities. While I was extremely engrossed by the case at hand, I also had a problem with the fact of dancing around my real life cares. My rent was a week overdue, since my police department was being paid in less optimal times, and my fridge had gone nearly empty. A sort of writhing desperation began crawling through my gut, choking me of some life.

I grew up being told that money didn’t grow on trees. Back then, I used to come up with some smart-aleck refutation in my mind— such as the fact that the paper money is made from comes from trees. Though, those days of ignorance are just a fading cloud of smoke now— I see the real truth. The world around me is so small, and insignificant. I’m living upon a cloud of people who think that they know what’s best. All of those who were able to find out the secret of money sucked it dry— and I‘m beginning to realize just how little there is for the rest of us.

Thankfully, my job didn’t allow me any major fears back then. While tons of people around me were falling into the category of unemployed, and while I knew that most of the jobs and careers were beginning to fade away, I didn’t fear for myself. Not even when I found my bread stretching thin, and my home doors threatening to lock up on me. I knew that my job was secure— and, for some twisted and construes reason, that gave me a sense of security.

Little did I realize that the reason I felt so secure was that I hadn’t seen poverty yet, at its lowest form. I hadn’t yet seen what it looked like to hit the bottom of the barrel, and then try to climb back out of it. There was so much hopelessness outside of my small magnifying glass that I called the city.

If I were to have been honest with myself, I was living in one of the safest pockets of Chicago. I didn’t know crime like many others did because I ignored crime— I tried to hide from it, and pretend that the world I lived in was safe and protected— that I was somehow making a sort of difference.

Another couple of days passed by, flickering off like a failing match’s flickering flames. My tedious chores had finally been plucked away. Typically, this would’ve given me a sense of relief and an optimistic sense of control. Control in a world that seems uncontrollable is oftentimes the most securing feeling that one can ever wish for. However, these feelings were almost foreign to me— dare I say, even forbidden.

I was in my squad car, driving towards the abandoned hospital that Jonah Gage had directed me for. Something in my head didn’t care about this— it was utterly turned off by the idea that everything was about to come to a close— that I was one step closer to finding answers.

To be frank, I didn’t understand this odd feeling at the time. I fully believed that I was fooling myself into feeling something that wasn’t fully there— that my fears were utterly unfounded. The sky above me was cloudless, and appeared to be a softer blue than I’d seen in the longest time. For the past month, all that I’d seen were stark grays and fat drops of oily water. It was if that terrible weather had decided to retreat. The clear sky allowed the sun to bounce off of everything, in an almost playful sort of way. All colors gained a strange new beauty, and I felt an odd but welcomed sense of relief. Even the wind, which had been tearing at me for the past few weeks, had finally allowed me a break.

Though, none of this changed how I felt inside. It might’ve just been from cynicism, but I’d grown used to seeing the worst storms follow the brightest of days. I didn’t care that everything had gone from gloom to a tranquil atmosphere. I had a feeling that the fog hadn’t retreated, but that it was taunting me. Even in its absence, I could feel its presence— I could feel the fear crawling up my back of its return.

After all, a clear day is an investigator’s dream— there isn’t a clue that can go unseen, or a single blemish on the road that will go unchecked. It allows near perfect perception, and even better insight into the hidden things— the things that the city doesn’t want you to see.

More than anything else, this is how the fog was able to taunt me— it was able to threaten a return. It was able to threaten taking all of that away.

I used to be a man who didn’t quiver in fear in the face of threats. I’m not sure how that part of me changed. It seemed that the cynical world around me had brought a new mind into the place where my old mind was. I was starting to feel as if I was no longer the same man that I was when I was younger, but something entirely new and different— almost a new creature.

Perhaps this was just because of everything going on around me. But, if it was because of everything going on around me, then that would still give victory to the adverse situations. It would still mean that struggles and trials had begun to alter me in some way.

I’d come to the point where there was nothing that I could place blame on. My age, and the passage of time had morphed me into a creature that was immune to excuses. Any path that I took to validate my innocence would only cause me to admit weakness and ignorance. Corners were all that my eyes could see. I was utterly stuck and trapped in the sludge of my own head.

To avoid these thoughts, my eyes turned from the road and to the streets surrounding me. There was an aspect to myself that felt I could avoid looking at my internal darkness by seeing the brightness that the world contained. That aspect was entirely ignorant. As my eyes began to scan the world, it met one of the sorriest sights that it had seen in a while— all that it saw was emptiness.

The day smelt of a warm wave. The sound of scraping chalk had turned to a mere ghost that echoed in my ears. Skipping kids, and whistling adults were nowhere to be seen. There was only one thing that managed to give me the hope that people were still dwelling in the emptiness— I found a few cars parked along the side of apartment buildings, marking the territory as its own. Broken bottles and graffiti also coated a few places, as if to give warning to people such as myself.

“It looks that I’m not the only one who’s suspicious of the bright weather,” I said to myself.

For some reason, this pulled me as far away from feelings of comfort that I could conceive. Everything had an oddly sinister overtone to it. I took a glance at the street again, and found its emptiness pull at me as if it were a vacuum. I n that moment, I suddenly wished that I had brought somebody along with me. I could barely stand the draining atmosphere.

A conclusion came to me in the midst of all this— there wasn’t an emptiness because this area of the city was vacant. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the narrowing and increasingly claustrophobic design was teeming with a population. What was going on was that everybody was compressed into the alleyways and the buildings. I could hear their whispers every so often— their scraping grunts and growls. Within the buildings, far beyond my sight, rats were everywhere. It was like Jonah’s Printing Shop, but worse— I couldn’t smell the dead rats anymore. Now, all that I could do was infer their existence.

I drove for a little while longer, wondering what might’ve driven people into the buildings with such a fear as they were displaying. However, it wasn’t long before I came to the conclusion that I’d simply been avoiding. People weren’t hiding from me, or the city, or reality— they were hiding from the light. Nobody wanted to be out, now that the weather was clear. Everything had been dark and gloomy for so long that a nastiness had festered in the hearts of these many people. They’d retreated to their homes for no other reason than to remain unseen— to hide from exposing themselves as they truly were.

Wanting to be disgusted with this notion, I tried thinking of ways that I would avoid ever reducing myself to such a low state. However, I couldn’t come up with anything. Truth be told, I wanted to hid e in the darkness myself. No, I didn’t just fear the return of the smog, like I told myself that I had— I also relished the idea. I wanted to hide in the darkness, so that I wouldn’t have to face reality— so that I could live in a world that was far easier to hide in, and see myself as a hero in. The thing about the light is that it reveals people as they truly are. Though, in the city, nobody is ever who they truly are. When you live your entire life hiding behind the curtain, and pretending to be somebody that you aren’t, then that’s what you become— somebody who always pretends. Once that opportunity to pretend is taken away, the only thing to fall back on is the instinct of hiding from the light, and looking for somewhere else to be yourself.

Little did I realize, the deeper that I went into the bright but empty city, the deeper that I tore at the elements I was made up of. I was not the sort of person who would help those in need, like I’d once pictured myself as. Rather, I helped those that my job required me to help. If I were honest, the world around me had allowed it so that human compassion was harder to give out. I saw everything as a tangled mess, steadily growing ever more tangled. I didn’t want to bother trying to untangle it, in fear of being entangled in the process. Though, such is the problem that ails all life— finding the balance between self-preservation, and the preservation of the whole of society. When preservation of society becomes the preservation of oneself, then something selfless starts to turn into something selfish— and then it becomes ever harder to complete the selfless acts that make society run so smoothly.

Why is it that the world has decided to dip so low, I wondered.

I was at the hospital by now, parked in front of its molded and decayed doorway. I didn’t care. All that I saw was something dead— something unimportant and insignificant to the grand scheme of things. In trying to solve the mystery, I realized that I was reaching into a darkness.

Is that darkness worth looking through? I asked myself. Or, should I be looking elsewhere for answers. After all, there’s far more that I don’t understand. There are far more questions that I should be asking myself, and focusing on. I can’t just ignore the fact that there are people all around me, wishing for me to succeed to find them answers. I can’t ignore the fact that the answers I find will never solve the problem.

I’ve started to have more and more questions about whether or not my job is the enlightening tool that I’d once looked at it to be. After all, everything that I see around myself suggests that there are far more messes than I’d like to confront. I’ve been ignoring the full truth of everything around me, which is that everything has a virus. That’s why I’ve seen the city grow, and then fall. It has become infected, and like an infected cell, it’s now producing more of the virus. Eventually, the problem will be so pervasive, that I won’t even be able to do anything anymore. I will have to rely on others to solve the problems. I will become as helpless as those I try to help.

Yet, that puts me in a circle. In trying to help people, I give the problems a prolonged chance to grow. In my distraction, I can’t see the corruption that’s growing behind my back— and so, the corruption comes to a point where nothing can possibly cut it down. Then, I become the one who must be helped.

Here’s the real problem. If I’m the police, and I can’t stop it, then who’s supposed to police the police? Who’s supposed to clean up a mess that even the cleaners can’t clean?

I’m no god, and I’ve never perceived myself as one. Yet, I can’t help but feel that I’m responsible for the direction that everything takes. If the world starts to spiral into oblivion, am I not responsible?

“What am I supposed to do?” is the question that I keep coming to… I have a fuzzy idea of that now. I’m supposed to do what’s needed of me. However, that doesn’t answer the main question, which is this— where am I supposed to look for the solutions? Am I looking in the right places?

By the end of this internal monologue I felt such a weight in my gut that I barely had the willpower to step out of my squad car. The world around me was so cheery looking, and I had a guilt in myself from not being able to appreciate it. It was almost unnatural. Although, in a twisted sort of way, this unnatural look at things felt right. Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to question my actions, and wonder if what I was doing was really the right thing— I would’ve been able to act like everything was extremely simplistic and easy. Nothing would’ve been solved.

The hospital building was just as I’d expected it to be— vacant and extremely destitute. To a point, I thought that its atmosphere might’ve been what was causing all of my uncertainties and running thoughts.

It had a foreboding an overbearing size, taking up about a block, and having the height of an average apartment building. One of the greatest sources of discomfort that came from the sight of it, however, had nothing to do with its size, scale, or even its rotting design. It was the very fact that the place had once been a source of life. When people went to the hospital, they once thought that it was a place that might have been able to relieve them of their ailments. It was a beacon of hope that almost seemed untainted.

It was the very concept that something of hope could become so twisted— the fact that it was able to turn into the monstrous construction that it had— that made me feel an enormous terror inside myself.

I opened the entrance door to the hospital, and heard it groan with a creak that was like the dying cry of a bird. Inside the building, there was an inky blackness. Oddly enough, there was a reassuring element to it— I actually embraced the look of darkness, having been deprived of it for the entire day. In spite of this, I still pulled a bulky flashlight out of my pocket before proceeding into the hall.

In a way, I was able to swim through the darkness like a fish swims through water. I didn’t entirely know where I was going, but I was still able to make out a lot of what was going on. It was as if the darkness pulled me along with it— instead of me controlling it with my own will, the darkness controlled me with its will. Why this didn’t scare me, I don’t know. I think that it was because, inside of all of ourselves, we’re born with an instinctive fear of darkness. However, as we’re forced to live in it, we adapt. We come to a point where we can hardly be without it, and we’re almost reliant on it.

The halls held a beauty to them. They were adorned with the stripes of abandonment, having dings and scratches on every turn. Even the floor, made up of a cool gray tile, had managed to become dented and bruised. It appeared that the years had made the place soft. Though, softness was something that I’d come to embrace over my years of having to deal with the harshness of reality.

There was something reassuring about being able to walk into a place that was filled with messes and degeneration. Everywhere I turned, I felt that a clue was behind me, beckoning for me to come and study it. Normally, a detective might’ve been disoriented by such a place, and even made timid. The amount of information was overwhelming and indecisive. However, coming from off the empty streets, I was allowed a far more positive viewpoint on the matter. To me, the fact that I had any clues at all was enough to make me feel free again.

By seeing all of the worn down areas in the hospital, it became pretty easy for me to tell that the place had been used for shelter since it had been closed down. In some areas, there were blankets and clothes left behind, and in others I even found the rotting remains of food.

I pity the person who had to sleep here, I thought to myself, as I heard the floor creak beneath me. Who on earth would be so desperate as to come here?

At the moment of asking this question, I realized that I already knew the answer— only a criminal, with a devious and crafty outlook on everything, would’ve been willing to set up camp in such a place. I couldn’t imagine somebody being guided by any motivation apart from that.

There was about half an hour where I was just wandering about, looking for a place to settle my studies. Though, it seemed that there wasn’t any clear direction to look into. The hospital was so straightforward and simplistic in design that, if there had been anything suspicious in there, I wouldn’t have been able to tell. It was at this point that I’d seriously begun to regret not bringing anybody with me.

At every step, it seemed that the building was threatening to come down on me. While the stains on the walls had greeted me at the entrance, they now snarled at me. Some of them even managed to tear into my gut, making me feel utterly exposed and at the mercy of it. The blackness had gained an omnipotence that I didn’t dare to test.

The very thought of continuing began to send daggers in my back. My arms jerked, and groped about involuntarily. At first, I was unsure to why I was doing this, though it then became clear to me that the surrounding environment was forcing things onto me that I would’ve normally been able to view without having to confront. It was placing images into my head that I had nbo resistance for. It was if I were the place’s screen, and it was the projector— everything withing it was imposed onto me, and I was forced to look for a way to remove it from myself.

“I think that I’ve seen enough,” I said.

At that moment, my flashlight began to flicker, and my sight started to become vapid and almost nonexistent.

“I take it back!” I said, slapping the flashlight against the wall.

Thankfully, it turned back on— if a whole lot dimmer than it used to be. However, I knew that this marked the end of my security. I hadn’t packed any batteries, and if the light were to have gone out, I would be forever victim to the place.

Though, there was something that kept me going on. There was an air to the place. While the hospital might’ve started to seem far less hospitable than it had at the beginning of my journey, its initial mysteries remained in my head. It gave me a sort of drive and motivation. Even if there was nothing beyond what I could see, and even if I was wasting my time and my security, I wasn’t willing to leave without knowing for certain. I wasn’t willing to leave until I had satisfied the intuition in my chest.

My entire time in the hospital had been spent walking through the halls. There had been doors each side of them, some of them being wide open. Although, I’d opted to avoid them up to this point. There was a squeamish aspect within myself that didn’t wish to see the horrors that might await me. I’d thought that, behind one f those doors, I might’ve seen something that validated the darkness that surrounded me— something that would make me regret ever entering the rotted entrance doors. However, I flipped this notion on its head when I realized that, even if such things awaited behind the hospital room doors, I would regret my search if I didn’t begin looking.

Without rest, my eyes used every ounce of the flashlight to capture what was within the hospital bedrooms. Many of them were eerie, with torn apart beds, rusting metals, and dead remains of what the hospital once was. I felt an unexplainable squeamishness. If I could, I would’ve crawled out of my own skin and found a way to flee from the area.

However, my curiosity remained. There was an itch in y brain, telling me that somewhere beyond the foresight of my scope of vision there were the answers that I sought. Intuition had proven to be wrong for me time and time again. Though, there was something about the intuition this time. There was something in the way that it made me feel. Once again, I began to feel as if there was some supernatural force acting upon me, making sure that I was able to carry out the task that it had assigned me.

Whether it was God, fate, ghosts, or a figment of my own imagination, I’m not sure. However, it happened that after I’d explored the last room in the building I felt my instinct draw me to a room that I’d largely skimmed over. Unlike the others, it had seemed slightly cleaner, and there wasn’t nearly as much darkness in it— there were cracks in the wall that had allowed light to seep through.

Standing back in front of the door, I smelled the scent of perfume. It was slight and distant— like an old blanket, it had been unraveled to the point that all remaining was a single string. It was arguable that it had become so unrecognizable that it could be considered as something new entirely. For a moment, I even thought that the smell might’ve been entirely in my head.

The smell of perfume wasn’t the only thing that had faded to nearly nothing. The number five had been painted on the door at some point, before beginning to peel and age. Alongside it, it appeared that there were other numbers. However, they had long since faded— I could barely make up their features.

A sudden idea blasted into my head, forcing my head to jerk around. The neighboring doors contained the numbers, “25” and “57”. It was at this point that I came to a realization— the number of the door that I was standing in front of was, “256”— the very same number that had been on the photos that Crusoe had given to me.

Without having any hesitation, I opened the door and came bounding into the room. It didn’t matter to me that it seemed more vacant than the rest of the rooms. I knew what was going on.

“What are you keeping from me,” I whispered under my breath with a smirk.

My smirk didn’t last on my face for very long. Within a few minutes, I saw that there was nothing to be discovered or explored. The room was utterly barren when it came to clues. I came to the point where I thought that my connections and intuitions had all been a result of mere fluke.

A wail resounded, snapping me up from these gloomy thoughts. I felt my chest pang, with the same pain that might be found in a hundred bruises. If only I could say that the wail was less painful. It had an odd sound to it— a mixture of scraping bone, the screech of a bat, and the cry of a human being. Just the very sound of it made me feel faint, and as if my lungs had been polluted by an abundance of fumes. My stomach lurched, and the world had begun to spiral.

Immediately, I started searching for where it might’ve come from— in that moment I was once again reminded of the wailing that I’d first heard in Miss Prestel’s mansion. The wail resounded three more times, and I continued to look without rest. Every spot in the room had been studied by my eyes, and there wasn’t a speck of dust that hadn’t been studied.

I heard the wail again, but I was still lost to what it might’ve meant. It had come to the point where it almost seemed like the wail was mocking me. It was as if it knew my position, and it had merely approached me top show that I had no hold over it— that no matter what I did, it was a lost cause.

It's in times like these when I wish that my hearing is far better than it is. For many detectives, their hearing is sharp enough to where they could hear a mouse scuttling across the floor. I oftentimes wonder what I wouldn’t give to have hearing like that.

By the thirtieth resounding, my brain had been ransacked with hundreds of possibilities— all of them being false. Though, there was one thing that I’d noticed amidst it all— I’d begun to sense a pattern in the wailing. It was coming in ten second intervals. That is, it came in ten second intervals until every fifth wailing. Those wailings came in five seconds and were typically the loudest of the bunch.

I looked at the floor. It was built from tiles, predominantly white and mixed with black. Every five rows contained all black tiles, while the main rows were a mixture of ten white tiles and three black ones.

Walking to the front door of the room, and standing on the center tile, I waited until the wailing stopped. There was probably a full minute that elapsed before it started back up again. Once it started back up, I turned left on the first wail, stepping on a tile. On the second wail I repeated this. I continued walking in this formation until the fifth wail— on that wail, I turned left.

I repeated this cycle, until the wailing stopped— and I found myself standing on a tile that had been next to a torn bed. Unscrewing one of the bed legs, I kept my focus on the tile and the wails that had since disappeared. Unlike the scent of perfume or the faded door numbers, I wasn’t going to let its sound slip away.

After removing the leg from the bed, I started using it as a crowbar and tried using it to remove the tile from the floor. Slowly but surely, the tile began to move around. At first, it was just a slight movement. Though, by the end of it, the tile had been thrown onto the ground, and a tunnel had been revealed from out of under it.

I had the temptation to jump in, but the tunnel’s black mouth had a way of crawling into my soul and stripping me of my confidence. I felt as if I had a vacuum in my gut, except it was becoming ever more empty. It was as if the longer I stared into the blackness, the more thoughts that slipped away from my mind. My very thoughts united with thoughts that were not my own, but a consciousness that was hidden within the hospital’s grimy depths. I felt so small and insignificant. Not only that, but I gained the feeling that I was trespassing in a place that I was not to trespass in— that I was exploring things that I was not meant to explore.

Feeling uncomfortable with this, I turned around from the dark hole. There was something to it that I couldn’t explain— but I couldn’t stare at it either, to find out answers. The longer that I stared at it, the more that I wanted to turn away. Even if there were answers tie how I felt, it was as if there was a spell over the tunnel— a sort of enchantment that kept me from being able to find such answers.

I started looking around the room for some sort of rope or ladder— I wasn’t willing to jump down the hole without any aid, nor was I willing to jump down without any sort of way of telling what awaited me.

However, then the wailing returned to my ears and I remembered that there must’ve been somebody or something that it had originated from— something that despereately needdd somebody to find out what it was.

Maybe I was insane in doing this, but I threw the bed sheets, pillows, an matress down the tunnel, and prepared to jump down. Though, right before I did, I laughed.

I was always told that I was the sort of person who never looked before they leaped… I thought to myself. I guess that they were right.

My deductive mind wanted to know how somebody could’ve built such a tunnel, or why somebody would even bother building a tunnel in such a desolate place as this. It wanted to know why this particular room had been the one that the graffiti correlated with, or why the lady had printed pictures of them.

However, all that mattered in the moment was that I knew the answer to the wailing and that I figured out how to leave the place forever. I could’ve listened to hundreds of different voices from in my head, but the one that I decided to listen to was the one that had told me to act without considering any other results.

Perhaps that’s what intuition truly is. It’s not some sort of magical force, or something from the heavens that’s directing you to your fate— it’s the decision to let a single voice from in your head to dominate your thoughts. It’s the decision to let everything else around you seep away— to have all of your senses completely disappear— and to have the one thought become the only thing that you sense.

I jumped

Wind rushed past my face, and my arms scraped across the harsh mortar walls that surrounded me. Darkness hugged around my eyes and chest, making me feel as if I were swimming around in an endless tank of blackness. Although, none of this mattered to me for some reason. The jump came as a thrill to me. Similar to an owl, I’d begun to find a sort of thrill in dwelling in the darkness. Similar to a bat, the deep caverns had become my home, rather than the blinding light that surrounded the world outside of me. Truly, the world outside of me had started to seem inconsequential. All that mattered was the hunt, and even that didn’t really matter. All that mattered was feeling alive.

My landing was a dull one— the cushions and mattress had broken my fall, making me feel hardly any of the impact. To my shock, this actually disappointed me to a degree. I felt my chest weakly flutter when my bracing proved to have been for nothing. It seemed that my glorious fall had proved to have been a short one, with it having lived and died with the same length that a spark does.

Now at the bottom of the pit, I realized how rash my decision had been. I was now left with no way back up. Even if I were to have found a way back up, I’d now left a way for somebody to detect my presence here.

However, for some reason, I didn’t find myself slapping myself in the face, or looking at my choice with disapproval. Rather, when I looked back at the decision to jump, I looked back at it in pride. There was something to the decision of jumping and acting on intuition. Perhaps more than the drop itself, I felt alive in that moment. I couldn’t quite understand it, but the feeling was undeniably there. Like a flower that grows without you planting it, the feeling of joy that I’d experienced was something that I couldn’t explain– but it was still very beautiful.

I suppose this helps show that the brilliance in life is in realizing that there is no brilliance in life— that everything we are is just a fragment of what has come before us. The joy that I felt might’ve been unexplainable— but that’s why it was something that contained so much joy. I was able to experience something that I thought I wasn’t allowed or able to experience. While it didn’t entirely make any sense, it didn’t have to.

I pulled the flashlight out of my pocket and began walking through the place that the tunnel had led me too. It was very damp, and full of fallen chunks of dirt and plumbing line. It appeared that the place I was in was some sort of abandoned sewage drain. It appeared to be ancient too, because its entirety was crumbling and decaying. Some parts of it had been entirely reduced to mud, and the only thing that seemed to be holding it together was the remainder of the hospital’s foundation.

“This place could collapse at any time,” I said, as I walked by a massive chunk of dirt that appeared to have fallen from the ceiling above.

As I said this, the whole place trembled. Debris started spraying from everywhere, even finding a way to travel up my nostrils. I looked from a shelter from the downpour, but soon found that there was no way out— I would have to suffer through it. Still, the trembling didn’t stop, and I felt it jolt up my bones, making me feel weak and helpless. It was as if I’d been hit by an oncoming train— all of my senses had begun to dull again, and I felt utterly lost.

At that same moment, my flashlight started to flicker, and my entire view of the place went with it. To help stop it, I smacked the flashlight against my thigh. However, I knew that this was just a temporary fix. If I didn’t find a way out of the sewage area soon, I would have to deal with groping through the darkness

“A little spelunking never heard anybody,” I said, once the shaking of the place had finally begun to cease.

I couldn’t convince myself. No matter how much a con artist might tell somebody that something fake is true, the con artist can never convince himself. I suppose that I was learning that sort of lesson the hard way. As much as I’d liked to tell myself that I could’ve ventured the hospital alone, I was abruptly beginning to see that such was not true— I was far too old to be undertaking the momentous task that I was. Moreover, I was steadily becoming aware of pricking needle that was injecting itself upon each nook of my spine. I wasn’t alone. Whether I was confronting a spirit, a native to the hospital, or some strange incarnation of my conscience that had decided to unveil itself in the worst possible place, I knew that I was being watched by it— and I knew that it was only a matter of time before I’d tested its patience far too much.

“I’d hate to have been the one who had to design this place,” I said to myself, trying to ease the feeling of an invisible, burning stare. “With all of this muck, it must’ve been a nightmare to design. Especially the tunnel— you’d think that somebody who is bedridden wouldn’t even have the energy to construct such a complex structure.”

I laughed to myself, and pretended that it was all a joke. I acted as if the place that I walked through was the product of some sort of childish fantasy— that it wasn’t something that could at all be taken seriously. However, I knew that something wasn’t right at all. There wouldn’t have been any need or a tunnel— especially in a hospital of all places.

I could hear the whispers that sprouted from long-dead, shifty dealings. I could already see the locked doors, and the thickly knitted curtains. This hospital had so many tales to tell— so many secrets that were hidden amongst the rumpling of age. If only I had a way to decipher what everything might mean— what clues truly mattered.

When I was thinking about all this, I saw that the walls of the underground cavern were covered with the similar sort of graffiti that had been on the alleyway picture. Like an old cultic temple, it was riddled with all sorts of strange markings that suggested a sort of foreign symbolism— a language that had been lost in the depths of time.

The fallen rocks and dirt started to form more of a pattern. There were mounds made into the shape of pedestals. There were holes that clearly signified mud. Rats scurried about where long-decayed bones were. I would’ve checked to see the details of the bones— whether they were that of humans, or some other animal. However, the smothering cloak that surrounded me testified to the worst of the two. I didn’t have the nerve, nor the mettle to challenge it.

Deformity was in everything, to the point that such studying wouldn’t have mattered. I’d seen crookedness form in some of the most malevolent shapes within city depths. Though, this place was something new entirely.

After bashing my foot against a bit of metal, I bent down into the muddy ground and uncovered a bowl— and then several other bowls. They all had remains of some sort pf indiscernible mush in them. Not long after that, I found ropes tied into tight knots, and cuffs that were carved from wood. I also found a stethoscope that had been tied in a similar cuff shape.

What madman could’ve done this? I asked myself.

Although, that wasn’t even the real y question that was on my mind. When I looked at everything, absorbing it all with a complete focus, what I found was complete ugliness— and I couldn’t help but wonder how it had gone under everybody’s eyes unnoticed. I couldn’t help but ask myself how long it had gone on, or if it was still going on.

The wail returned, this time louder than ever. It was confined to my head this time around, but this didn’t change the fact that it hurt my eardrums, and made my chest pound with the same frailty that it had at first hearing it.

What happened to the person that was wailing?

Once again, I was trying to divert my attention. Although, this time, I caught myself.

Will what happened to them happen to me?

Maybe it was all in my head, but the moment that I thought this I swore that I watched my flashlight stop flickering. It appeared that its brightness had increased back to how it had been when I’d first put batteries in it.

Taking this as a sign, I looked up to where the flashlight was pointing— and I saw the remainders of a word on the wall across from me. I walked over there with a terror like no other. I’m not sure by what force it was, but I knew that there was something on the other side of the wall— something important.

Intuition had gotten me passed the door. Intuition had gotten me down the tunnel. Intuition had gotten me terrified.

The flashlight shone upon the wall with a radiance like no other, but this didn’t fool me. When the words on the wall were exposed, all that I could see was something revolting. There were names on it. One of them was the name of Job. The next was the name of.

There were other names on it too— plenty of names. They all contained people who were either missing, or involved in odd crimes. I saw a few that I didn’t know. However, it didn’t matter to me, because next to each name there was a symbol of a star— a star that represented everybody who’d been crossed off the list. Even Miss Prestel was on there.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “All of these people— all of these crimes are unrelated… They can’t all be run by the same person! This is nonsense.”

Disbelief was flooding through my brain, but none of it changed the names that were on the wall. There was nothing that could erase their marks. They were forever there— just like the hospital, they might’ve been a hideous blight. However, they were there, and there was no wiping them away.

The bottom of the list of names was the only thing that gave me any sort of relief. There were three names that I didn’t recognize there, and they all were lacking a star next to them. I immediately ripped out my notepad, and started scribbling everything down— the marked names, the strange observations I’d made, and the terrifying circumstances that had surrounded everything. However, what I wrote down with the most weight were the three names that hadn’t been crossed off— Margaret Rosemary, Bill Clyde, and Jack Crowley.

Why are they on this list? I wondered to myself.

I didn’t have the answers, but that was only the tip of what left me feeling lost and confused. Not only did I not know why these people were on the list, but I couldn’t understand why anybody was on the list. As somebody who constantly felt as if they knew what the answers were, feeling as if I didn’t have the answers was something that made me feel powerless.

I suppose I’m just going to have to get used to the feeling… Everything seems to be mysterious and uncertain these days… While I hate it, I suppose that nothing can be entirely obvious. That would make things too simple.

Even as I told myself this, I wasn’t accepting of it. I had a part within me that was unwilling to surrender or allow the surrounding circumstances to influence it. It was impervious to all outside influences.

Yet, this might’ve been just as harmful as it was good. I knew that, no matter what happened, I wasn’t going to give up until I found the answers. Although, if there were no answers, I knew that I would be forever at a loss.

As I idly sat in wonder about this, I heard the pattering of sloshing water. For a moment, it carried on with the guise of having been caused by more falling chunks of dirt. However, this falsehood didn’t last for very long. The sound of plunking water came ever closer, drawing in with the craftiness that a lion might use on its prey. I could sense an awkwardness in the air. Mud was caked everywhere— and yet, the sound was coming from the small pools of water. Somebody or something was playing me for a fool.

I moved my flashlight toward the spot where I’d last heard the plink of water, but all it exposed was a rippling pool.

“I know that you’re here!” I said to the echoing drops of water. “There’s no use hiding from me— I’ve caught plenty of people before and arrested them. There hasn’t been a case that I haven’t been able to crack.”

At this point, I was simply trying to appease myself. There was no other sign of another presence. From everything that I could observe, I was alone in the darkness and my delusions.

I clenched my jaw as I thought about this, swiftly turning my neck about so as to make sure there was nothing that I missed. As I did so, I felt my neck strain with the effects of whiplash. Stunted in my abilities, my hand shot toward it, clasping it with its best attempt at a comforting rub.

I was an idiot— such an idiot! I felt another hand clasp around my neck that was not my own. That single clasp was all that it took for the dark spires around me to send me into a spiral. Suddenly my breath halted, and the darkness became ever darker. I’m not sure how long the hand deprived me of breath, but all of my muscles weakened, to the point that my flashlight dropped out of my hand.

I’m not sure what came first after that— the flashlight going dead, or my mind going black. Whichever it was, unconsciousness has stowed the answer away from me…

There were many questions that came out of that journey to the hospital. Some were relevant, and others utterly irrelevant. However, the one question that remains untainted is to whom that mysterious hand belonged to.

After my vision went black and I regained my consciousness inside the hospital building— laying in front of the front door. For some reason, the hand hadn’t bothered to kill me, or capture me. For some reason, it had even put me in a favorable position.

However, that’s not to say that the hand couldn’t have been considered the hand of my enemy. It had stripped me of both my flashlight, the clues that I’d collected, and my notebook. It had even gone so far as to leave my arm horribly wounded, to the point that it seemed broken, and my head battered.

I was tempted to go back into the hospital, and study the place again for myself— to confront the person who’d dared attack me in the dark, while I was unprepared and undefended. However, I didn’t give into that notion due to me feeling sick inside. I was weak, and unable to keep up with the speed in which my thoughts were occurring. The longer that I stood in front of the hospital door, the longer that I felt my head go dizzy, and the pain in my arm grow to a sickening level.

“I need to go to the hospital,” I said, groping my arm. I now had no doubt that it had been shattered. “A good one this time around…”

*

Hospital beds are funny, in a way. On most beds, you can go and rest, letting your pillow absorb the fears of the day. Not so with hospital beds. When you’re sleeping on one, you’re never really sleeping— you’re just coasting through the hours until the doctor returns, along with your infliction.

As it turns out, not all resting places are ideal for rest… This might not be anything new, but it is new to me. When I really think about it, hospitals should be a place of comfort. Though, the only thoughts that come to mind for me is a sort of impending dread— a dark cloud that’s just waiting to unleash a downpour. I don’t mean to be pessimistic— however, I’m not really the type that’s all for positivity. I’ve learned in my vast experiences that you can’t rely on any place to nourish you back to health.

If only doctors could realize this much. When I came in, they looked at me with a face that contained a mixture of both joy and terror. It wasn’t until I looked through a hospital window and saw my reflection that I realized what they were both glad and terrified about— my face had been utterly battered, and my arm had a large purple bruise streaking down it. I looked far worse than I’d initially thought myself to be.

Perhaps this is just my observation, but doctors have just as much motivation to have hurt people as they do to have healthy people. After all, if the world lacked hurt people, then all hospitals would be out of a purpose. That’s why I wasn’t incredibly pleased when they directed me through their marble halls and placed me on a stretcher— nor was I pleased when their shouts began to fill my ears, and all that I could see were lights and nurses hovering over me.

If there’s any sort of relief of pain in this world, it certainly isn’t inside of the hospital. Rather, it’s outside of the hospital, when you can see the world again— when you can see that your pain is but a small thing in the vast expanse of everything else that’s going on around you…

An hour or two slipped by. They put a bandage around my head, and a cast around my arm. They placed an IV in my arm as well. When I asked them what the bandage was for., they informed me that they suspected I’d suffered from a concussion. I told them these measures were all absurd, but of course they didn’t listen to me— they felt that their expertise far surpassed any opinion of my own.

They were probably right too. I found myself drifting in and out of awareness, watching my surroundings blur and refocus as if they were tides on a morning beach. I wanted to keep my grip on reality, but that was one of my many mistakes. The harder that I forced myself to focus on everything, the more exhausted that I became. I eventually came to a point where I could keep my grip no longer— and I fell into a dark chasm that the nurses dubbed sleep.

However, as I stated before, sleep is foreign to the hospital. Such a thing is but a daydream. There are far too many noises, shouts, squeaking doors, and rumbling machines to ever truly experience rest.

“Curse you,” I whispered to the man who’d inflicted this on me. Even in my intoxicated state, I knew that they couldn’t hear me. Though, this mattered little. There was something to just uttering the words— to declaring them for even the air to hear— that made me feel that some sort of justice had been served. Even if it wasn’t visible to the eyes of anybody else, I knew that something had shifted.

With that, I felt my heartbeat slow. For a moment or two, I felt rest that I’d thought to be unattainable in a hospital.

“How are you?”

My eyes opened slowly, as if their lids were a large van being towed off by a truck. Normally, I would’ve groggily been upset by whoever woke me. However, here, being awake made me feel salvation— with the pain in my neck and the heaviness in my breath, sleep was the unconscious suffering of this pain. AT least while I was awake I could consciously reconcile with it.

I looked up and saw the familiar gaunt shape of Lieutenant Jackson.

“What are you doing here?” I said with a rasp.

“Trying to make sure that you didn’t put your foot in a place where you can’t take your foot out of,” he said, snidely as ever. “You just can’t go a week these days without stumbling into something, now can you?”

Sluggishly, I tried to look him in the eye. However, his eyes were planted on the floor.

“You shouldn’t have gone to that site on your own, Sergeant…”

“I was able to drive back here on my own. I was, at the very least, capable of taking care of myself for a little while.”

Jackson nodded. It was odd— he didn’t seem to have any prepared emotions to dish out. It was as if me becoming bedridden in the hospital had stripped him of his innately sarcastic persona.

“We need good men on the force,” Jackson said, continuing. “Don’t get too comfortable in here…”

“As long as you’re in the room with me, that shouldn’t be too hard…”

I thought that I saw Lieutenant Jackson offer a hint of a smile after I said this— but, it might’ve all been in my head.

“What happened?” he asked, after a moment of silence passed between us.

“That hospital had more in it than I expected it to have…”

Then, I ran him through everything that had happened. Oddly, I found that he seemed more disbelieving after I’d told him the story than he’d looked before I told it.

“Did you know that the doctors are suspecting that you may have suffered extreme brain injury?”

I laughed it off.

“I think that I could diagnose just about anybody with brain injury— it doesn’t mean that it’s true… I’m thinking a hundred miles a minute, Jackson.”

“I can see that…” But don’t you think that there’s a chance everything you observed might’ve been in your head… That you made it all up, after you recovered from your concussion…”

“I didn’t get a concussion, Jackson!” I said, with a shout.

My heart thumped terribly, and my body weakened, making me have to stop and calm myself down for a moment.

“Jackson, you didn’t see what I saw…”

“You were knocked out, and you don’t have any evidence for what you saw… It was all probably just a figment of your imagination.”

“there were the names of all of the victims to crimes…” I continued. “There were so many things connected to the police force mapped out in there.”

Lieutenant Jackson held back a laugh.

“You’re expecting me to believe that all of the crimes that we’ve been dealing with for the past two months are all staged— by somebody in an underground cave? You need to wake up and listen to yourself.”

I nodded in agreement with him, but I could hardly hear a word that he was saying. I knew that I knew the truth— nothing that he could say was going to shake me.

“I’ll tell you what…” Jackson said, with a chuckle. “You heal up, and get better. After that, you can go back to the hospital and find all of the evidence. If you found it once, you can find it again.”

If it hadn’t been for the act that Jackson had gone to all the trouble of finding me in my hospital bed, and entertaining me, I would’ve scowled at him. The very thought of returning to that hospital made me lurch inside. Both he and I knew that I wasn’t going to be returning there.

“Please,” I said, giving him a pleading gaze. “You have to believe me. Nobody else will…”

“I believe that you saw something down there, Sergeant… I just don’t know how much of it was in your head.”

He turned around to leave, but he halted before he made it through the door.

“One other thing,” he said. Then, he pulled my notebook out of his pocket, and tossed it to me.

I held the notebook in my hand. Its leather spine brought me back to the dark, muddy tunnel. I could smell the stink of sewage again, and feel the trepidation in the air– my hand scribbling against its white sheets, putting down as many words as my hand and pen would allow me.

“How did you find this?” I asked him, with a snap.

I wasn’t sure if my words had come out too harshly, or if he was simply uncomforted by the question. Though, whatever it was, he didn’t answer me for a little while. He hung on my words for as long as he could, avoiding the utterance of clear words. All that came out of his mouth was a jumbled mess.

Finally, some coherence came from his tongue.

“We went to the abandoned site, to check the premises for the person that assaulted you. We couldn’t find anybody, or even a sign of anybody— other than yourself, of course. It seemed that the place has been completely deserted for years, which is strange when one considers your injuries. However, we did manage to find your notebook. It was left in the hospital hall, a good distance away from the door. If you’d had it on you the whole time, it definitely didn’t seem like it. We suspect that somebody had taken the notebook from you, like you said…”

“Were there any missing pages?” I asked.

Jackson’s brow furrowed.

“No,” he said, almost disappointed. “You can look in there for yourself. To be honest, we couldn’t find anything— not even a fingerprint. That is, other than your own.”

He was solemn for a moment, before breaking the awkward silence with a jolt of laughter.

“If you really did write things down, then the only explanation would have to be magic!”

He kept laughing, allowing me no room to speak. In fact, I think it was partially intentional— he didn’t want to hear what I had to say anymore. I could tell just by the way that he looked at me. An awkward curtain had been drawn between us. It made sure to hide any of the relationship that we’d previously been sprouting between each other.

Though, I can’t say that Jackson’s words weren’t extremely convincing. I flipped through the notebook myself. There were no notes, nor any sign of notes. If I really had written things down, it had magically disappeared.

Maybe I just thought I was writing things down. I thought to myself. It was really dark in there. It would’ve been pretty easy to make myself think that I was writing words down when I really wasn’t.

However, even those words couldn’t convince me. Something didn’t make sense, and nothing was adding up. That is, besides Jackson’s conclusion— I’d gone delusional.

“Thank you for this,” I told him.

Though, I was lying through my teeth. All that I could feel inside of myself was an incredible fear— a terror over battling with logic, and what I knew was true. Nothing was adding up for me. And yet, I knew that I couldn’t allow this to knock me to the ground. I was forced into an uncomfortable balance in between both viewpoints, constantly wondering which one I should turn to.

After all— if I couldn’t even trust myself, or what was going on around me, then what could I trust? Could I really trust anything?

Trust was becoming a constant dilemma for me. Although, it wasn’t as prominent as it was then.

As Jackson walked off, and gave the door a click of finality, I fell back into my pillow. A wave of concern fell over me.

“I’m not going to give up on where I’m going,” I finally said. “I don’t care that I can’t understand what’s going on… I’m going to keep looking for explanations. And, I’m going to find one.”

I didn’t know whether or not I could see my words as true or false. However, in that moment, they meant mountains to me.

*

It was about a fortnight before I was given my papers and completely discharged from the hospital. In that time, I entertained myself through torturous naps that were filled with discomfort, and overlong stares at the pale ceiling. What I found is that, when you look at something long enough, you start to see it as something it isn’t. Its simplistic features might morph into a face, or something else that you recognize. Though, in doing so, it becomes something nearly unrecognizable from what you first saw it as.

I suppose that the same could be said for my injuries. While I’d gone to the hospital in the mere desire to make sure that I hadn’t sustained any terrible damages, it turned out that there was much more going on than I’d originally thought. My charade of false invincibility was shattered in doing so— I no longer was able to feel secure in thinking that I could never be injured to a point of extreme weakness. Part of this was due to everything that I’d gone through. However, another part of it was due to an overwhelming pride that I held inside of myself. I’m not entirely sure where it came from— but, I started to feel that it might have been hindering me in more ways than I’d like to acknowledge.

I found that my thinking had started to slow. I felt sluggish. Every minute seemed to pass by with a greater rapidity than the last, and my ability to keep up with it was draining empty. It was as if the world had suddenly gained the speed of a cheetah, and my own speed had been reduced to that of a sloth.

Chicago’s skies and streets didn’t seem to feel any better than I did about the current state of things. Rain had returned to slather everything. At night, when all there was to light everything were the kerosene street lamps, the roads started to look and smell like burning wax. Amongst the city’s drool, there was also a return of the roaches and rats. I couldn’t always see them, but whenever I tried leaving my apartment door for an evening stroll, I found that there were footsteps following my own. Every time my foot splashed against runny gravel, there was another splash echoing in my midst. It had reached a point where my apartment had become my bunker— my prison.

Just like the streets, I could only go so long before I began melting like a candle.

My investigations had once again come to a rearing halt, and everything had started to slow. I’d considered looking the people’s names who were written on the wall up— but, for one reason or another, I’d decided to push it aside. I simply couldn’t focus on any of it. I felt as if I was lost in a soup of work, and the thought of digging into more was heavying.

There were a few petty crimes that I meddled in, but nothing of consequence. The only things of importance were an identification of the chemicals I’d found on Miss Prestel’s window sill, as well as a letter that I made out to Miss Prestel subsequently. I informed her that I thought it important for me to search her premises for any missed clues. As expected, she was tardy with giving me a response.

I checked my mail every day— it was one of the few things that I was willing to leave my apartment for. Yet, there was no sign of anything. Only on Monday was there a letter for me.

It was a yellow letter, marked with a pretty stamp of a sun.

“Stamps these days,” I remarked. “You’d think that, with their constantly increasing prices, they’d try minimizing the amount of money they spend to design them.”

In spite of my harsh reply, I was reeled in by the letter’s warm design. It reminded me of something distant— something long past. Even its smell, of a strange lavender perfume, offered me fuzzy memories that I couldn’t quite grasp. It wasn’t until I read who the letter came from that I realized why this was.

“Amelia Mulligan,” I said with a chuckle. However, that quickly faded into a frown.

Amelia Mulligan was the charismatic and outgoing sister of Eddy. Unlike her brother, she’d always been somebody who showed great potential— a rare sight in a high school. As time went on, she found a man, and left Chicago with him. It was one of those relationships that died down quick, never to be discussed again— similar to a plant that one neglects to water, and forgets entirely about. While both the planter and the plant might go on with their lives without the support of one another, far more changes than what seems. Without the reliance of one another, they fail to work as a unit.

I didn’t know why Amelia would’ve bothered to send me a letter at now of all times, but I already had my suspicions— and they weren’t comfortable to think about.

I went inside of my apartment and opened the letter. I felt a sense of wariness while doing so, but I also had an unexplainable sense of excitement. The mixture of both trepidation and anticipation was one that I didn’t have any clear feelings about. However, it still left me feeling a sense of fulfillment. I couldn’t explain why this was. Though, I did know that I liked it.

The moment that I opened the letter, I realized that my suspicions had been correct.

Dear Mr. Kyler,

It has years since we last spoke, and I’m sure that this letter might come as a surprise to you. However, you’re the only person that I could think to write a letter to.

As I’m sure you already know, my brother, Eddy Mulligan, has gone missing. If I’m not mistaken, I believe that you were a witness to this crime.

Now that it’s been nearly a month and there’s still no sign of him, I regret to state that he’s now legally dead. I, along with the rest of my family, will be gathering in Chicago to host a funeral for him. It’s the only thing that we can do to honor his memory.

You’re the only true friend of his that I actually knew. So, I incite you to join us. It will be taking place in St. Peter’s Cemetery, on Grover’s Road, August 15th…

Thank you for your time— both on his case, as well as us. I hope to see you again soon.

Sincerely,

Amelia

I’m not sure why, but I was both shocked and depressed by the contents of this letter. Even though I’d expected it to concern Eddy’s funeral, there was something about actually reading it that gave it a signature of finality. I now knew that, no matter what I did, Eddy’s gravestone was going to be planted in the ground. Even if I were to find Eddy, it wouldn’t change the fact that we’d spent hours mourning over him.

I’m typically a strong man— though, something in me snapped at the completion of the letter. I found myself stumbling to a chair, covered in tears. My face became red and blotchy. Despite this, I no longer cared. I no longer felt a thing. Even in my pain, all that I was willing to acknowledge and experience was the fact that my friend had died— and I was only just now beginning to see it.

This was probably an inevitable thing. After all, I wouldn’t have invested days into my research, and unearthed Crusoe again if I hadn’t thought that I had a shot at saving Eddy. Now, I knew that there was no chance. I knew that I was too weak to make any sort of difference. I knew that I’d been stuck in my head for far too long, to the point where it had clouded m entire experience of reality.

Frailty is a thing that most like to disregard. However, in the moment of sitting in the chair, with my face flooding with water, I started to see a side of myself that I often liked to avoid seeing— the side of myself that, no matter how strong it makes itself out to be, can never stand and face death without being reduced into something laughable. I’d begun to see a difference between myself and Crusoe—— one that I’d once thought to be my weakness, but now saw as a clear strength. No matter how many mistakes I made, and no matter how weak I proved myself to be, it only proved my humanity. It only reaffirmed what I actually was. Meanwhile, Crusoe would forever hold himself in a place of high esteem— thus setting himself apart from the rest of people, as well as the truth.

I’m not entirely sure why Crusoe came into my head immediately after I found out that the world had decided Eddy Mulligan was dead. Though, I think that it might have to do with how opposite they are. Despite being poor and clueless, Eddy Mulligan was honest about it all when he returned to me. He wasn’t afraid to speak the truth. He wasn’t afraid to give me a warning, even when it was at the risk of himself.

Detective Crusoe? He’s the sort of friend that will leave for years, and come back to make you regret letting them leave. I’m not even sure why I’ve entertained him, other than the fact that he has extensive inductive abilities. I’m starting to see why I don’t like Crusoe more clearly than I ever have— it’s because he’s constantly making mistakes, yet never admitting to them— constantly holding himself to a higher standard, although never doing any better than the rest of us.

Perhaps I’ve become to verbose in my dealings with past bitterness. However, if there’s anything that I’ve learned from Eddy’s death, and the letter that I received, it’s that writing things down has an effect on how you perceive the world. It can make dark things into light, and light things into dark. Words don’t have any magical power, but the person who speaks them must change in order to speak words. That’s why words are so strong. They have the ability to alter thoughts. And, thoughts are the directions for which we change the world.

Even the smallest alterations can cause such a massive shift. We can never see how the butterfly beating its wings brings change. Yet, the very fact that we’ve acknowledged how it can change things has changed our perception of things.

This is why I’m never going to forget Eddy Mulligan, even as his memory in everybody else’s mind fades away. I know that he stood for something precious. I can’t let that slip out of my fingers. I can’t let that disappear.

*

Heat chews at the back of my neck. As my neck bakes, it begins to turn red and raw— a contradictory phenomenon. One might think that the sun would cook its meal to make it less raw, not rawer. It’s shocking that it’s even capable of doing such a polarizing feat. Though, this shouldn’t surprise me. It seems that the sun likes breaking the laws of nature, and making me feel uncomfortable while doing it. Perhaps it only chews on me so that it can leave me with something to chew on.

I would look into the sky and curse, but that option isn’t allowed to me. The sun has made it so that I can’t look upon its deep, yellow figure without losing the ability to look altogether. There is something to it— the eyes find it to be both harrowing and refreshing at the same time.

My eyes finally turned away from its battle with the sky, and squinted to revive its view of the world around it. I couldn’t quite grasp why or how, but somehow heat found its way into my life. While I’d been trapped in the affairs of my business, it had slunk through the clouds and crashed onto the pavement. If it were but an affliction of the sun, then I couldn’t wrap my mind around how the sun hadn’t been so powerful before now.

It was as if the sun itself was trying to respect the memory of my passed off friend— it was as if its heat was emulating his speedy lifestyle. At least, that’s how my spotted sight perceived it.

Everywhere, the world was steaming and boiling. I felt as if I were drowning within a world of flames. This was an odd shift, considering how cold of a summer that the city had been enduring. Though, Chicago isn’t swayed by the will of the people. It’s a wild beast, which can only be tamed by its own will—not anybody else’s.

My feet grinded against the pavement, but its sound was quelled by the roars of cars rushing by. I frowned in annoyance, but quickly grinned— the noises had been far louder a decade ago, back before all of the cars started being sold off for cheap scrap metal.

So much has changed, I thought. It feels like that decade was but a day— and yet, it also feels like a lifetime.

On a normal day, I would’ve been driving with the rest of the whizzing cars, allowing their noise to become a sort of guiding tunnel, from which I traveled through. It felt far more freeing, and it made me feel as if I were somewhat above the city. However, today I walked through the city with the wish to feel one with it. I wanted to be able to absorb every crack on the sidewalk, drink up every crumbling bit of brick, and taste the vibrance in the air. As much time as I felt I might’ve been wasting, I wanted to feel as if I were living life to the fullest, and truly representing the memory of Eddy. I wanted to feel as a part of the world around me again. In the even to f realizing that Eddy was finally gone, there was a portion of me that realized how short life was, and how fragile everything is. All it might take is a few failed breaths to strip all that I know from my eyes. There was a terrifying element to knowing this, and a relieving element as well.

While I felt that Eddy was most likely gone, I also felt that I was a sort of remainder of him. In me, a part of him still lived on. I was trying to linger on that.

Surprisingly, I found that the sun didn’t really get to me. Unlike during my journey to the hospital, I felt free under it. Even with my arm in a cast, I had a sense of levitation. There was nothing that could hold me back— I could fly.

During all of these sensations, I’d almost forgotten where I was going to. However, all it took was standing in front of some rusted metal gates to be reminded again. The exuberant atmosphere of Prestel Manor was surrounding me again. It gave off an extremely unique feeling. Despite me standing in one-hundred-degree weather, I could’ve sworn that I felt cooler by the gate. It was as if they were able to reach inside of me, and cool me off.

Colors, smells, and even my own thoughts, all became more extreme in the presence of it all. The little boy inside of me was convinced that I was standing in a wonderland. Maybe it was because I was all alone, or maybe I was more receptive— however, Prestel Manor had gained a sense of magic about it that I hadn’t noticed the last time I was there. What used to appear as flamboyant now seemed strange… and mystical.

Miss Prestel had finally responded to my pleas of reinvestigating her household. This time around, I’d neglected to inform Lieutenant Jackson—while he’d offered me a hand of friendship, I still had feelings of distrust towards him.

As I stood in front of the gate on my own, waiting for Miss Prestel, I came to a mind-shattering realization of how alone I was in my work. I’m not sure what induced it, but I came to the full realization of how alone that I was all the time— and how much easier things might be if I were to allow the hand of friendship to come upon me, and alter the course of everything that I was doing.

There was a sudden moment where I felt as if I were trapped in a cage, and I was just running around in a hamster wheel. Running around, thinking that I was going somewhere, but really running nowhere at all.

I wiped my arm across my forehead. Sweat had begun streaking down it, out of my stress. My thoughts would’ve continued to focus on how alone I felt, even amongst the calls and coos of nature. However, the door of the gates of the manor started to screech before I could get that deep into thought.

“It’s nice to see you again sir,” I heard the butler say.

I turned to face him, and saw his familiar face. It’s odd how easy it is to remember faces, even if you’ve seen them only once. His graying hair, almond brown eyes, and chiseled but prune-like complexion made a striking call of memory to my mind. Maybe it’s just something that I’ve noticed because of being a detective. Though, I’ve begun to suspect that this is a strange aspect of human nature. Either way, I caught something in his face that hadn’t been there the first time that Id met him. His pale skin had gone extremely red, and his mouth was wide open, huffing and puffing. His nostrils were flaring also. His entire body had been poised into a position of exhaustion— it looked as if it had been overcome by an incredible force.

“It’s nice to see you too, Mr. Gretchen.”

He nodded curtly, and then turned to guide me down Miss Prestel’s driveway.

“The Mistress has been looking forward to your return,” he said, with a hint of sarcasm. “She says that she hadn’t expected you to come back, after your first visit… There was something about you being knowledgeable about everything you need to know…”

As he said this, I heard a few birds screech overhead, and I felt a slight tingle down my back.

“Yes well, there were a few things that we saw here that we never fully addressed,” I said. “There was some sort of acid on the windowsill, if you recall… There’s also a few things that I’d like to speak with you about…”

I watched Eustace’s face begin to look more tired.

“And what would that be, exactly?” he asked.

“I want to talk to you once we’re inside the manor… I don’t feel very comfortable out here. Not that it’s anything to get worked up about. I only want to ask you these questions because I feel that they’re things Miss Prestel would never honestly answer herself. She— she has the habit of exaggerating things in her letters, and during our chats.”

Mr. Gretchen chuckled.

“Oh, yes… She can become very exaggerative at times. However, I assure you that there’s nothing for you to be concerned about in here. Miss Prestel hasn’t suffered from any new incidents, and I’ve found that the place has become extremely quiet since your last visit. Perhaps it’s all in my head, but you act as a sort of crime repellant.”

Another bird screeched, and I felt my ears ring terribly again. My eyes snapped to the position of the noise’s origin, and found a crow in its place.

“When did you get those?” I asked. “I don’t remember them being here last time I was here.”

Mr. Gretchen’s face construed, but he kept walking.

“We’ve always had them…” he said. “If you recall, there was a loud screeching noise in the lower floor. That was because a crow had found its way in.”

But crows aren’t inherent to Illinois, I found myself thinking. Though, I didn’t say a word. I found that Mr. Gretchen was far more willing to talk when I put my prying comments to a minimal.

He laughed nervously, and then opened the door to the manor. I was surprised at how fast we’d gotten there— I could’ve sworn that the drive through the driveway, with Lieutenant Jackson, had been just as quick as the walk had been. It seemed that Mr. Gretchen had sped up the walk as much as he could, and he was even trying to rush through the conversation. For a moment, my thoughts turned inward, thinking that Mr. Gretchen was acting nervous due to something about me. although, I started to see how quickly he turned the knob to the door, and how he leaped into the room. There was something to him that was terrified by me. He was trying to get thing over with as quickly as possible.

“I’m sure that you’re familiar with these passages by now,” he said, gesturing to the massive hall.

I couldn’t have felt more opposed to Mr. Gretchen inference. The whole place still looked to be a labyrinth. In fact, it was even worse for me this time around. It had turned extremely stuffy and enclosed in the heat of the day. In a sense, I felt as if the house itself had begun to coil around m, and choke me of my breath. My head steadily began to ache and throb.

“How about the kitchen?” I said.

I could tell that Mr. Gretchen ad been preparing for me to lead the way. Though, in spite of his reluctance to do so, he started walking through the halls to the kitchen.

“Where’s Miss Prestel?” I asked, as I passed a few of her odd monkey statues.

“In her chambers, probably still preparing herself,” he said. “You know how women are… Normally, she has my assistance, so that’s probably why she’s taking a bit longer than usual.”

On the spur of the moment, he clapped his hands together. Then, he pointed towards the kitchen. Unlike last time, it no longer smelled of chemicals, and the window had been completely repaired. The marble tile also looked cleaner than it had before.

“You’re amazing at keeping this place up,” I said, in an attempt to compliment him.

He made the face that normally would’ve been followed by a laugh— but no laugh came out. Instead he said, “Yes, you wouldn’t believe how much work Miss Prestel had me invest into cleaning up this house. She’s rather obsessed with making sure that her guests don’t walk through a mess…”

“Trust me, it’s far nicer than my apartment…”

I grinned, but he failed to grin back.

“So, I see that you repaired the window,” I said, attempting to change the subject.

His face lit up.

“Yes, I pit quite a lot of work into having the filthiness in the kitchen repaired… Your first impression of the place was extremely unjust towards its pure form.”

I couldn’t deny the truth in this. The whole place seemed to be just as cheery as the front yard had been. Although it was primarily colored with whites and silvers, it had a dazzling personality.

“So, I assume that you must have cleaned up all of the evidence that had once been here,” I said, looking up at the window.”

“The best that I could… I purposely clean up to make sure that the place is bleached to the eyes of people like you,” he said, jokingly.

This time, it was my turn to not laugh.

“Did you happen to find anything strange while you were cleaning?” I asked. “Such as odd residue? I’m particularly looking for something that looks like it might’ve come from a sort of gas. I suspect that your robber might’ve been using them.”

Gretchen shook his head.

“No sir… I found quite a lot of abandoned grime and dust, though I doubt that any of it could’ve been attributed to a gas.”

“I see…”

I didn’t entirely believe him— I was suspicious of Gretchen’s character. However, I was forced to believe that he was telling the truth.

“I have a few other questions for you,” I said. “As we both know, there was the acid on the window. Did you happen to find anything strange around there? I know that it was a curious occurrence…”

“Hard as I tried, I couldn’t find anything remotely unusual in the kitchen around the acid. However, I assume that you know this. It has been like this since you last arrived…”

“Right,” I said, compliantly. “Now, one of the chemicals used in the acid, from what the forensics department has been able to identify, is sodium hydroxide… Do you recognize it? It’s used in many cleaning supplies, and is extremely corrosive to the skin when at its most concentrated level.”

Mr. Gretchen scowled at me, but placed his hands behind his back just as they were clenching into fists.

“I think it’s rather rash to suggest that I had a hand in this,” he said, putting on a false smile.

“I never suggested that you were the one who did this,” I said. “If anybody is being rash, it’s you. I’m merely asking if you had any knowledge or prior experience with the chemicals. I want to know if there’s anything that I might want to look out for.”

“None that I’m aware of, sir.”

He was about to pull his hand back out as he said this, but then forced himself to keep it behind his back. As he did so, I saw a bit of skin stick out from under his gloves. It was extremely scarred and damaged looking. I was about to point it out, but I forced myself to neglect it.

“I have one last question,” I said.

Mr. Gretchen looked as though he were about to roll his eyes, but was restraining himself.

“And what might that question be?”

“I need you to tell me if Miss Prestel or you are familiar with any of these names…”

I then gave him the list of the three names that I’d remembered seeing on the hospital walls.

Mr. Gretchen laughed.

“I don’t know any of these people,” he said, in probably the most confident tone that he’d provided me during our entire conversation. “I’m not sure where you retrieved theses names from, but I don’t recognize any of them. Unless Miss Prestel is hosting gatherings under my nose, of which I’m not aware about.”

He laughed boisterously again.

“Well, thank you anyway,” I said, taking out my notepad and putting down everything that we’d discussed. “Now, I’d like to speak with Miss Prestel. Where is she?”

Mr. Gretchen’s laughter was instantly squelched.

“I’m not sure,” he said, nervously. Then, he ran towards the exit of the room. “Let me go check on her. She— she probably got tied up in her jewelry again! You can stay here.”

He broke into a run— surprising for a man who constantly held such a regal composure. However, I found the sight of him more humorous, than anything else. As he walked off, his attire chafed awkwardly, and he almost looked as if he were acting in a sped up waddle.

I sat there for about ten minutes, waiting for him to return with Miss Prestel. These ten minutes were extremely unbearable. Not just because of how stuffy the mansion had begun to feel, or because of the length of the wait, but because of the knife Mr. Gretchen had put in my plans. I’d strategized everything so that I would be able to talk with Miss Prestel in private, where Mr. Gretchen’s prying ears and eyes wouldn’t have any clout. However, I was certain that, when he returned with Miss Prestel, he’d also be returning to hear what I had to say. Therefore, I’d be able to say and ask far less of questions.

When the ten minutes had finally ended, Miss Prestel’s prune complexion came sticking out of the exit, and was followed by the rest of her. At first, I thought that I’d been wrong about Mr. Gretchen, and that he might come to respect my and Miss Prestel’s privacy. However, he followed soon after, and I was stuck in the room with the pair of them.

“Hello,” Miss Prestel said, croaking louder than ever. “Mr. Gretchen informs me that you wish to speak with me.”

Despite her having taken at least half an hour to prepare, Miss Prestel looked incredibly haggard. Makeup and perfume were smeared all across her face, with about the grace and thought that might be put into clown makeup. And, her clothes were no better— she adorned a dress of sorts that was shaped into a giant, rainbow-striped sphere. As she walked around in it, it looked as if she were an oversize bowling ball— a bowling ball that was as random, flamboyant, and disorienting as anything that might come out of a circus. The outfit was extreme, even for the extremeness that I’d come to associate Miss Prestel with.

“That’s correct. I’m happy to see you, face to face again,” I said. “I know that we’ve talked a lot in our letters, but I think that speaking in person is the best way for us to communicate with each other.

Miss Prestel’s bottom lip stuck out, and her eyes squinted.

“Our letters…” she said, racking her mind for a moment. “Ah yes— I think I have a faint memory of them. If you wanted to talk, you should’ve come sooner. I’ve invited you many times, my dear. If you worried that such might put me out, remember— a legend, such as myself, has no qualms with guests you know.”

I opened my mouth, to remind her that she’d actually insisted that I don’t come— however, I let the objection fall to the side. I quickly realized that it wasn’t something of consequence.

“I just wanted to know if you’ve been downtown recently— specifically Jonah’s printing shop.”

Her eyes lit up, as if they were miniature lightbulbs.

“I’m always heading downtown,” she said. “I love it there— the fancy lights, the wonderfully paved streets, all of the nice people, and the clean buildings… It’s the perfect place to be.”

I looked up at Mr. Gretchen, but he was despondent. I knew that my only chance at finding out the truth would be in continuing to decipher Miss Gretchen’s claims.

“So, you’ve been to Jonah’s Printing Shop?” I asked.

“Of course. Isn’t that the place where they… where they… where they print things?”

Clearly seeing that I wasn’t getting anywhere, I tried a different approach. Yanking out the pictures from my pocket, I said, “Do you happen to recognize any of these? They’re some names that I found in my investigations.”

Miss Prestel looked at them.

“Yes, I know these! They were all very close friends of mine, before they turned into treacherous scum...”

At this point, I knew that Miss Prestel was willing to say yes to anything. However, there was one last thing that I wanted to ask her about.

“Are these your pictures?”

I showed her the images of the woman in the hospital, and the man carrying the monkey-like statue.

“Yes, yes I do!” she said, ecstatically. “I took these thirty years ago!”

“Well then— I suppose that I have no more questions to ask…” I said.

“Good on you!” Mrs. Prestel said. “You’re doing a fine job at solving the case of my robbery! Keep at it, sport, and you might just get to the answer.”

She patted me on the back as well as she could in her stiff outfit, and then tottered over to Mr. Gretchen.

I motioned to Gretchen that I had a final word to ask him about. He nodded, and then pulled Miss Prestel away, back toward her chambers.

As he came back, he had a far more receptive grin than I’d ever seen him with.

“What is your question?” he asked me, cheerily.

I looked down the hall where a monkey statue was. Mr. Gretchen’s eyes followed.

“Do you know where she might’ve gotten the idea to keep all of these statues?” I asked. “I know that this might seem to be prying… However, I feel that it might be very relevant to the case at hand.”

Mr. Gretchen looked surprised, but retained his grin.

“I don’t actually know where she might’ve picked up the obsession,” he said. “I know that, in Miss Prestel’s middle age, she was obsessed with safaris to Africa, and becoming the next great explorer. Perhaps it’s linked to that? To be honest, she’s had an obsession with monkeys ever since I’ve been in her service, and I have yet to find a reason for it. Being the gentlemen that I am, I don’t pry in Miss Prestel’s personal life very often, unless she discloses it to me. Whatever the explanation is, I’m certain that it’s mostly innocent. You talked to her yourself— she doesn’t have a strong enough memory to tell you what a fly is, let alone the ability to hurt one.”

I chuckled.

“I guess you’re right in saying that,” I said. Then, I looked out the now-repaired window. “Well, I’m happy to have been able to talk to you and Miss Prestel again. It’s good to see that you’re doing well, in spite of our current struggles and the recent burglary. Hopefully this information will help me in the future.”

“Yes…” Mr. Gretchen said. “It was nice talking with you too. Hopefully you find the answer to our case so that our struggles subside. However, I don’t think that you’ll have to worry too much— with F.D.R now in office, we might just see all of our problems come to a halt.”

I smiled and agreed with him, before going on my way. As I was halfway down Miss Prestel’s front-yard path, I heard the door shut behind me with a both comforting and familiar click. However, just before I heard the door click, I looked behind myself and took one last look at the house. I could’ve sworn that I saw Mr. Gretchen staring at me through the remaining slit of the door, giving me an uncomfortably devious look. However, the door closed before I was able to tell if it was in my head or not.

With that in mind, I left Miss Prestel’s house with the same feeling that I’d had when I’d entered it— confliction and confusion.

*

I arrived at my street with my mind still in shambles. Somehow, the sun had managed to sink back into the horizon, and get over the troubles of the day. Yet, I wasn’t able to.

For a while, I thought that the confliction within my head was something that I’d be able to get over with during sleep. Although, now that I’d reached my street, my questions had started to solidify. I now realized, with extreme clarity, that there was no way for me to be able to save myself from the confines of my mind. At least, not until I figured out what I was supposed to do, and where the answers lied.

“Where do you answers lie?” I wondered. “And how do I know whether or not you’re a lie?”

I was distracted from this when I heard scraping feet tearing against the pavement. They weren’t just scraping feet— they were running feet.

Throughout my years, I’d learned that you can’t run in Chicago. If one decides to scrape their feet against their pavement, grasping towards their destination, the street will subsequently scrape against that person, grasping them into a new destination.

There is no rushing in Chicago. If one tries to, they’ll be knocked to their feet, and will be begging for mercy. Yet, these feet— while I couldn’t see the face of their owner— wouldn’t stop running. Their pace wouldn’t slow. I listened as their feet started scraping to the point that it sounded like one long scrape— but, it didn’t stop. It just kept going. I started to grow uncomfortable. My mind flashed through images of other criminals that I’d met— the noises of their own scraping feet. The scraping of Job.

I slowed down, and used the only sense that I could had— my ears. My street is among the cheaper ones, having only few lampposts, and no lampposts that actually functioned. I was compelled to pull out my flashlight, and to direct it towards the person who was running off— however, I knew that it would only give them awareness of my presence, and cause them to run off even faster.

I stood as still as I could, and listened to the rapid succession of scraping.

One second— the scraping seems indiscernible from the randomized mechanisms from a machine— another second— it’s becoming clearer now— another— it has the rubbery squeal of the sole of a shoe to it— another still— it’s become louder as I’ve listened to it. The pursuer is coming towards me!

As this last thought came into my mind, I dove forward. It could’ve been by chance or sheer luck, but the runner jumped over me, and kept going afterward. I couldn’t tell much about them, or where they were going. However, when I looked back after them, I managed to catch a bit of their body shape. They were tall, and thin— the perfect body type for a runner. Other than that, I had nothing else to go by.

I groaned as I pulled myself up from the pavement. The left side of my face felt as if it had been shoved into a fire pit, and the left side of my body felt as if it had one big bruise along it. Due to the fact that my right arm was stuck in a cast, I had to roll myself over, and then Pull myself back up with my left arm. I must’ve looked hilarious while doing this, but I felt completely miserable.

As I hobbled back to the house, my mind was busied with the curses that I was whispering under my breath. Though, the thing that I should’ve been focused on followed after me, until I’d made my way inside my apartment— what had the runner been running from?

Normally, I knew exactly what I was going to do when I got inside the door in my house. Though, tonight, I found that I was at a loss. I was leaning on my wall, staring at my telephone when I realized this. I didn’t know what to do, or if there were even anything that I was supposed to do.

“You’re one poor lost soul, Kyler…” I found myself saying to myself.

I gripped the telephone on the wall.

“I’m going to have to get rid of you pretty soon,” I said, with annoyance.

Prices had gone up, and my wage had gone down. Though, I didn’t have time to bother with focusing on any of it. My head felt as if it were being pulled in a million different places, like a piece of dough that a dough maker doesn’t know what to bake into.

“I can’t tell if I should be doing this anymore, or not…” I said to myself. “If this is supposed to be what I need to do, then I probably can’t do it anymore… I used to think that this all had a meaning in it— that serving out justice, finding right from wrong, and looking for the evidence that nobody else could find was a good thing. However, none of this matters, in the grand scheme of it all. That is, none of this matters, except to me…”

I sighed, and wiped my forehead.

“It’s making me superstitious of everything, and more tired than a man of my age should be. The streets are far too dark for somebody like me, who’s flickering out, will be able to light up.”

I put my hands in my pocket, and looked at a picture that was hanging on my wall— a picture of me, standing all alone in the dark, next to the lamppost by the police station. Crusoe had taken it, back when I and him were still working together.

“At least that lamppost is still working alright…” I said.

Though, then I took a closer look at the picture, and saw something disconcerting— the glass pane overtop the frame was cracked and broke, looking as if somebody had dropped it onto the floor and placed it back where it was on the wall. I ran over to it, and then saw that the picture wasn’t the only thing that had been damaged. The wall itself had damages on it— puncture marks, holes, big markings, and, scratches. My coffee table that had been near there was knocked over onto its side, and my chest on the other wall had its lock completely torn off.

I felt my heart race, to the point that I thought it might fling out of my chest. I had an urge to scream, but I didn’t know what to scream to or at. I was utterly lost and confused— I was the police officer. I had been robbed.

Realizing that there was nothing that I could do, I let my body slump until it had finally pressed against the floor— until my thoughts had pressed against the floor. My reasoning could go no further. ‘d been robbed, and I didn’t even know who it had been by. I didn’t even have the energy to bother looking for who it might’ve been by.

“This stuff just never stops,” I said, under my breath.

I could hear a clock on my wall, ticking slowly— and then slower. M heartrate slowed with the ticking of the clock. Everything slowed— every noise, ever sense in my body. Then, I suddenly felt it all begin to rush again, and an energy funneled through me and out of my mouth.

“It just never stops!” I yelled again, this time loud enough to awake my neighbors in the other rooms.

When I was done shouting, I found my fist in the wall to the left side of me, filled with a tent that was just as big as the dents next to my picture of Crusoe.

“I just don’t get it…” I whispered. “Nobody else seems to deal with this… I always am the one who gets the brunt of everything, always having to clean up after other people’s messes— I’m constantly looking for a plateau where it ends, but I honestly can’t tell where that might be. I’ve been looking for that plateau all my career, and it seems all but nonexistent.”

After venting this all out, I found myself laughing. It might’ve just been because of the constant barrage of everything coming to the point where I could no longer even battle it. However, I felt that it was even more than that. I was a police officer, who’d just been robbed. Though, I had no idea what to do about it. I was just as lost as anybody else might be in this situation, even with all of my experience in such matters.

“Is that what this is all about?” I asked, staring at the ceiling. “Am I just supposed to constantly come to the point where I think that I’ve mastered something, only to realize how clueless that I am about everything? Am I to be schooled in even the simplest aspects of my life, to the point where I can no longer hold any self-pride?

“I guess that I should’ve expected it all to come to this.”

I let out a wry chuckle.

I have always been curious why the older cops were always the ones who seemed to be the most clueless— the laziest of the bunch, I thought. Maybe I always saw it wrong. Now that I am the older cop, it’s just because you get tired… Your bones break easier, and they don’t heal as smoothly as they used to… The sunlight goes dimmer, the smaller things turn blurry, and your hearing starts to turn to deafness.

“I still can’t believe that this happened… It seems like complete nonsense. I wouldn’t have ever let something like this fly ten years ago. But, I guess it’s not just me who’s going deaf, either… Everybody is going deaf,” I said.

I wasn’t talking to myself anymore. In my thoughts, I’d decided to call up Lieutenant Jackson, and explain the situation. At first he laughed. Though, I soon found that he had more to relate to me with than I thought that he would’ve.

“Yes, I guess that we can sometimes become the butt of all jokes, can’t we?” Jackson said. “It becomes harder to get away with as much once you come to a point where you’re supposed to have more experience. Personally, I’ve always seen it as a good thing, and a bad thing…”

“But, don’t you agree with me? Don’t you think that everybody is starting to hear everybody else less. It seems to me that nobody matters to the other person anymore. Everybody is being treated the same way these days.”

“And, what would you expect?” Jackson asked. His voice was full of static, but I could still hear him as clear as day, even with my dying hearing. “Over the years, you stopped hearing all of the nonsense going on around you. Then, eventually people came to a point where they had to yell in your ear so that you could hear it. It might seem to you that the nonsense is worse than before. But, it’s only louder than before. And, honestly, that’s just because you can only hear the things that are louder now… We both can only hear the things that our louder…”

“Well, then what am I supposed to do now? I can’t tell the rest of the department, or they’ll laugh me off the force. Nobody else is getting robbed, or letting their own robber get away in plain sight.”

“First off, you need to keep you gun in your hand more often. You’ve gotten soft. Your ringing ears don’t like the sound of gunfire. They probably think that it’s too harsh and cruel— that it is no longer necessary to carry around all the time. Little do the y know how ill-informed that is— little do they know how much they’d regret such in the future. What you and your ears forgot is that gunfire is the only thing that really matters to people who don’t care for the rules of the law. If you ever want to stop a coward in their tracks, the only way to do it is by making a coward out of yourself— by doing the dirty deed that can undo their dirty deed.”

I wanted to refute everything that Jackson had said— I had the habit of wishing to disagree with his claims, due to his typically harsh viewpoint of things. However, there was nothing I could do to take down this particular claim of his. The more I thought about it, the more that I realized that he was right. As I looked out my window, as I found myself doing more often, I remembered all of the dangers that lay outside of it. It’s funny what a window can do— it can make one feel as if they’re not part of the world, and yet, as if they’re part of it anyway. It can make men feel— feel— feel like they’re above everything, and that it’s all just a game of chess for their eyes to feast upon. The dangers are disturbing and unwanted, of course. Though, they’re also far off— they’re things that can easily be dismissed.

Tonight, just like on the night that Jack died, I couldn’t have that same complacent view of everything. The night’s oily streak, on which the cars traveled down, now spoke a warning into my heart. I felt it become tattooed onto me— I couldn’t shake it off any easier than a cat could shake away a ball of catnip. Even as I did, I felt myself compelled to return to it— to chase after it again, and to play around with it, until I’d exhausted myself once more.

“Hey, Kyler? Are you there?”

I realized that I’d let my end of the phone go static. I felt my face redden, but thankfully there was nobody to see it— that was one good thing about communication of phones, no matter how inconvenient they might’ve been.

“Yeah, I’m here…” I said. “You know, that just got me thinking… The whole city is desperate. What if, in doing the dirty deed to reverse the dirty deed, we’re becoming the very thing that we fear.”

Jackson laughed me off— my ears pounded at the volume of his voice.

“Why, of course we’re becoming the very thing that we fear,” Jackson said.

I cringed, hoping to find a hint of sarcasm in what he said. However, there wasn’t any. I soon realized that everything he said was entirely sincere. Suddenly, in place of what I hoped would be sarcasm in Jacksons voice, I instead found a chasm.

“Kyler, that’s the whole point of the justice system,” he continued, acting as if every word he uttered had a complete obviousness to it. Rather, I instead felt dumbfounded at what he was saying— I felt both a respect and a disrespect toward him for the guts to say these words— words that I wouldn’t have had the courage to say, even if I’d been certain of them being the truth. “We’re supposed to offer the punishment for the crime. We’re supposed to put the order in the places without order. I’m sure that you understand… Even if you don’t like to admit it, we’re doing the same thing that criminals are doing to innocents— holding a gun to their head. Not to say that what we’re doing is wrong. Unlike them, the law is on our side. The only way to stop them from going off the deep end is by going off the deep end ourselves.”

I nodded in agreement, even though I wasn’t there to see him, and I didn’t even agree.

“I suppose you have a point there,” I said, dejectedly.

“It’s not as if we hold a gun to people’s heads unjustly,” Jackson continued, with a chuckle. “You’ve been at this for a couple more years than me, Kyler. You should realize this by now— we do what we do to protect the rights of those who are righteous. Without people like us, the whole city would spiral into chaos. This place might not appreciate us for what we do, and you might even be beginning to feel the reason in their sentiment towards us. However, don’t ever let anything that they say or think alter your view of yourself, and the importance in what you do. Without the police, the whole of society would undoubtedly collapse.”

Despite wanting to agree— despite wanting to give into Jackson’s claim that what I was doing was the right thing to be doing— having been on the receiving end of this crime, and seeing that I myself being a police officer had helped nothing, I’d begun to question how much of what I did was actually effectual.

“I know that it’s getting late, and that we’ve had a long discussion with each other— but I have one last question for you, Jackson.”

“Can’t be any more insecure than the last one, so ask away,” he said, shrewdly.

“What’s up with all of the capers lately? I feel like it’s getting more and more frequent every day…”

“Half of it has to do with your own attention to the matter,” Jackson said. “Now that you’re trying to solve these crimes again, you’re starting to remember how hard and fragile the process is— and how most of them will go unsolved, without sufficient evidence. The truth is, there’s too many of them, and there’s always been too many. The fact of the matter is; one caper is already hard enough for us to handle. Now that there’s hundreds, we’re completely lost— we’re pretty much drowning in them at this point.

“As for your questions about why everybody is out gunning for you, it goes back to the disrespect for us cops that I was telling you about earlier.”

“Yes,” I said, “I know that you’re right… But, I just can’t help but feel as if there’s something more going on out there— I can’t help but feel as if there’s something going on under my nose that I missed, and that I’m being played for a fool…”

“You’re always being played for a fool,” Jackson said, jokingly. “Though, in all seriousness, I wouldn’t let any of this get to me. If you pay close attention, you’ll notice how trivial you’re being. Theis was just one robbery, amongst thousands in this city— and it just happened to affect you. I’m sure that there’s nothing uniwue to what you’re going through, and that there are plenty others that are asking the same question that you’re asking— asking themselves why they were the target of their robber, and why the whole world seems to be turned against them…”

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “From the eyes of anybody, one might think themselves to be the victim— even if they’re the oppressor. It

S just— I feel so odd being unable to stop the person who robbed me, especially when I’ve devoted so much of my life to try stopping that very thing. If you understand where I’m comig from, I’m sure that you’d be able to think the same way that I’m thinking…

“I just feel as if the entire world is changing on me. And that everybody is out to get me— that there’s nothing that I can do to stop them , or to catch up.”

I stopped, expecting Jackson to scoff or laugh at me. Of course, as usual, I found that my presuppositions were utterly wrong. Instead, I found the line to be seemingly dead— he was listening to me with absolute attention.

“What’s making you feel this way, Kyler?” he asked. “I’ve experienced burnout myself, many times in the past— feeling as if I couldn’t go on, and that all of the cases I’d been caught up in were all for naught— though, it seems that you’re feeling it in a far larger extreme than I ever did. One might even be able to go so far as say that you’re going through paranoia.”

I naturally wanted to chuckle, and then casually explain myself— explain why my ravings were entirely normal. Though, I knew deep down that Jackson was right. I’d allowed myself to feel a sort of insanity that I’d never seen anybody else act out in. I’m sure that, to any outside observer, I looked like a complete madman.

“The picture in my room was broken,” I said. “It was a picture of me and Crusoe. Maybe I’m just being crazy in focusing on that particular picture— there were a few other things on the wall that were busted and ravaged. However, all of the ravaging had taken place at that particular wall— the wall that held the picture of me and Crusoe. I don’t know— I might be partially crazy and obsessive. Though, I might also be necessarily wary. I think that Crusoe had something to do with my home’s robbery. I’m not sure how, or in what way— though, when I observe everything that happened to my house, and how specific the destruction was, I feel as if this wasn’t some random burglary. My apartment feels like it was vandalized, rather than a victim of petty thievery. Call me crazy— call me superstitious. But, I think that Crusoe’s eyes have been set on me. That, or there’s somebody out there that’s aiming at Crusoe— somebody with the worst of intentions toward him, and everybody that’s associated with him.”

“I don’t know, Kyler,” Jackson said. “You— to put it as nice as I can— you haven’t been in your right mind lately. I’m not saying that you’re lying, or that your concerns are unnecessary. Though, I think that you’re taking them far too seriously. You, of all people, should be beginning to notice how your assumptions don’t seem to be lining up with reality. The truth is., when you try to get something to fitwith your worldview that doesn’t seem to be fitting, then it’s bound to happen that you begin becoming incredibly paranoid, and even connecting the randomness things to some sort of conspiracy. Was this attack purposeful? Was it caused by a criminal who wanted to hurt you? Maybe. In fact, it might even be likely. Though, I have a hard time taking all of your assumptions to heart. To be honest, quite a lot of what you’ve said seems to be slightly critical and cynical of the world around you. Where on earth do you think Crusoe’s eyes would be able to watch you from? To assume that it’s coming somewhere close to home would be to assume that Crusoe is constantly staring at you. And, you and I both know that this thought is simply among the most unreasonable lines of thinking that there are. Once you have to start denying even the people who are closest to you of your trust, just so that you can validate your suspicions, you’ve dived somewhere where you’ll regret.

“If you’re going to test what happened, just make sure that your tests don’t start touching your friends— your family. You should be catching on, by now, that paranoid thinking never gets anybody anywhere. Instead, it just makes the world afraid of the police— afraid of justice. Afraid of the cleanliness that they so desperately need. That, above all things, is how crimes go unsolved— it’s when you start putting targets on more people than are putting targets on you.”

I frowned. I knew that I’d been coming close to the area of paranoia, but I hadn’t recognized just how close that I’d come.

“Don’t worry about me distrusting those who are close to me,” I said, with a wry smile. “I don’t have anybody who matches that description.”

“You have me,” Jackson said.

Despite his words coming through the telephone wires as grainy and distant, I felt as if they were as close to me as if he were in the room… It might’ve been out of my own sentimentality and desperation from which I felt these things— though, I suddenly felt at ease. I felt as if there were nothing in the world that could come to threaten me. It was as if I were invincible, and everything else was but an illusion, masquerading as truth.

“Thanks, Jackson… You know, that really means a lot to me, considering everything that’s going on around me. Maybe I’m being a bit too soft, especially amidst the harshness of everything. But., it’s nice to know that you see me as a comrade— somebody that you can call a friend.”

“Don’t take it too much to heart,” Jackson said, as gruffly as ever. “After all— we’re not going to be compelled to go any further in our careers if we stop biting at each other’s throats. If there’s anything that those high-and -mighty corporations know best, it’s that competition is the breath of life and improvement.”

Being too overfilled with my dizzying thoughts and emotions, I failed to see the humor in Jackson’s voice. I felt, instead, a sort of tiredness from them— a feeling that, in spite of all my pushing and shoving, I’d barely made it anywhere— my efforts had been becoming futile.

“Thanks for the conversation,” I said. “And, make sure that the department hears about it— I can’t stress enough how much of a laughing stock I’ll be when they hear how I let my own place get robbed.”

“You know that I’ll tell…”

I smirked.

“Yeah… Just make sure that you keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“I will. The whole department will, just as we always are. It’s you that I’m worried about, Kyler. Make sure that you don’t let your guard down, but don’t put it up to high either. If there’s anything that can ruin a detective, it’s in letting others realize that you’re a detective. If one can make assessments of the assessor, then the assessor loses their edge.

“Anyway, this was a nice conversation. That last question of yours— it had a lot more meat to it than you were letting on. I’m already a half hour behind my schedule. Tie is going by way too fast these days…”

“There are way too many things that are going by too fast these days,” I said. “While time might be the leading factor in all of it, I think that it’s but the extrernal problem. Everything underneath the problem is what we must focus on— and, I think that it goes far deeper down thatn I originally wanted to acknowledge. Or, perhaps it’s far thinner than I want to acknowledge. I don’t know. I don’t know much these days… Though, I do know that I’m going to come to the answer eventually, and that I won’t have to worry about the process of wondering anymore— I’ll come to a point where I know….”

“Yes,” Jackson said, now sounding uncomfortable. “Yes, I suppose that the bunny hole really does go deep. Though, I’m really tired now. Get your rest, Kyler. And, ease off the stress. You’re going to need it, with the case that you’re on. You are making progress on it, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “Thanks again.”

Then, I hung up, perhaps far too eagerly. I was no longer as willing to discuss these matters. I was coming to the stunning realization of what everything was coming t— how I was lost, far more lost than I initially wanted to reference. Not only was my own apartment falling to shambles— not only the fortress of my own mind— but also everything that I’d been working towards, all this time.

Despite all of the hours I’d been putting in, I was going to nowhere. Everything— everything— had come up inconclusive. There wasn’t a single hiding place where I could go anymore, and act as if I had things under control. In every area of my life, there was a crevice that had yet to be filled– a question that had yet to be answered. It all hung over me, like a doomsday foretelling. I didn’t know when the problems would affect me, or how— I didn’t even know if they would affect them. However, it was in the inability to know that I found the greatest fear. It was all driving me mad, and I was starting to see that the cure for my growing madness might’ve been one that was irretrievable.

For the last time that night, I looked out into the city streets, smelling the smog— letting it fill my lungs, and my very soul. In doing so, I felt myself carried over top of the streets, where I could see everything— the twinkling lights of the cars, the smear of night colors turning into a blurry streak of paint, the chorus of sounds that caused my eardrums to join with them, and the shower of wind, groping at my body. I could feel it all, see it all, and hear It all— it had all become part of me, and I could see how beautiful it all really was, in its entirety. It was perfect and majestic, in every way. I could no longer see crime, poverty, destruction, or sickness. Instead, all that my eyes could perceive was a great clarity— one of which it had never experienced before. One of which that I’d never thought possible before. It was in all of this that I realized what a great city that I really had— and, that, perhaps in my wish t control, I was restricting it from being what it truly was. Or, was my attempts to control it really sparing it— making it cleaner? I couldn’t see the answer. Suddenly, I began to wonder If there was one.

*

“And you’re sure that they didn’t take anything?” a gruff voice asked me.

It was Jonah. I’m still not sure quite why I’d gone back to him— maybe it was out of partial insanity, and maybe it was out of a faith in him that was entirely unjustified. Maybe there was something to him that I had yet to recognize— an element of clarity, and peace that I had yet to discover.

Whichever it was, I’m not sure. I can’t quite tell why I’d been so willing to listen to him, and go back to his shop. All I knew is that, despite its humble and distasteful elements that covered it— despite the overhanging smell of smog, and filthy rags that clearly hadn’t been cleaned— I was willing to come back to him, and ask him questions.

“I’m sure that they didn’t steal anything else,” I said. “Look Jonah… This criminal is a complete mystery to me. Everything about them— it all speaks of something unknown, and new. If this really is Crusoe, trying to enact vengeance upon me, he’ s done so far more subtly than I would’ve expected him to. Though, if this is by the hand of a common criminal, then it’s a criminal of skills and penitence that I have yet to see matched by anybody other than Crusoe. You need to help me— is there anybody, or anything, that comes to mind.”

Jonah shook his head, melancholy.

“Look— I’m not the sort of guy who pays attention to the crimes going on around him very often,” he said. “To be honest, that seems to be more of your department. I like to keep my head low, and my ears high and alert— I’ve found that, in this way, I’m able to hear a lot more than I should be. I can’t really testify as to who this might’ve been caused by— but, I suggest that jabbering away with me won’t really be getting you anywhere…”

I frowned, grimly.

“I thought that you knew everything about this part of the neighborhood,” I said.

“I meant that I knew everybody, and everything that’s going on— and it’s true. I know all of the crimes that are committed, when they’re committed, and even partially why they’re committed. Though, that doesn’t mean any of them match the description of the criminal that you’re displaying to me, and it certainly doesn’t mean that I know the identity of all the crimes that go on around me— just like I said earlier— I’m not the sort of guy who pays attention to the crimes going on around him. I’m not willing to devote all of my time into figuring out who did what. Personally, I think that just wears a person out. There’s no way that I’ll ever be able to know everything. And, if there is a way, it’s certainly one that has always been elusive to me, as well as everybody around me. Trust me— the people in this town would pay a pretty penny to figure out who was causing all of the crimes in their homes, and businesses. It would ease the stress off all of us, and put us in a higher place of command than we ever have been.”

I looked back around his printing shop, and saw how sorry and worn it all looked. It was no different from looking into a business that had been completely abandoned. The fact that Jonah Gage was even still here was a wonder in it of itself. However, the thought that Jonah Gage might actually have been able to answer any of my questions was now, as I sorrowfully realized too late, a clear impossibility.

“So, you don’t have any explanation for anything that I saw?” I asked.

“Look… You’re the cop. I’m just a guy who runs a printing shop. When I said that I knew everything about this city, I was exaggerating more than anything else. Did you honestly think that me— a guy who hardly knows how to write a check, let alone how to catch a criminal— could figure out who is behind what happened to you? Stop being ridiculous. I would’ve expected you to come and arrest me, more than come to me for help. Let’s be serious here— if I could figure out who robbed your house, without any clues at all, then I wouldn’t be here, running this rat-infested dump.

I was extremely close to banging my fist onto his desk, and demanding answers out of anger. I was on the cusp of fury. Though, it wasn’t directed at him, nor anything in particular. Rather, it was directed entirely at the situation that had begun to overcome me. I’d prided myself, all my life, in my ability to solve cases. Yet, more and more, I was having to turn to people like Jonah gage for help— people who knew nothing about their own house, let alone their own city. I was becoming just as clueless as a novice. I was so lost, that I didn’t even know whether I was lost or not anymore. It was a both embarrassing and terrifying experience. I was become more and more aware of just how hapless I really was— and it was becoming extremely disturbing to me.

“Have— have you ever heard of even a similar crime being committed?” I asked, clenching my fist so as to not shout my words out.

It was at this moment when I caught something strange in Jonah Gage’s features. It almost looked as if he knew the answer to the question that I’d just asked him— as if h were concealing knowledge that I’d clearly been ignorant to.

“No,” he said, with the mark of a liar clearly being displayed on his face. At first, I thought that it was all an act of his— that he was just pretending to lie, so that I could leave the place thinking that he was still somebody worth spending my time on. However, I then saw a confidence come onto his face— and, it was here that I knew that, not only was Jonah a bad liar, but he also thought nobody else could tell how bad of a liar he was.

“You’re clearly lying,” I said. “’What have you been hiding from me.?”

This time around, Jonah laughed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Haven’t I clearly shown to you how I’m not the one to ask who committed this crime. Come on now— if I were the one who did this, then the whole city would be in awe of my deductive abilities. I’m sure that I’d be praised as some new Einstein, or something along those lines… I’m no Sherlock, Kyler.”

I grinned. Jonah was somebody who had been impervious to laughter this entire conversation. Yet, when I backed him into a corner, he couldn’t help but let one out— expose the fact that he was nervous. A courage had come back to me, and all of my anger had fled out into the streets. I now knew that I had him cornered, and that I had reign over the situation after all.

“You’re right that you’re no Sherlock, and that the city would be praising you if you were capable of solving this crime on your own. Though, that doesn’t mean you don’t have thae answer to my question— does it. I didn’t ask you if youknew who did this, Jonah. Instead, I asked you if you’ve heard about similar crimes before. Have you? Or, are you going to lie with your answer to this question too?”

“Enough with the constant questions,” he said, now more nervous than ever. He was trying his best to speak fast, and act as unaffected as he could. However, he made it very apparent that he was lost amidst my words, and that I’d brought him to a standstill. “I— I’m not lying to you. I’m telling you the full truth right now. What makes you think that I’m a liar? Isn’t that an unjust and unfounded accusation?”

“Then what’s with the nervousness? Why have you still avoided answering my question? This whole conversation, you’ve been changing bases, and trying to cover up your tracks as you lied to me. You started out telling me that this place was somewhere where we could talk about my questions of this area— and then you fully admitted that you lied to me about this. Once I questioned you further, you told me that you do know a lot about these parts of the city, and the crimes committed within it— and yet, you still pretended that you didn’t lie, and that you’d been completely honest, despite having deliberately misled me twice. Now, if you still want to pretend that you’re not capable of lies, then fine— but I’m onto you… And, if you don’t start telling me what you know, then I’m going to know what you know— and, at that point, you’ll be irrelevant, and left in the dust. I’ll never come back here again. I need you to tell me about all of the places that.”

At this point, he looked dumbfounded. I could see pristinely in his eyes that he hadn’t expected me to attack him so thoroughly and easily. He’d been looking at me as a simple and innocent questioner— not somebody to be threatened by. Though, in my long, wordy speech, he’d completely shifted his look at me. In fact, I thought that I even saw a sort of respect towards me in him. It was as if he now saw me as an equal.

“If you can go find the answers yourself, then why don’t you? Why don’t you just leave, and leave me out of this?” he asked, in his final, feeble attempt at driving me away.

“Because, you know this place better than I do— you know every street corner, and every person that lives on those street corners. If there’s anybody that I’d prefer to tell me this information, it’s you— that way, I can’t be traced in my research. Though, yes— if you want me to go take the long way, then I gladly will— and, I’ll inform the authorities of your suspicious activities, as well as your affiliations with all of the crimes committed in this area. Would you like me to take that path? Or, would you rather spit everything out— here and now?”

“I— I— it’s going to cost you something, if you really want the answers so bad. I don’t give any answers to people without having them bay for it first. You can buy a few sheets of my paper, and we’ll have a deal.”

“You can give me the information for free, to avoid being investigated, and we’ll have a deal…”

I internally smiled at myself— I could see the quizzical look on Jonah’s face, as it was apparent he’d never been bested by anybody in a bargain before. His brow furrowed and his face construed, as he forced himself to evaluate all of the risks in doing what he was about to do— he was in an obvious struggle within himself, and I knew that I’d won.

“Have you given up yet?” I asked him, in a joking jab.

“You’re incredibly unfair,” he said. “You’re probably the first person who’s ever done this to me…”

“Done what? Put your claims into question, and made sure that they were getting nothing but the truth out of you...? Well yes— that’s not a very rare thing when you’re dealing with somebody like me.”

This time, he looked to be angered at the situation. Though, he also knew that he couldn’t control what was going on, and that everything was out of his hands. His only option was to comply/

“I don’t know why I ever invited you back here…” he said.

“Well, it was your invitation…”

He slapped his hands together, giving me a feeble applause. It exchoes through the room, in place of our former flurry of words. In this way, he admitted defeat— he admitted that I’d brought him to an utter standstill.

“It’s all very complicated he said,” trying his hardest to cover himself up. I saw through his words, but decided to entertain him in spite of this.

“And, what are the complications?” I asked.

I saw a fear flash in his eyes again. Despite me not wanting to come across as imposing, I could now see that I’’d wrought an incredible terror inside of him. He knew that I was onto him, and that there wasn’t a single lie that he could say to me. In a sense, this was very satiffactory to me. I’d thought that I was somebody who could always get the answers, and he was reassuring that belief of mine. Though, hew was also taking them away at the same time— the answers that I was getting out of him were answers discofvered through fear.

Am I doing this the right way? I asked myself.

Surprisingly, the question disturbed me more than I thought it would. It was like a parasite to my mind— it ate ate me, lurking inside of me. I wanted it gone. Though, when I went to pull it out, I realized just how much pain such would require.

“They’re nothing,” Jonah said. “The truth is, I’m a bit deeper into this story than I’d like to admit. You see, I was friends with a man who’d been deep in the business of dirty trades— I’m sure you know the deal. Anyhow, this is a very dangerous business. My friend— Stephen by the way— was caught very deep into it. His whole income and life revolved around it. He had a job, for a little while— he lost it during the stock crash— but, that job had always been a shell for him to hide behind, anyway.”

I nodded, beckoning for Jonah to go on. He was becoming hesitant in his speech, no doubt afraid to expose the entire story. There were friends involved in what had happened to him— family.

This whole portion of town must seem like family to him, I suddenly realized in shock. He must feel terrible having to rat them all out.

The sensation of seeing the city as a sort of family was entirely new to me. Unlike him, I didn’t have friends on every street-corner. Most of the friends that I’d once had had run away in my life, never to be seen again. I’d come to learn that people tended to hide from you when you were the one who contained wealth, and knowledge. That, or they decided to try and leech onto you. I usually never pursued the friendship of either party, which eventually left me without any friend.

Though, enough of my soliloquies— I’ve, more than likely, swayed from the important topic at hand.

I remember looking down at Jonah’s ink-stained hands, and seeing the city appear from within them. Those hands— they’d been everywhere in this downtown area, and seen lots of things. Things that, even in the face of all that I’d accomplished throughout my illustrious career— never could’ve dreamed of.

“I see,” I said, carefully tracing my words. In the midst of his dialogue with me, his voice had fallen flat, and he’d lost his willingness to continue. I was attempting to rev his engine back up. “He was a good friend of yours, you say?”

“Very good,” Jonah said, clearing his throat and placing one of his hands behind his neck. “He was the one who provided the money for me to set up this business. At the time, I was forever grateful to him— right now, I still feel grateful towards him. But, I will say this much. Even in our great friendship, he was an idiot… A real cheat, if you know what I mean. He never cheated me— he was too clever to sleight his friends and family. This might’ve also partially been rooted in guilt, too… Though, if only I’d known the dirty money that Stephen had used to buy me this place, I never would’ve accepted his offer to help me buy it out.”

Jonah’s bloodshot eyes jumped out at me. Even as my eyes turned downward, and focused at the nothingness in the floor, I watched his eyes dance in front of my eyes— speaking their grim tale of hellish trials that had been long forgotten by the rest of the world. No— they weren’t even forgotten. Rather, just ignored. After all, you need to have once known about something for it to have been forgotten.

“You don’t know the names of the people that he worked with though— do you?” I asked, trying to use all of the tact that I could.

In spite of this, I felt my voice weaken and crack. I couldn’t tell if I should see this as a good thing or a bad thing, as the cracking of my voice put me in a position of weakness where I could n longer impose my will onto him. Instead, I put myself in a place where I had to feel a sympathy for him, and allow him to impose his will onto me.

“No,” he answered, utilizing a similar tact— it now seemed like he was using as little words as possible, no doubt to try and mislead me. “He— uh— he didn’t share everything with me. It’s not as if I know everything that goes on in this town. Like I said before— I wish that I did, but I sadly don’t.”

I’d caught on that he was using his patent excuse, but elected to ignore it. I realized that there were far more important questions for me to be asking, outside of who Stephen had worked for.

“Alright then, fine… Then, tell me what you do know about what happened. Clearly, Stephen was in the middle of dirty business. I’d like to know as many details that you can provide.”

Jonah grinned.

“You’re sharp as a tack,” he said. “But, I don’t have all the answers— so, don’t be upset when I don’t provide the information that you might feel is necessary. You see, Stephen ended up disappearing. I don’t know how or why— but, it was presumed by his family members that it had something to do with his trades. It was actually during his disappearance when I first learned about this dirty business dealing.”

“Ah,” I said, giving as much understanding as I could. “Yes— in many of my own cases, I’ve found that I’m the last one to find out an essential truth about the victim. Is there any other essential information that you might feel I should know about Stephen?”

“He despised the law, and the police… Sad they were the scum of the earth. In every instance where the police were in the area, he’d get uncomfortable— angry even. I think that this was partially out of his own insecurities— I’m sure that Stephen always thought that the police were out to get him, and that they’d one-day arrest him for his crimes. However, there was something else to Stephen’s hatred. He seemed to not only dislike the threat of nearby police, but also what they represented. He didn’t like the idea that there were people enforcing their own sense of order and justice onto the populace— he always said that a man should be free to do whatever they want, and that nobody should be able to interfere…”

Jonah stopped to laugh.

“Of course, directly after this, he’d always threaten the police, and act as if they didn’t have the right to do what they needed to— enforced his own moral code. He was a hypocrite, in that way. Though, that was part of the reason why I appreciated him as a friend so much. He was a very colorful person to accompany.”

“So, you’re suggesting that Stephen might’ve gone missing, after a scuffle with the police?”

“No— I’m suggesting that he went missing, in trying to avoid a scuffle with the police. What I think happened is that he upset the people he was working with— Stephen was never the sort of guy that worked well with people… Always shouting, getting into fits, and getting into fights— the fits and the fights usually coincided. Anyway, after angering them, they undoubtedly threatened to turn him in to the police. Then, Stephen went into hiding, before presumably being knocked off…”

“So, how does this have any relation to the problem at hand?”

“I was just getting to that. Before he went, I’d started going to his house a lot more often— I could tell that there was an uneasiness in him, by the way that he’d begun to avoid any socialization or communication with me. I’m not sure what made me come to his house more often, now that I think about it more. I suppose that it was just an instinct, and chance, combined. I managed to come to his house just at the time things were beginning to fall apart for him…”

Jonah’s speech had slowed, and become extremely weighed and calculated. I started to see that he rarely said a word without stopping to pause, and look around himself first. I knew that he was preparing to tell me the truth— but he was unwilling to do so. He was beating around the bush.

It was usually at this point that I

‘d begin using my interrogation tactics— my cruel threats, sticking into him like a knife might stick into a slab of meat. However, I wasn’t willing to use them on Jonah. Just like Jonah had a connection to Stephen, of which he didn’t want to betray, I’d found that I’d grown a connection with Jonah— however slight.

Sheets of rain began thundering outside, and leaking out of under the cracks of the store’s door. In the midst of Jonah’s speaking, I hadn’t really noticed. However, now that I was realizing how much time Jonah was wasting, the rainwater only testified to it. It hadn’t even looked like rain before I’d gone inside of the shop and yet, Jonah had found a way to keep me in, to the point where the entire atmosphere had changed outside.

“It all started becoming apparent when I started seeing things go missing,” Jonah went on. “This was when I really realized that something was up. One night, I woke up to a crash. Normally, I pass such things off as dreams— I grew up with illusory dreams all the time, when I was a kid, I’ve learned to ignore them. However, when I got up to use the bathroom, that’s when I found that it was far more than just my sleep issues that were causing problems— somebody had broken into the house, and tarnished it. Even stranger, the things that they’d tarnished weren’t things that were worth tarnishing. Picture frames, old sporting goods, a pair of shoes, a bedsheet— all of them were vandalized, in some shape or form. Personally, this is probably terrified me more than a normal robbery would’ve, since a normal robbery would’ve had far more rationality behind it— at least I would’ve been able to understand it. However, I get the creeping feeling that, whoever the robber had been, that’s the feeling they wanted to rip out of me. Moreover, when Stephen saw what had become of his house, he became more silent than usual— more disturbed looking than usual. His face had become reflective of the toughest parts of cement— crude, cracked, and unforgiving. The things that had vandalized must’ve had a personal significance to him. However, it didn’t stop there. A few nights later, when I slept there again, I found it vandalized again.”

“Is this when he disappeared? I’m sorry, but you’re feeding me information in an incredibly unorganized fashion…”

“He disappeared around this time— yes…” Jonah said. “He kept on talking to me about how rats were coming inside the house and ravishing everything— that they were big rats. I didn’t believe him of course, and I don’t think he thought that I believed him. Personally, I think that he just said this as a sort of code between me and him— it was like a silent nod between ourselves. Of knowing. In the nights when his house was ravaged. I always had the sense that we had no way to escape the eyes of others. It seemed that there was no escape from it. So, being able to tell ourselves that it had all been caused by some invisible animal was far more comforting to acknowledge, even if it were clearly a lie…”

“I don’t understand how this is relevant…” I said, beginning to lose my patience.

“I’m sorry— it’s just, this was connected to the last words that I’d ever heard him say to me. I was lending him a new couch one night— well, not really a new couch. It was just my couch… My old couch… Not that it matters. I gave him the couch, so that he could replace his slashed couch… I hadn’t been to his house for a week when I was doing this. Then, I stayed there and chatted to him for an hour or so— mostly me doing the chatting, since Stephen had become something just short of a hermit, by that point. He tried his best to ignore my words, and pass them off as something that was unimportant. Though, I could tell as I was talking to him that I was getting through to him. I was telling him about the inking business, and just how effective it was— just how much money we could make together, and that we could reach our dreams in the business despite all of our misgivings with one another, and the hostility of the market. There were glimmers in him— moments where he entertained the dream, and acted as if it were something that we could’ve shared together.

“Of course, that’s all it had been. Him sharing a dream with me. The conversation eventually came to an end— I think it was with him eventually admitting that the inking business wasn’t as bright of a business that I was making it out to be, and that I was just sharing a tunnel dream with him. He wasn’t wrong, so there was nothing that I could really say about it to him. In this way, I felt a pit in my gut, and prepared to leave. It was before I left that he said something that I found to be very odd… Something about how, he was busy anyway— that he needed to go out and speak with the flying rats… It didn’t make any sense, but I laughed with him in jest anyway, and went on my way. Maybe I misheard him— maybe this was all in my head– but these were the last words I heard from him…

“Since then, I’ve heard similar stories from other people in this part of town— friends of theirs getting mixed up in the gutters, and then coming out with money. Though, this money never seems to last, and they eventually have all of their possessions vandalized. I used to always look at these cautionary tales as the rumors of a downtown area— those come about all the time, and they typically have no meaning. However, it was in this story of my own that I knew there was truth.

“For a little while after Stephen’s disappearance, I even found my own house getting trashed. I begin to suspect that this had more to do with Stephen than I realize— that there might’ve been something more to it than what I thought…”

IT was at this point that he finally came to a halt in his speech, and let his weariness cover his entire body. I could immediately tell that having him relay the story to me had drained a lot out of him, and that he had no more to say— if he had any knowledge, I doubted that it would’ve been anything vital to my case However, this didn’t change the hunger inside of me. I wanted more information. I felt as if the story he’d just told me was just beginning, and that I was on the precipice of a great discovery— though, I also knew my thoughts of him having any of the answers were cray, and unfounded. If he was to have had the answers, then he would’ve been able to fo8und the suspects himself. No— I was on my own in this. And, my questions were brewing to the max.

“Flying rats— those are honestly and truly Stephen’s last words?” I asked.

“Something like that,” Jonah said, not sounding to confident. “He kind of muttered them. And, it all went down a little over a year ago. Though, if my memory can be trusted at all, then that’s what he said. That’s all that I can really give you— what I can remember…”

I put my fingers through my hair, incredibly flustered. However, I knew that he was giving me all that he knew— and, this was all that really mattered.

“Alright then,” I said. “Thanks for that. And, these other people that have shared similar stories with you— do you happen to know any of their names?”

“No… Not really,” Jonah said, clearly trying to keep the names of his friends safe from my eyes. I knew that he didn’t want his people found it, and jailed. Though, I needed to know answers, So, even as he told me this, I remained in my place, as if he hadn’t said a word to me.

“You’re not going until I give you an answer— are you?” he asked me nervously.

“I just need the name of one person,” I said. “I can move out from there.”

Jonah scowled, and pursed his lips together. Although, just from my conversation with him, I could tell that he wouldn’t be able to do so for long. He was the kind of person who just didn’t know when to stop talking. His mouth was like a faucet. Even when he wasn’t supposed to be speaking, he was. He was probably one of the easiest people that I’d interrogated in a while.

“Margaret Rosemary,” he said. “I’m not going to say anything else about her, or let you know anything. In fact, if you try talking to her, don’t tell her that I gave you any information— I’d prefer to have my clients think that I’m not spilling any of their information out to people like you… But, if you do happen to talk to her, I’m sure that your ears will be a lot more interested than they were with my own story. She— she has something interesting to tell…”

I gave a nod— partially in commemoration of the nod that Jonah had described between himself and Stephen. I tried my best to keep my posture professional and regal, so as to not expose the fact that I really was surprised that he was leading me to the same place that I was already headed— thankfully, I believe that he couldn’t see my struggle. I’d gotten very skill at the art of hiding within myself, over the years.

“Well, there’s only so long that I can sit in this shop without beginning to eel sickened by the smell…” I said, in jest.

“Yes, well— I’ve learned that it always serves me well to breathe through the mouth. I can never smell it, that way.”

We both shared a laugh— a laugh that we both shared despite ourselves, but a laugh all the same.

“What do you think this thing is…?” I asked, finally exposing my humanity— and my deeply imbedded terror. “I— I’ve never encountered anything quite like it before. Nobody just goes in a house, and leaves everything, other than your possessions, untouched… Why would it be targeting me?”

“Well… It could be a habit of some gangs…” Jonah said. “It’s probably the most logical of the explanations, if the most confusing. But, I feel that there might be quite a bit more of it at play, than simple gang activity… Rather, these incidents seem to be very meticulous, and personal. They target specific people, and act in very specific ways… Personally, I believe that it’s a fear tactic. But, even more so, I believe that they’re hiring some sort of vigilante to carry it out…”

“You mean— like a Crusoe?”

Jonah made a bitter face.

“Crusoe is a very dirty character, and is a big problem. But, I’d posit that, whoever his person is, they’re worse than Crusoe. The things that they’re capable of— it’s not normal. Most people could never hope to do what his person is doing. It requires a skill that’s far out of the reach of a normal man. Could it be that I’m exaggerating? Maybe… But, I don’t think so. Whoever is doing all of this, without being caught— without hardly even being detected— is somebody who requires a skill that even goes beyond what Crusoe can do.”

I didn’t believe these words for a second. In fact, they drove me out of his shop, and even compelled me to skip a formal goodbye. I simply couldn’t believe them. I knew, deep down inside of myself, that there was nothing— nobody— that could match the stature that Crusoe held. It was simply ridiculous nonsense. I’d seen Crusoe do so many things that were out of the grasp of most people. The idea that there could be another person who was like Crusoe— no, not even like him— somebody who surpassed him, was something that I couldn’t wrap my mind around.

“I don’t believe in magic,” I found myself whispering, on my way from Jonah’s printing shop and down the streets to my house. So, there are only three possibilities here… Jonah is pulling my leg, Crusoe has an equal, or I’ve been vandalized by Crusoe… And Crusoe is a criminal…”

I found myself become disturbed at the mere thought of it. A t saying my last words, I felt the world around me start to turn black as coal— my vision became spotty, and my head started to spiral into an impossible trance of illusory imaginations. I couldn’t even believe what I had just said to myself— that Crusoe could’ve been willing to stoop so low as to vandalize and threaten me. Yet, it was too true for me to ignore. In fact, when I thought about it, it all began to click into place. Crusoe had lost his entire career, and completely disappeared of the map. It was so clear to me— he must’ve been the one threatening me. It only made sense.

I soon found that I was torn between three ideals— Jonah being a liar, Crusoe being a liar, or Crusoe not being as skilled as I once thought he was. I found that I was unwilling to accept any of these— especially the latter, since this meant that I’d have to admit I might not have been in as controllable positon in the city as I once might’ve liked to believe. Though, I also found that, in spite of my unfavorable position, there was one thing that I could find favor in. The possibility that perhaps my vandalizer didn’t have the skills that Jonah claimed he possessed— that it was just slightly exaggerated— that it had all been a fluke, and that there was no true way of being as skilled as Crusoe was, without being Crusoe. However, this all disappeared when I went to my house... I was put back into my positon of terror. Not only that, but back into a position of weakness.

When I entered my apartment, it looked identical to how I’d left it earlier today— my books, being used to research the names I’d seen on the wall, were still in the same position. My breakfast was still on my kitchen counter, awaiting to be eaten. And, my dirty clothes were still on the floor, waiting for when I had the time to go to the laundromat.

If I don’t get those taken care of, I’m sure that I’m going to find myself wearing them soon, I said, in light of the fact that I’d exhausted most of my clean laundry.

However, my head was in a different place from where my mouth was. As I looked at my dirty clothes, I gained the eerie feeling of discomfort. One article of clothing was a coat— a coat that had fallen from a coatrack, which was sitting to the left of my pile. Normally, I would’ve dismissed such a thing. In fact, I was even slightly dismissive of it when I first saw it.

“I probably knocked it down on the way out of here, this morning,” I said. “I must’ve been so busy, that I didn’t notice when it fell to the ground.”

This was convincing enough— the coatrack was in the hall, on the way to my door. I had a habit of knocking it over each morning. However, I also had a habit of picking it back up, and putting it in its place.

I knew that it hadn’t been put back in its place. And, I hadn’t been in a rush.

I looked at my watch— it was nine. The same time that I’d gone to my house, the night before. Suddenly, I was compelled to walk through my house as quiet as I could. I knew that I’d already made my presence well-known— but, I also knew that trying to make up for my mistake was the only way that I’d be able to avoid it continuing to bite on me.

“You know what? What’s stopping me from taking care of this laundry right now?” I said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

I turned around, and opened and shut my door, taking great care to make it sound as if ‘d left the apartment.

It was all in superstition in paranoia. It was all needed.

Slinking through my apartment with the same measured steps and thoughts, I kept alert of everything. I fastened my eyes to every detail, so that I knew I wasn’t missing anything. Perfection still escaped me as I did this. Footsteps went too far, and made the floorboards creak. Certain muscles of mine became too tense, and cracked during some of my movements. Even my breathing— possibly the most essential thing that I needed to make sure that I had taken care of— was far too loud in the quiet of my apartment.

I felt as if my misgivings were practically as loud as that of a microphone. In fact, in comparison with the constant quiet and solace that encased me, I wouldn’t have been surprised If I’d discovered this to be true. My ears weren’t as sharp as they’d used to have been— it wouldn’t have been as hard for me to make a bumbling mistake as I might’ve liked to make myself believe.

It was probably only a matter of ten or so steps, in their sum. Though, the few mistakes that I’d made in these steps made me fear that there were much larger consequences than what I could perceive.

My living room slunk over me, with the unnoticed slickness that might be found in a cold piece of metal— one might be able to detect the coldness of the metal for a while, but if the metal is touched for long enough, it practically ceases to be there— it’s as if you’re touching air.

The same thing went for my living room. In passing through it so often, I didn’t even notice this time. However, my instincts did. They noticed far more than even the keenest of the detectives would’ve been able to— that is, except for Crusoe.

Despite not being able to actively sense anything odd about the room, I knew that the abnormalities were there— waiting for me to come up to them, and make myself known to it. It was just a matter of me finding it out, and making sure that I found it first.

I can’t let myself fall susceptible to their powers again, like I’d done under the hospital, I thought to myself. This time, I’m going to be the first one to make a move— the first one to throw the punch, and enact the attack.

In thinking this, I wasn’t just fighting against an invisible enemy. Rather, I was also fighting against my own personal limitations and insecurities— that of which I’d never been able to escape. I feared that I wouldn’t be able to escape them now, either. It was in this, that this was not just a normal test. It had become a way for me to prove myself to myself again— for me to gain faith in something that I’d begun to lose faith in— the fact that I was still skilled in what I did.

I listened to my breathing. It was stronger than ever now, and it moved at an unnaturally rapid pace. The most annoying and unsettling thing was, I couldn’t even feel the rapidity in my breathing anymore. I’d done all in my ability to make sure that my breathing had slowed down, and that it could no longer be a hindrance to me. However, it was still moving with a rate that matched the batting wings of a hummingbird.

A horror struck me, with the force of a heavily swung club. The heavy breathing wasn’t my own, or anything that I could control. The breathing was an alien one. My own chest was moving as slow as a snail— it was somebody else who had the fast breathing.

Immediately, I dived towards where I’d heard the sound of breathing. There was a shout— I couldn’t tell if it was from myself or the person, but it didn’t matter. I could see their flailing figure, even in the creamy-thick darkness of the room. I could sense their wish to take me down. I knew that I was going to get them first.

For a moment, it was just a grasp against a loose bit of their clothes. Then, my hand reached one of their limbs. I think that it was their wrist, but it might’ve been the elbow.

I writhed and cursed in anger as I felt them begin to escape my grasp, and pull me around the room with their superior strength. In spite of this, I managed to hang on. I believe that there was something within me— a sort of fighting spirit— that didn’t allow me to cave in, like most would’ve done in the situation.

“You broke into my house once,” I said, holding onto them as thoroughly as my left arm could. As I did so, I thought, with regret, how much more effective it would’ve been if I’d had access to my right arm. Thankfully, this thought only lasted a moment before they were redirected back to the important subject at hand— making sure that the criminal didn’t escape unpunished.

I was wrong in thinking that I had a sort of invincibility, however, I found myself shunted to the floor, like I’d been many times over, and left to only watch as the figure escaped the darkness of my room.

As I saw them leave, I caught how tall and large that they were— the only reason that I hadn’t heard them in the darkness sooner was because I was too deaf to my own surroundings, and they were wearing a light layering of clothing.

In spite of their light layering of clothing, I couldn’t make out if they were a man or a woman. If It was a woman, they carried many manly features— a bulky figure, a pounding of their feet whenever they took a step, and a great strength. Though, if they were a man, they seemed rather agile— especially for their body type.

I was inclined to believe that it was a man, but they moved away far too fast for me to thoroughly determine every possibility. One thing that I knew for near certain, however, ids that this person was not Detective Crusoe. They were too slow— too short in their responses for them to be nearly as effective as they could’ve been. If it was Crusoe who I’d pitted battle with, I would’ve been knocked to the floor before I could’ve even dived out to grab him. Moreover, he wasn’t the kind of person who would’ve left himself cornered, or exposed himself through heavy breathing. This clumsy approach simply wasn’t his style.

“You’re not escaping to anywhere,” I called out, as I watched the person run to my front door— another sign that this couldn’t have been Crusoe, since Crusoe tended to take far more unconventional escape routes. “I’ll stop you next time you come here— and you’ll have no ability to prevent me from doing so. You might think that you have the upper hand, and that you’re even smarter and faster than I am. But, I’m onto you. And, you’re not going to be able to play this game with me for much longer.”

As I shouted these out, and struggled to pull myself back up from the floor, they left my house— not even bothering to lock my door. They didn’t even bother to keep listening to my idle threats— they didn’t even care about my anger They knew that they’d done their job, and that’s all that seemed to matter to them.

That’s all that seemed to matter to either of us. I knew that they’d won. That’s why all I had left to use against them were words.

“There’s only so long that you can keep yourself hidden from me,” I said, still calling out to them. I knew that they couldn’t hear me— but then, I was speaking more to my own self confidence in my abilities, than anything else. My words had been spoken out of my ego— I’d known this since the beginning of my speech. “People can’t crawl behind masks forever. Not even if they’re incredibly good at it.”

It wasn’t until these words were finished, and I realized that they’d changed nothing, that I truly began to grasp the weight of reality— that I was alone in the room, and that there was nobody to hear me. Nobody to sympathize with me. It was simply me— alone— bearing my struggles on my own. It was all in me that everything had to confide. I had to deal with pulling myself up from the ground, despite only having one good arm— despite having only one good ear. Despite having only one good heart, which was thumping in my chest with a forcefully, stinging agony. It was an agony that I had to slowly digest as I pulled myself up from the ground.

“Too much stress…” I said to myself in annoyance. “If only there was a way to eradicate it all… If only there was a way to know everything…”

Then, after another huff of breath.

“I’m definitely not telling Lieutenant Jackson about this one— I can’t be made a fool two nights in a row.”

*

The rain puttered downward, as heavily as it usually did. I listened as it turned the wheels of my car into squealing pigs.

How can my wheels squeal in delight, in weather like this…? I wondered.

The answer of which still eludes me. However, that was probably the least of elusive answers, which were on my mind. The grogginess of dawn had managed to get its grip on my sinuses and ears, making my entire face feel as if it were swelling and expanding from an oncoming sickness. MY face wasn’t the only thing that was swelling. In my scuffle from the night before, my broken arm had puffed up like an ever-expanding cloud. It was burning and sweating terribly, making my feel as if my entire body was trapped within it. The cast had been tormenting me for quite some time, but I’d only begun to notice how bad it was today— my limits were being pushed upon, and this was clearly their way of retaliation.

I’d begun to feel like I’d become far slower in everything that I did— not only in my thoughts, which seemed to constantly be struggling to catch up with everybody else’s but also in my day-to-day activities. There wasn’t a single thing I did where I didn’t find myself in an agonizing regret of how much time that I was wasting and squandering— and, just how much the clock was really stacking itself against me. I was trying my hardest to beat this invisible opponent of slipping time— a fading hourglass— but it was just becoming too overbearing for me to truly keep up with.

There’d been another robbery the night before— as I was busy, sleeping in my house, the rest of the police force was making sure that everything was being done with a pure efficiency. To a large extent, I had a regret when I thought on this. Unlike many on the police force, I didn’t have a family— I could afford going to work late at night. Though, I continued to go with the constant excuse that I had far too much to investigate during the daytime, and I was starting to see how much I was missing. To a large degree. I was losing touch with the city in my attempts to avoid doing the hard, dirty work.

I pulled up into Miss Prestel’s familiar neighborhood, with all of its grandly decorated mansions and houses. I started to see just how many of them weren’t as beautiful as they should’ve been, and just how much Chicago had made sure to beat them down— turn them back into the grungy gray of the city slush, from which it came out of. And, as humanizing and important as these musings might’ve been for me, I stopped thinking on them when a group of officers started crowding around my police car, and began shouting at me. To comply, I hopped out of my leaping car and said, “Lieutenant Jackson sent me here. He said that he wanted me to inspect the premises, and see if the crime scene is similar to the one that occurred on Prestel Manor, last month.”

One of the officers, who’d been blocking my path, immediately stepped out of the way.

“Sorry sir, I didn’t realize,” he said. We’ve been trying to block all of the people trying to come in here for their family members, that we didn’t realize…”

I’d been rushed over to the crime-scene when I first woke up in the morning, to a ringing telephone. Lieutenant Jackson had only informed me that my presence on the crime-scene was urgent, and that he didn’t want me to allow myself to be caught up in distractions. He said that I was needed and that, if I didn’t go over there as soon as possible, he feared that the wrong assessments of the situation might be made.

Remembering how late that I’d come to Miss Prestel’s home, I complied. However, it wasn’t until now that I realized what a mistake I’d made in rushing over, immediately. I could already see that I had a very thin and fragile understanding of what had happened, and all of my lines of communication with Lieutenant Jackson were completely cut off.

“What o you mean by, families,” I asked, with a confused reluctance. I didn’t want them to know that I was clueless. Though, at the same time, I knew that I couldn’t allow myself to remain clueless.

I watched the officer’s face, which was previously subservient, morph into that of skepticism.

“Lieutenant Jackson didn’t tell you?” he said, trying his best to subtly block my path as I walked over the caution tape, and nearer to the house.

“No, he didn’t say a word,” I said. “he only told me that I needed to be here as soon as possible— he acted as if it was urgent, and gave few explanations. Why do you ask?”

“Because, that doesn’t sound like something Lieutenant Jackson would do…” he said, cautiously. “You must admit that I have every right to be skeptical here. What happened last night— even if you’re unaware of it— was extremely devastating. If you’re a rookie officer, looking to make a name of yourself, then I suggest that you turn back.”

I grinned, as I looked at him. He was clearly in his early twenties, and yet he was calling me a rookie. I struggled to keep myself from laughing as I pulled out my badge, and revealed that I was a Sergeant.

“Sergeant Kyler?” he said, cracking a wry smile. “Sorry— I didn’t realize. Please— let me tell you what happened.”

At this point, he was now practically tripping over himself to make up for setting us off on the wrong foot. And, to my own satisfaction, and partial regret, I actually enjoyed being tripped over. I hadn’t met somebody who looked upon me in respect for a long time, and it was refreshing to see this rookie act as if I were some sort of legend, who had seen a lot of things– it was as if the mere mention of my name had immediately alerted him that I was in the wrong.

“I’m sorry— I don’t know how I could’ve made that mistake,” he said with an over-eagerness, as he led me down the house’s walkway. “You’re the same man who worked with Detective Crusoe, on over a dozen cases.”

“Yes,” I said.

I was preoccupied with studying the house. Like most mansions on the street, it had an older tinge to it— it was bright, and clearly painted over, to make it look as if it were newer and richer. However, I could see right through it. By its awkward posture, clearly caused by settling, it falling shingles, and its look of overall tiredness, I knew that the place was merely adopting the look of a grand and regal appearance. It was actually just as ruined and dilapidated as any other building that had been born in Chicago. It was no different from the rest— it wasn’t impervious to the depression that we’d all fallen in. Whilst Prestel Manor was one of those houses that could sell the lie, and make it work, this house merely looked filthy in trying to do so. I couldn’t help but feel disgusted and distrustful just by looking at it. Even under its paint, I could see the true hints of molding darkness poking out.

“That’s amazing!” the officer continued. “MY name is Paul Blake, by the way. And, I’m a great fan of your work, let me just say. It’s a big disappointment that Crusoe turned out to be a—.”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” I said, cutting him off.

“Yes, well— it’s a shame… but, at least it will be able to help you in this case.”

“What case? Stop beating around the bush, and spit out what you know.”

Paul’s face immediately went red.

“Sorry sir— yes sir. I was just getting to that. This is— umm— another crime committed by Crusoe, clearly. The witnesses say that they saw a man in a trench coat, and fedora, breaking into the house, and then throwing a smoke bomb in there. Three people went missing…”

“How many witnesses were there?”

“Thirty, this time around,” Officer Blake said. “This time, it’s undeniable that Crusoe did it. We’re no longer relying on the eye account of one old lady…”

I grimaced, but told Officer Blake to go on.

“They were all having a party last night— that’s why there are families trying to go here, this morning. Some people are only just beginning to find out what happened. Anyway, this was a dinner party, meant to hold first class citizens— I’m sure you get the gist. A bunch of pompous rich snobs, flaunting the little bit of cash that’s left in this city. Anyhow, they say that Crusoe crashed their party, and the party host was abducted during this crashing, along with three other people that were next to him… The party host also being the owner of this house…”

“Their names?” I asked, starting to get annoyed.

“The host was Mr. Rufous Donald. I’m sure that you’ve heard of him— he’s a close friend of Miss. Prestel, and a great influencer of the wealthy in here?”

“Yes— of course I heard of him,” I said, partially condescendingly. However, I no longer cared how angry I sounded. These questions were becoming borderline offensive to my knowledge base.

“Yes— yes, of course,” Paul said, with a reddened face. “Sorry— you’ve probably had a greater experience in this city than even I have…”

“Not probably— I have,” I said, mere inches away from shaking my head in disgust. Clearly this person had no experience in their field, and had a far bigger ego than was good for them Though, I decided against letting him hear those words come from out of my mouth.

He’ll learn when reality hits him— when he hits a case that he has to do on his own, and realizes just how little he really knows about this town… I thought to myself. The greatest mistake is to assume that you can’t make it…

“Yes, well…” Paul said, still unaware of his arrogance. “I have seen a lot in this field. But, I’m sure that this is unimportant to the conversation at hand. I want to look at this case and house, objectively, and untainted by our current conversation. So, maybe we should stop talking about our experiences.”

“WE definitely should,” I said, allow a scowl to form on my face. “Now please— begin practicing what you preach, and tell me what you think happened at this house— could there be a possibility that this wasn’t Crusoe? What have you observed about what happened? Did you find any evidence that suggests what tools might’ve been used to accomplish this act? I could go on with the questions… But, I’m sure that somebody with the amount of experience that you possess can already guess where I’m going with this.

“Yes, of course,” he said with a chuckle. “I know exactly what you mean. Well, we’ve studied the premises. The room where Mr. Donald was kidnapped clearly smells of sulfur, and we’ve even been able to catch some sediment of a sort of gunpowder, in each corner of the room. However, I sadly haven’t been able to find any images of Crusoe, taken by camera or such— I wish that more people carried them around, but that’s expecting far too much out of people— and, from what we can tell, the smoke bombs would’ve eliminated the witness’s ability to actually discernably tell who did this. It may very well be that the claims of Crusoe having a hand in this are completely unfounded, and baseless…”

“They are baseless,” I said, with a grunt. “There’s nothing that indicates this was done by him, from what you’ve told me…”

“Yes well,” he said, gesturing to the door of the house. “I’m sure that you can make a better determination if shown the interior of the house, rather than relying on my testimonial evidence, yes?”

“Yes, of course…”

“Also, one other thing— look for smoke bombs. I don’t know where they might be, but we need to find them…”

“Smoke bombs… Right…” I said. “And, these smoke bombs— you don’t have any idea for where they might be, do you?”

“Of course not,” Paul said. “That’s why you’re here. Speaking of which, do you actually think Crusoe is the one who is guilty of doing all of this. I heard that you weren’t so convinced, but, II personally think that those claims are complete lies. After all— we all know that you are one of the top deductive experts within Chicago. Of course you wouldn’t deny such blatant evidence as we’ve been able to find and exploit…”

“Just open the door to the house,” I growled, getting more impatient than ever before.

I’m getting a lot shorter with people than I used to, I thought to myself. Then again, people have started to neglect keeping conversations short— maybe that’s part of the problem.

The door opened rapidly, with Officer Paul quickly sensing and responding to my apparent annoyance.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he said, instantly. “It’s not often that you get to speak with a legend… I’m simply expressing my over-eagerness to talk with you.

I kept my scowl on my face, making sure to not allow a seem of repentance for my short behavior to slip through.

“Yes, well,” I said, getting a good look around the entrance of the manor, “I’ve been to a lot of robbed mansions in my day— it seems to happen a lot more to me, than with anybody else. Anyway, this is my second mansion in weeks, and I’m getting rather board of this trend… Maybe it’s just me? It’s probably just me…. Nonetheless, I don’t have time for constant chatter going on in the background, while I’m trying to do my job. You can either act like a fan, who doesn’t know when to stop gushing, or you can act like a trained professional on the field. You can’t do both, and if you decide to do the former, then I’ll have to ask you to leave…”

Paul looked angry, this time around. It seemed to me that his claims of being a fan of me had been far from legitimate. Rather, they’d merely been attempts to flatter me. In fact, as I reflected closer, I began to suspect that it hadn’t even been to flatter me— rather, he’d only been trying to edge up onto my good side, so that he could steal all of my findings. I was able to tell just by his increasingly desperate look, that he allowed to come onto his face when I said that I wanted him to leave.

“Aren’t you being rather harsh?” he said, still standing by the entrance— trying to remain attached to me, like a leech.

“I just have to pull him out, with tweezers,” I muttered to myself.

Then, I turned, and said, “Aren’t, you being the one who’s incredibly unreasonable. I’m in the midst of an incredibly dens case, and you don’t appear to have the gall or the willpower to stop yourself, and leave my sight. I’d be shocked if I saw you leave right now, and shut your mouth. If there’s anything that I’ve learned about rookies, in all of my years on the force, is that only half of you are willing to stick around… And, out of that half, only a quarter are worth keeping around. Now, please leave me be— at least for a moment, if you honestly don’t have the self-control to leave me be for any longer stretch of time than that. I’m in the middle of observing this scene, and I’d prefer to do so in quiet.”

I think that I must’ve infuriated him at this. However, even as I continued to investigate the crime scene, I realized that it was better for him to be infuriated than I.

This isn’t a daycare, I found myself thinking.

As far as the entrance hall was concerned, it was like most entrance halls of manors— expansive, expensive, and extraordinarily excessive. There were five chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, all of them jeweled with diamonds. They were no doubt fake diamonds. However, this knowledge didn’t kill the splendorous stupor that I was put into when looking at them. The walls were, surprisingly, devoid of any paintings. It seemed that the owner had opted to keep the room classier, decking it with flowers and candles that gave off perfumes— perfumes that gave off an overabundant stink, which would’ve compelled nearly anybody walking by to plug their nose with a clothespin.

The walls weren’t painted nearly as flamboyantly a I might’ve expected, either. In comparison to Miss Prestel’s house, which treated bright paints and pricy decor as if they were the cheapest thing on the market, they instead kept the walls painted in a thick black paint— a rather odd sight, considering all of the options that the owner must’ve had available to himself.

The floor also wasn’t carpeted. Instead, it was a smooth tile, which was so slick that I thought it might’ve been washed just before I walked into the hall.

The architecture was a mixture of gothic and Greco-Roman design, having delicate stone carvings, pillars, and arcs all throughout it. Each one of these stone designs lacks that black coating that the walls had, making the walls clash even more so.

“Just the entrance, and I’m already beginning to feel overloaded with information…” I said, trying my best to make amends with Officer Paul. “It’s funny— of all their money, you’d think that they’d use it to make more rooms around their entrance hall.”

As I said this, I gestured down the entrance hall— it was about five yards down before it actually led to a room.

“All that time, and you have no new observations to make?” Paul asked. “Also, the reason that there are no doors is because Mr. Donald likes to have only one exit for his guests to take— that way, they’re more likely to talk to each other, on their way out. He’s the kind of person who’s all for charisma… Did you know that he’s already campaigning for a new political seat?”

I scowled with annoyance— I despised just about everything concerning Mr. Donald. He was a rich man with a poor sense of community, and morals. Despite all of his wealth, he tended to use it to further himself, rather than furthering the community. Whilst he saw himself as the sort of person who had the ability to bolster the community, he tended to be self-indulgent— all of the answers in his purpose that he came up with was usually utilizing his abundance of cash to build himself up. His thoughts were more focused on solving his own problems, even when he claimed that he was a philanthropist. He never helped charity, despite claiming himself to be charitable.

“Yes… I’ve heard,” I said, still in a wrenching clenching of teeth, which was fed out of anger. “just guide me into the ballroom, like I already told you to do. Your job isn’t to question me, but to question your surroundings. The longer that you focus on the primitive trivialities of socialization, the deeper that you fall into the well of unanswered questions. I know this, because I’ve tried solving cases in the reverse approach. Speaking from experience, I know just how many follies the mistake in non-critical thinking can birth. I’m unwilling to entertain it, and you should be too.”

I’m prone to vehement ramblings, when I feel that things aren’t going my way— I suppose that it’s a major flaw of mine. It’s possibly the biggest flaw out of my gargantuan quantity of flaws. However, I can’t quite help it. When I see something that I can’t control, I’m compelled to find a way to control it in every way that I possibly can. This is clearly a massive mistake, on my part—but then, what am I to do to avoid such errors? I’m afraid that I’m not any sort of uberman. I can’t be expected to do everything with a brilliant and impenetrable perfection and accuracy. Such is to expect the impossible from a man who is limited by what is possible.

My anger came out of just how disgusting, and shocking, the character of Mr. Donald really was. In spite of being a soft, pasty man, with no moral fiber to him at all, I was in the position where I needed to help him. Moreover, I needed to help him in political affairs. I hated the man, and his plans for the city. Yet, if I didn’t help him them, by extension, it would be for me to accept some of his policies— after all, if I didn’t work on this case to help him, then he wouldn’t even be able to enact any of his plans in the first place.

Such is the duty of an officer, I thought to myself. It doesn’t matter if you care for the victim or not. You’re compelled to help them, no matter the circumstance, because they’re innocent. And, it’s your job to protect and serve the innocent, even if you know, deep down, that not all of the innocent are quite as innocent as they might seem.

I still couldn’t accept my own thoughts. Even in my attempts to be progressive, and think about my job and duties in a non-discriminatory way, I couldn’t help but look at everything in a way that was full of a hateful anger. This man was on his way to mass-manipulate the public, and I what to save him— protect him in his attempts to use his money to incite power. To gain a position that he had no reason to take or steal, especially in light of the fact that there were far more worthy people of political seats that didn’t have their pockets completely full. My head was moving in an impossibly fast cyclone, completely confused and full of misdirection. I didn’t know quite where II wanted to take myself. All that I knew was that I wanted to take myself somewhere, and completely rid myself of this man— this duty— and the fact that I had to help this man, despite my convictions being to the contrary of such.

There was something else that angered me. Even in the fact that my head was incredibly distracted, and that I was trying to pull myself out of my flurry of fury, I had something that my mind would not leave alone— something that it focused on with an unmerciful attention. It— or, more accurately, I—couldn’t fathom how such a man was capable of pumping himself up in such a way, or how anybody was capable of taking the person seriously. To me, such was nearly insane, considering that everything he did was proof against his legitimacy.

How could people become so tricked. I just didn’t make sense to me.

The pathway to the ballroom was an odd one. It lasted about only two minutes, according to my watch. However, according to my eyes, and my feeling of entrapment and claustrophobia, I couldn’t help but feel as if it had taken an hour. I know that I’m exaggerating when I say this— however, there’s no true way to describe just how much time slows down when you start to feel weary, and the world around you appears to be slowing down. I know that I might sound wrong when I say this, but I don’t really care about that. It’s simply how I am, and the mistakes of my cogitative bias. Nothing can really help that.

I wish it could… I thought to myself. My deductive abilities would become so much easier, in that way. I wasn’t wrong. To this day, I wish that it was possible for one to achieve a superhuman ability to solve mysteries. Maybe it’s just me, but I think that super intelligence is the only way that enormous problems can truly be solved. I’m not even sure if once can imagine how effective one might be if they were stripped of all intuition and bias, being left to go based upon only the raw facts of situations. It would probably make reasoning and thinking expand far beyond the limitations that we currently face in my field of expertise.

However, I digress— as I find myself doing a lot in my narration. What I intend to say is that the hall was a terrible place to walk through, despite the intention for it to be more unifying. It seems to me— while I could be totally wrong in this— that the attempt at bringing people closer only resulted in a stupid and inferior structure, which made one wish to be farther apart from other people than ever.

I shouldn’t be surprised in this. Like I said prior— Mr. Donald was a man who waved around false promises and lies, as if it were a flag of his extreme pride. He contradicted whatever he professed to be his core values, because his true core was mere contradiction. It’s these sort of folk who always have something to hide. So, they hide their darkest secrets within their most beautiful lies, hoping that nobody will notice just how many terrible things exist within those lies.

The ballroom was so wide, and expansive, that I forced myself out of my state of enraged instinct. Perhaps it was the love of answers, and the seeking out to destroy questions, that I finally was able to snap myself out of my adrenaline induced focus on an inclination toward incredible hatred, and visceral anger.

The ballroom had so much money put into it that it could even convince a hateful person, such as myself, to feel a sort of love towards this man that was obviously corrupt. He had a rarified and dignified sense of architecture and culture, to be sure. While I’d seen in Miss Prestel’s house to be a completely ignorant and ugly waste of money, there was something to the gothic but enlightened sculpting that had taken place in Mr. Donald’s house— something that made me look at, at least is house, in quite a different way. I actually felt a sort of reverence.

“I might not like the man who built this place,” I said to Paul. “but, that’s not going to stop me from liking the place that he built.”

In comparison to the claustrophobic, stuffy, and uncomfortably bright entrance hall, the ball room appeared to be some brilliant sort of heaven— I’d never actually seen something before, in my entire existence, that truly compared to the room. It was full of some of the most beautiful things that I’ve ever laid eyes on. And, that’s not just to be flamboyantly exaggerative, or provocative to the mind’s sensibilities towards beauty and light— I’m actually being very earnest in my descriptions, and feel deeply about the descriptions that I’m providing.

The entire floor, as well as pillars spread throughout the room, appeared to be made of an exquisite marble— almost appearing to shine like pearls. There was also grand furniture, such as richly decorated chairs, wide and expansive stone tables stretching across the floor, as well as large lamps hanging from the ceiling above. Once again, it looked to me that Mr. Donald had decided to avoid using paintings as a decoration. However, as I began to closely inspect the place, I saw just how much gorgeous precision had really been put into tit, in spite of the lack of paintings. In fact, it began to seem to me that the lack of paintings actually ended up instituting a far more gorgeous and insightful design than anything else that Mr. Donald could’ve built. The closer and longer that I looked at everything, the more that I happened to see in everything. There were gorgeous stone carvings on the wall, hearkening back to ancient Greek statures that I’d seen in museums, as well as old photograph’s that I’d seen of Michelangelo’s work. There are few words that I could use to describe the place. It held the very essence of intelligence, and grandiosity— I felt the wells of Aristotle’s mind utterly filling the place, giving it a splendor that was near impossible to come by, under mundane circumstances. Yet, I still had a way of looking at it all, and not feeling entirely lost, or incredibly small. It had an artificial sense to it, as well. Despite all of the work that had clearly been put into the room, it was all clearly mimicry. While I was confounded at how Mr. Donald could’ve amassed the wealth required to craft such architecture, I still had the ability within myself to scoff at it— it was impressive, but it wasn’t so humbling that I was forced to remove myself of self-pride and dignity.

There was only one thing in the entire room that really caught my eye, and made me feel the same punitive grasp on reality, such as that the old Michelangelo sculptures might’ve been able to give me— it came from a grand fountain, placed in the center of the room.

The word grand is probably a grandly overused term, similar to how beauty is. When describing a fountain, there are so many more unique and original ways to describe it— such as a sputtering window into the ways of the waters, which puts the mind into such a trance that it becomes the water itself— that it becomes a part of the slickness, and the tranquil patterns that the fountain provides. Its water is so clear, that it can no longer be called water— such is made all too clear, when the water pours over the stone, in a way that makes everything glimmer in a dance of silver. The water is not water— it’s liquid crystal.

Though, I’ve found that the word grand still suits the fountain far more. I’m sure that I’m mistaken as I say this, and that I’ll probably even find myself as subject of regret long after I’m done saying this. However, when did I ever halt in my speech, simply because I knew that I’d go on to regret it? The place was grand. My words still stand.

Somehow, I made myself start staring at the ground— I looked and searched, with all of the extreme focus that my eyes allowed me, to stare a t the ground. I thoroughly searched for any kind of proof or evidence that might’ve allowed me a way back in time.

Thinking back on this, with an increasing inspection of my ability to ignore the great things that hung around me, I’ve started to recognize just what drives me— the very thing that allows me to sole mysteries, and pay distractions no notice. The seeking out of clues, and evidence, can allow somebody to both travel back in time, and travel forward into the future. Based on evidence, things can be judged. Things, which might not be able to be understood otherwise, can come in complete clarity. That’s the unique grandness of what I do— the grandness that can even allow me to ignore the grandness of everything going on around me. I might not be the most intelligent of all people, and some of the things that I do can be utterly ridiculous. Although, there’s one thing that I now know I can never apologize in— and that is in being able to look at the world around me, and scrutinize it to the point where I’ve eliminated all possibilities of lies, and now can only dissect the truth from out of it. The mind is something that must be tamed, in order for it to tame the untamable world around it. This was probably the greatest lesson that Crusoe ever taught me.

I kept my eyes locked on the floor. There was dust, in certain areas, which tainted the pearly glow of the floor. Like Officer Paul had said, from these I was able to assess that smoke-bombs had certainly been used, as well as where the smoke-bombs had been placed. However, similar to when Detective Crusoe had fought me with the police, the samples were once again unidentifiable. The chemical composition appeared to being lacking of any unique qualities. In fact, the lacking of unique qualities was probably its only unique quality.

“I honestly can’t see anything special here,” I said to Paul, judging between whether or not I should tell him what I found. Finally, I admitted, “But, these smoke-bomb dust remnants suggest that Detective Crusoe was here. A few weeks ago, the entire police force was caught in a fight between Detective Crusoe. We pretty much had him pinned down, and there were virtually no ways in which he could escape— he’d practically been arrested. Though, he managed to set off a smoke-bomb, and utterly evade our grasp. It left behind a similar composition to this. While the forensics department has yet to identify the comical substances that Crusoe has been using, I can firmly state that this chemical residue is a result of Crusoe being here. That, or somebody who has managed to steal Crusoe’s attributes…”

Officer Paul laughed.

“I’m glad that you were able to figure out that Crusoe is behind this,” he said, in an almost apologetic way— he clearly regretted laughing at me. “but, do you honestly think that there’s somebody out there who’s capable of copying everything about Crusoe, and trying to frame him? For one thing, that simply doesn’t make any sense— if this really is a fake Crusoe, they’re putting themselves at risk of getting caught in the act, and arrested. If that were to happen, then they’d utterly get rid of any need for us to search out Crusoe— they’d single-handedly put us off Crusoe’s back. But, if they do succeed, there’s still the fact that nobody would have any reason to get rid of Crusoe… After all— if he’s being framed, that would mean he still hasn’t been active for years… Therefore, the person will have wasted their time. Besides— what reason do you even have to think that this was an act of trying to frame Crusoe? If you really think about it, it makes no sense, in the slightest… It’s all a friendly, childish delusion… You’re just living in the past. It’s time that you stop, and accept the evidence for what it is.”

I shook my head, in disappointment.

“Haven’t you heard about the clothes of Crusoe, which happened to be found at Job’s house… Clearly, there’s a lot more to this that’s going on than there seems to be. You might think me to be crazy for believing this. Heck, you’re probably even right. But, when I look at everything that’s going on, I can’t help but feel that we have a lot more questions than we have answers. And, I can’t help but feel like that’s simply not right… Yes— I’d prefer to believe that Crusoe is innocent. But, I have good reason to believe that he is. Haven’t you heard that I’m working on a new case, trying to prove Crusoe’s innocence. If there’s anybody that might know anything about whether or not Crusoe is good, it’s me.”

Officer Paul looked as if he were on the verge of laughing again— he seemed to have a very low opinion of me, form what I was beginning to sense from out of him, and he clearly didn’t take any of the words coming out of my mouth with any sort of seriousness.

“I heard that you case is how you nearly got a concussion, and broke your arm… Sergeant, with all due respect, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I agree that there are strange things going on. But, let’s be honest— a man who’s willing to resist the police simply isn’t an innocent man, no matter how one tries to spin it. I can’t conceive how Crusoe can logically be innocent… No matter what, he’s a criminal, whether or not he’s guilty of these crime sprees.”

At this point, I couldn’t deny the facts. AS much as I despised Officer Paul, he had a sort of shrewd and cold truth about his words— while he was arrogant, he certainly had no softness towards the arrogance of others. Rather, the was somebody who had a love of being brutally honest.

“In all my years working with Crusoe, one thing that I never noticed about him was that he was a criminal,” I said. “He was a good man, looking to change the corruptness within society Does that necessarily make him a good person? Obviously not… obviously, I was misinformed and delusional in a few areas, concerning Crusoe. But, I just don’t know… After all, that he helped me with, I don’t feel quite right inn turning him in as repayment…”

“Fine then,” Officer Paul said. “Repay Crusoe in any way that you like. I just want you to make sure that you know what you’re doing when you attempt this. After all—m as nice of a person as Crusoe might seem to have been to you, he was still a man— he still deserves to have to face the justice system, and give up his anonymity— he needs to be held responsible for his actions. And, you can’t twist the truth to suit your wishes and beliefs for it to be otherwise.”

I scowled— not so much at Officer Paul, but at myself. In a way, I was even scowling at my past scowling. Officer Paul had been right in a lot more ways than I was willing to give credit— probably more ways than I’m still giving credit. Whilst I might’ve liked to look at Paul as a rookie, he had a lot more experience and wisdom than I’d ever allowed myself to experience

“you’re right,” I said. “I am quite biased in the favor of Detective Crusoe. And, that’s clearly one of my greatest flaws—if not, my greatest flaw. It’s just, with all of his contributions to solving crimes, and my own skills, I can’t help but feel indebted to him… I can’t help but deny the possibility of him being the vile traitor that he seems to be painted out to be. Clearly I’m wrong in thinking this. Clearly the evidence goes against me. But, you must understand— there’s a part of me that doesn’t care about any of the purported evidence, or the fact that it might be wrong on every front. There’s a part of me that cares only about the friendship I made— however hollow that friendship might’ve been. If I were to be honest, I’d have to admit this— I don’t have many people that I can call my ally. I avoid this for the very reason that I don’t have to defend complete criminals. And yet, it seems to me that this has backfired in practically every way. It’s near impossible for me to do away with Crusoe, without me feeling as if I’m doing away with something incredibly integral to myself. In a sense, I’ve tied myself to a terrible poison— ‘m needing of a separation from it, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling incredibly linked with it…”

Officer Paul didn’t give a response for quite a while. Instead, he looked around the ballroom one last time, to see if there was anything that he missed.

“It’s quite strange that there doesn’t seem to be any available escapes, that were easy to take…” I heard him mutter.

Finally, he allowed his voice to reach full volume as he gave me his answer.

“I don’t care if he was you friend,” he said. “I don’t care how he might’ve made you feel, or how he honed your skills. At this point, the entire police force recognizes him as a menace— even you do, somewhere inside that logical mind of yours. The problem here is, you’re not seeing Crusoe as the real beast that he is— a cruel, unforgiving, unjust person, he never stops to think about the consequences to his actions. I like what Crusoe did, in his great tenure, just as much as the next person. Corrupt of a character that he might’ve been, he really did know what he was doing— he was a mind that was truly hard to match. However, this doesn’t stop the fact that his legend has been largely tainted throughout time. This doesn’t prevent the truth that he’s pulling you down. In your worship of Crusoe’s fine skills, and his great efforts and achievements, you’re letting your own skills and achievements whither to dust. I respect you, Sergeant Kyler— at least, I respect all of your work. Though, I must admit, you’re not the sort of person that I thought of when I was training for office. When I read the newspaper articles about you, I gained the perspective that you were a man of great integrity, who possessed a mind of even a greater capacity and size than that. Now that I’ve seen you face to face, and studied your practices, I now realize that you were either lucky all those years, or you finally lost all of the skills that made you so unique from the rest of the force. I have yet to see you do anything that makes me feel awe, or a reverence toward you. This is all because you don’t actually have anything to you that’s worth respecting… My past, childlike admiration was just that— childlike admiration. Similar to how you have no reason to have any faith in the character of Crusoe, I have no reason to have any faith into the character of you…”

After that, he stalked off, towards the narrow exit out of the manor.

“We already have all of the eye-witness accounts, and answers that we need,” he said after me. “We have a few mysteries that we still have yet to be answered in this room, but, as far as I can tell, you’re no closer to solving them than we are— in fact you’re farther off. Until you have the answers, I’d like you to get off your high horse and learn some humility. Clearly, you’re not the great detective mind that you might like to see yourself as… There are more questions than you can ever answer, Kyler. And, if you ever wish to get them, you’re going to have to learn to work with people outside of your fantasies with an untrustworthy and anonymous Private Investigator. Don’t let yourself stoop any lower than you have to. Personally, I think that you’ve already let Crusoe destroy the once great and admirable character that you had… When was the last time that anything you did actually mattered?”

With that, he was gone. As wordy and obtuse as his monologue to me might’ve been, I knew that there was a lot more truth to it than my ego wanted to allow. In fact, I now recognized that a lot of my misgivings towards Officer Paul hadn’t been from Officer Paul at all— instead, most of them had to do with my own jealousy, and insecurities. As I peered throughout the room, for anything that might’ve brought me remotely close to some answers, all that I saw was how truly blind I was. There were no answers that I could find that others weren’t capable of finding— I’d only let myself think that there were such answers.

I kneeled down, and studied the dusted ground one last time. Upon my second viewing, there looked to be a trail of fingerprints on the ground. AT first I was quizzical of it, but I then rationalized that one of the investigators must’ve forgotten to take their gloves off, and contaminated the crime scene by doing so.

“And, this is why I hate working in large groups…” I said to myself. “If only I could’ve been here earlier.”

Those last words ran off my tongue with a far greater sincerity than I initially expected them to come with. I did deeply wish for there to be a better way for me to take care of the growing questions— I wanted to know what the crime scene first looked like, when it was fresh and untainted. I suddenly had an overflowing well of regret toward the fact that I had no way of telling what happened, and that I’d wasted my time sleeping.

I shouldn’t have had to have been woken up by lieutenant Jackson… I thought to myself. I should’ve already been here. I should’ve been the first person here at the crime scene, making sure that everything was as it should be. I should’ve been the one to look at everything for as it was- to gain all of the eye-witness testimonies, all of the missed knowledge, and all of the facts that I needed. That way, I wouldn’t have been so caught up in my personal biases. I would’ve had to face the facts, and only the facts— there would’ve been no way for me to distance myself from the evidence, or laugh everything off. It would’ve appeared self-evident— things would’ve appeared intrinsically true.

“I guess that I’ll have to resort to reading everybody else’s scribbled journals for eye-witness testimony,” I said to myself. “Because, this scene isn’t talking.”

I pinched a bit of the powder from off the reflective marble, and placed it into a plastic bag of mine, before putting the evidence in my pocket. After that, I gave one last look a t the room around me. A great point had been made from Paul— it looked to me that the entire place lacked all of the required evidence to judge anything off of. And, there was no clear escape route for somebody that might’ve ambushed the party. It was a strange sight to look at, the more that I thought about it. Using all of my common sense, and rationality, there was no way to explain how the kidnapper could’ve come to the center of the room, and snatched up the host and a few other guests, without ultimately being caught for what he was doing. None of it added up. To me, it all seemed to almost be a fairytale that somebody had spawned. Even with the smoke, it was all very hard for me to conceive.

“I’m not in the business of what seems conceivable,” I found myself saying under my breath. “As much as I’d want it to be like that, the business that I’m in is a far dirtier one— a business of facts. From what little evidence I have, this is all that I’m able to believe.”

I found this work as a magic spell upon me. After saying this, I immediately felt alleviated. It was all very true— without any evidence pointing to the contrary, however unlikely these events might’ve seemed, it was the only thing that I could rationally believe in.

“The odds might be against me having eaten a bagel for breakfast this morning,” I said to myself. “The odds might’ve been against me getting out of bed, due to a ringing telephone. The odds might’ve been against my conversation with Paul— or anything that I’ve gone through today. Though, that’s the thing about odds. They’re always stacked against everything. Ultimately, I can’t look at the odds, but at what happened. And, I’m going to have to agree upon what happened, whether I like it or not.”

With this, I left the room, and the rest of the crime scene. After everything that I’d witnessed, I no longer felt as if I had a place in the case. Even with all of my expertise, I now was beginning to see just how problematic my observations really were. I was probably among the most biased people on the case. And, this had led me to make observations that were utterly false.

“I can’t let myself do that again, “I found myself saying as I stepped into my squad car. “I’m going to find the answers— and, I’m not going to let them become altered by what I want them to be…”

*

Three days had passed since last at Mr. Donald’s mansion— three days of toil and strenuous thought, over something that I was becoming increasingly aware to be an utter waste… There was no way to save the people that had been kidnapped, from what I could tell, on my own.

According to the eye-witness accounts— which probably took me an hour to read, due to the terrible handwriting— there was no possible way that the culprit could’ve escaped. Nothing added up. Apparently, Detective Crusoe— or, a party dressed up as him— had grabbed Mr. Donald, after jumping down upon the ballroom from the ceiling. Already, this didn’t make sense to me— From what I’d seen in the room, it was impossible for one to get in without having been invited, or having been let in without any attention. Everybody in the ballroom had gotten there upon invitation.

Moreover, after this happened, they grabbed two of the guests, and urged for Mr. Donald to come, so that they might release the guest. From what I was able to gather, Crusoe had placed his arm around the guests’ necks, and threatened to choke them. Mr. Donald appeared to be a true hero in this situation, too— having told all of his guests to stand back, and walked up to Crusoe to comply.

If this already made no sense, and sounded like complete fiction, it only started to become more far-fetched, and ridiculous. Once Mr. Donald came over to Crusoe, Crusoe supposedly found a way to cuff Mr. Donald to his arm, so that Mr. Donald couldn’t escape. In this way, Crusoe never had to let go of either of the guests. One might think that Crusoe, or any person in such a situation, might’ve had a decidedly hard time doing this, seeing that Crusoe had no free arms. However, the account said otherwise.

At this point, the accounts said that a few people tried running towards Crusoe. But, this was when the smoke bombs went off, and the four individuals utterly disappeared from sight.

At this point, I was almost certain that the accounts had been faked— it was the only way that I was able to make any sense out of what I was reading. Although, I was forced to believe that it was real, despite all of these facts pointing to the contrary. I didn’t want to believe it, but it was the only thing that I could believe, lest I would be forced to submit to my own individual fantasies.

One thing that surprised me about the accounts was that there were seldom any inconsistencies between them, Normally, this would seem to be good thing, but I couldn’t help but be largely skeptical. Most of the time, there would be several difference between each account, due to the flaws of memory. Though, I rarely even found a discrepancy between the color of Crusoe’s clothes.

None of it was adding up for me, and I was even more surprised when I found that my police department didn’t seem to care. While they were busy trying to find the answer to who might’ve kidnapped Mr. Donald, they didn’t seem too receptive to the concept that nobody might’ve kidnapped Mr. Donald. Not that I entirely blame them. If I were in the same position, I would’ve been compelled to do the very same thing. After all of my experience in the field, I’d learned just how easy it was to make a mistake, and fall in to trivial wanderings. Nobody likes to be proven wrong, and so, most try to stick with what they have and try to prove themselves right— even if the source they have is completely wrong, and it will only end up making them ignorant in the long-run.

Meanwhile, I didn’t really have the time to keep searching for more clues and evidence that might’ve supported my case. What I found was that, the date of Eddy Mulligan’s funeral was looming over me, and I felt the weight of his death taking a greater threshold over my life and thoughts. Normally, his death didn’t quite bother me— nor did funerals. I remember one time when a police colleague of mine died— he was a good man, if a little arrogant. I had a hard time shedding a single tear for him. Don’t mistake me— I was deeply upset at the funeral, and I even felt somewhat bad that I wasn’t crying. It’s simply that, I have a hard time expressing my emotions, especially in extreme circumstances. I’ve found that I tend to keep everything inside of myself. In fact, that may very well be why I have such a hard time interacting with other people, and the very reason that I’m so good at what I do.

Nevertheless, Eddy Mulligan had proven to be a n exception. While I never knew Eddy as a man very well, I knew him before manhood— and, the very fact that he was gone pushed me to the point where I felt as if I’d disservice him in a very great way— I was the only person in his life who had the ability to know him very well, before death, and I’d squandered it. It was this thought that I still couldn’t get over. And, the fact that I was coming closer to the day where I’d have to face it was really making me struggle amidst my daily affairs.

Another thing that incredibly stunted me was the fact that I knew Amelia Mulligan would be coming soon, and that I’d have to keep her company. Not only did I fear that this would be an awkward discourse, but it would also distract me from the thing that mattered most to me at the moment— making sure that the mystery was solved.

These encumbering fears had really put me in a place of complete loss. I’d felt this several times within the past month— the urge to just give it all up, and seek a different occupation or position. However, this time I felt it more than ever. And, I was more aware of it than ever, as well. I knew that, if I followed how I felt, I would be pushed further from where I needed to go— and I felt as if I were closer to my answers, and my success, than I’d been in quite a while. It was this sort of thinking that pushed me over the edge, and led me to believe that I might’ve been wasting a good deal of my time— that, in spite of my beliefs to the contrary, I’d become quite obsolete. Even in all of my ponderings, and my wish for answers, I was beginning to see just how unoriginal that my thoughts really were. There wasn’t much that distinguished my abilities from the rest of the pack of the police. In fact, and argument could’ve been made that I was becoming far slower, and less skilled than I should’ve been. And argument could’ve been made that I was already being surpassed— that my right to hold my high position was on the verge of necessary termination.

There were a lot of thoughts penetrating my mind, and I couldn’t help but fall susceptible to all of these inquisitions. In truth, I had no defense against them. They all made incredibly strong points, and I had incredibly weak refutations to them. In my mind, there was no way that I could get out of my mounding questions. As usual, I felt as if the questions had grown greater than me— that I was losing to them, and that they’d gained a high ground. Some people might laugh at me for having thoughts such as these— when I really think about it, I have no reason to gain all of the worries and fears that I have about the world. The world seems kind enough, to me. I’ve never been threatened by it to the point where I could no longer overcome it— where I could no longer push forward. It was too demanding against me, even if it was just a figment of my imagination.

That’s probably the greatest folly in this world— to think that an imagination has no hold over reality. It’s probably the greatest opposite. Without imagination, the world would be a place without any human invention, or human thought. Without imagination, reality would be something that is impossible to conceive. It might be thought that, life is a way for us to experience the universe. But, in the same sense, it’s also the only way for the universe to experience itself. It’s that very thought which I find to be both very dark and very bright at the same time. Because, without life, nothing can be understood— it’s simply there, without explanation.

“Maybe I’m just confused because I don’t know what to do…” I sound myself saying to myself.

I wasn’t entirely wrong, either. I didn’t know what to do, and this did confuse me… A times, I felt like I was supposed to do one thing— but, at the next moment, I felt as if I were supposed to do another. It was an odd thing, which left me feeling lost— and, even slightly alone. In a way, the fact that the whole world around me seemed to be turned against me was causing me to feel so many contradictions about the world around me. I didn’t know what to think. In fact, there was a degree to myself that didn’t want to think. The truth was, I’d been beaten down by the surrounding situations. Despite being taught to be a great officer, I found that I was doing away with everything that I’d been trained to do— and, this had led me to the point where I was questioning whether or not I should be doing what I was trained to do.

I’d talked to Lieutenant Jackson about the facts that Id found, and how hard everything was beginning to feel to me— I neglected to inform him about the fact that my house was vandalized again. He, of course, refused to sympathize with me. There are only so many times when you can get your competitor to see the same way that you do— I’d been lucky when he was willing to talk to me a few nights prior.

When sitting at my desk, in my tiny apartment, I found myself penning a letter out to Detective Crusoe. I knew that I was crazy for doing so, and that I had no reason to think that the letter would work. Moreover, I found that there was no reason for me to think that Crusoe would even bother reading my letter. If our past history with each other had proven anything to me, it should’ve proven that Crusoe was no longer a friend, but an enemy that should’ve been avoided. However, one of my greatest weaknesses is easily the fact that I think Crusoe can still be my ally, even after all that we’ve gone through. So, when I penned him the letter, none of that mattered to me, I was transported back to the days when Crusoe was a new figure in the city, and we were brand-new allies— when I had everything to gain, and the city was still a place that looked upon me in optimism— a place that I, in turn, looked upon in optimism.

Things have gotten so much harder without your help, Crusoe… I don’t know what I’m doing, or the answers to any of my questions…

I know that, after my attempt to arrest you, this is probably the last thing that I should be asking you about. I have far too many transgressions dealt against you, and you similarly have too many transgressions stacked against me. At this point, we’re on opposite sides. To think that we could be allies is probably one of the greatest mistakes that anybody could make.

Though, I’ve decided that I want to make that mistake… Crusoe, I need your brain on my side again. You see, even with all of the crimes that you’re being accused of, I have the feeling that you’re innocent. The only person that can prove that is you. Despite me having proven myself to be somebody who’s incredibly untrustworthy, I ask you to forgive me— to put the things that I’ve done aside, so that we might be able to move forward— and make a big difference.

I probably sound insane to you. In fact, you probably don’t care a bit about this note that I’m writing to you. Knowing you, all that you’re interested in are the specifics of the case at hand— that is, if you’re still loyal, and you’re not guilty of committing the crime that the case at hand consists of.

Whatever the truth is here, I just want to tell you that I don’t want you to change from the person that I once knew… I don’t want our past partnership to erode away. I’m being too sentimental here, and none of my words actually matter. But, I’ve found that writing letters is the only way that I can really use my voice, without feeling an immense guilt afterward… I know that I’m stupid in thinking that I can actually change anything, or get through to you. But, the illusion that I can is something that I’m simply not going to abandon. It’s one of those things that I’m going to hold close to myself, with my entire life.

Thanks for being a friend that was there to help me, back when there was nobody else… Everything has changed now, and I’m certain that you don’t care about my problems like you used to. It’s not as if I ever cared so much about yours, especially due to your anonymity. Though, I still appreciate what a great person that you were, and still are. You’re the champion of mysteries— stay that way. And, don’t forget to try helping me on this case, by meeting me at my apartment— I’m sure that you’ll be able to find me. I just hope that you find this, before anybody else does…

Sincerely,

Sergeant Kyler

I took my pen off the paper, and looked down at the note in pride. It was overlong, filled with frustrating dialogue, and run-on sentences… Yet, it was mine. And, I couldn’t help but feel a sort of self-satisfaction and gratification when looking at it. It was a piece that couldn’t be matched by any other pieces. It was the sort of thing that I knew nobody else would be able to compete with, because it was mine. I was the only one who was going to be able to get through Crusoe’s thick skull— and, I was determined to do anything, in order to accomplish that, even if it meant me having to give up all of my other efforts…

It was about an hour of listening to the radio, and musing about the events going on around me, before I went to the lamppost. I had a cloud of stress still over my head. There were so many things that I had to keep up on, and I felt as if I would constantly be at work— that there was no real room for rest in my life, even though I deeply wanted to take hold of it. However, this was something that I eventually was able to put aside. Because, when I looked at the lamppost, I saw the same old mysteries of life facing me— I saw myself, fifteen years ago, putting the same note-paper on the lamppost, and being able to figure things out with Crusoe’s aid. It was clear to me that I wouldn’t be able to solve all the answers… But, I ignored this, preferring to look on the bright side. The fact that I still had a shot at making thing s right. Even in the city’s vast complexity, I’d built myself a bubble in which everything was just so. I was on the verge of returning to that. Even though I had to deal with the passing of Eddy Mulligan, I realized that I was also observing the birth of something just as great, and monumental. Iw as observing the resurrection of a dying partnership.

I walked back to my apartment, not even bothering to go into the police station. It was late at night, to be sure— though, that didn’t disturb me. Everything seemed as it should’ve.

Back in my apartment, I felt a bundle of mixed feelings rush throughout myself. I began to realize, with an aching severity, that I wasn’t going to be able to know if Crusoe was on my side, or not. Even after I gained his favor, he’d always be a mixed bag— I’d always have to wonder if he was truly fighting for me, or if he was vying for some other agenda— he’d certainly proved himself a traitor long in the past— it was the very reason that I constantly felt at odds with myself, even to this day.

“But, I can’t constantly throw myself into my useless ponderings…” I said. “I always was taking a risk with Crusoe. Even on the day that I ‘d first met him, he was always a strange case— a mystery. I could never quite understand him, or calculate what he was about to do next. This was always part of his grand appeal to me. While I know that I can’t fully trust him, I also know that’s part of who he is— and, I’m going to have to take him seriously if I ever hope to make any sort of impact.”

For some reason, I found that these words convinced me, even in the face of the fact that they were the definition of unconvincing. Within myself, I felt entirely lost, and helpless concerning Crusoe— he might’ve been a monster, and yet, I also knew that he might’ve turned out to be a hero. It all depended upon the choices that he would make— and, I sadly knew that his choices were not anything that I could put my faith into.

It’s a funny thing— when you don’t know what you’re supposed to put your faith into, and when the very thin that seems to be where you should put your faith is untrustworthy, what are you supposed to do? Kneel down to your primitive superstitions, and simply go for what feels right on the spur of the moment… Something tells me that there must be a better answer…

Inside, I feel as if all of my efforts are going to waste, and that nothing I can do will ever really amount to anything. I’ve been around for nearly half of my allotted lifespan— maybe more, maybe less.

This stings, with the pain that might be felt amongst a swarm of a thousand bees. I know that most of my pains are in my head, and that a lot of my problems could be caulted over if I just looked at them straight on— if I faced them with a vigilance.

Though, I hate looking at the ugliness of my problems. They never make any sense, and they typically come back around to bite me. I know that I’m being dishonest with myself whenever I think that I can eventually get out of my eternity of questions. Som, I don’t know wjhy I’m beginning to find it to be so hard. I just can’t figure out how my head keeps spinning, and yet, my heart feels as if its trapped in the past— I want to make everything like the past again. I wish that I didn’t have to leep trying, and fighting, to make things feel a lot more at peace, and normal… Soometimes, I think that the whole world is aimed against me, and I ‘’m the only thing standing between ultimate annihilation. I know that I’m delsuusional, petty, and even arrogant to think this way. But, I’ve found a sort of charm in believing that I can make a difference… And, I don’t want to have to let go of it…

“These problems… They’re just mounting too high…” I found myself whispering to myself…” I don’t know if I can combat them any longer. To be honest, I feel like they’re all beginning to combat me…”

I was inches from laying my head into my desk, and letting all of my problems swallow me wole— submitting my entire self to forces that were beyond me. Though, by some act of miraculous magic, I was able to keep myself from doing so— my mind seemed to be being conducted by a will that was beyond my superstitious thoughts, and fears. It was something beyond the strangling connections of human frailties, and the sentimentality of growing age. The hoarding of the past, which was steadily turning the space within my mind into a stuffy closet that had hardly any room….

“I just don’t have any more answers…” I said. “But, that doesn’t mean that the world doesn’t. Just because I can no longer solve my own problems, it doesn’t mean that my problems can’t be solved. And so, I don’t care what becomes of my choice— my decisions. Humanity has managed to last this long, amongst all of the fears and terrors that are rampant in society. Eventually, it will be able to deal without me and, it probably is already beginning to… My problems are but something small, in the grand scheme of everything. I’m simply going to have to become open to that possibility, even if it’s something that I hate to think on...”

After this, I finally left my lucid visions and running thoughts of growing irrelevance. It wasn’t as if it had been eradicated. I’ve learned that nothing can truly be eradicated– all energy must go somewhere, whether one likes it or not. Though, this doesn’t change the true facts of everything— the cold hard truths, which nobody likes to face. And, that is this— everybody is going to have to face cold hard truths. And, those cold hard truths will never go anywhere. The sadly, help make up the entire world that we live within. To try to rid the world of them would be like trying to rid a contaminated house of pests. No exterminator can truly make the house clean of all the issues that might reside within it. It’s simply too optimistic, and too much of a fairy tale to believe otherwise.

My eyes turned from my desk, and to another paper of mine— a list of notes that I’d taken after my conversation with Jonah, a couple of days ago. I’m embarrassed in saying this— but, I hadn’t followed any of his advice in fear that it all might’ve been a lie. I look back at this in a degree of shame now, but back then it really seemed like a legitimate worry.

Opening up my phone book, I started looking through the list of people that I’d neglected to talk to. All of them concerned the masked robber that had been going into people’s houses— the same one that was associated with dozens of crimes.

The same one that was associated with what was going on with Crusoe.

I shook my head in shame at the thought that I might’ve been a contributing factor in the robbery that occurred at Mr. Donald’s house, by not bothering to go and check out Jonah’s advice sooner. Though, I was ready now— and, I was no longer afraid of what might be awaiting me.

*

I would think that all of my efforts wouldn’t have gone to waste— that, everything would start falling into place after putting an extreme amount of determination and willpower into it. Though, it appears to be quite the opposite. I’ve been told throughout my life that willpower is the greatest tool towards getting anything done. I now start to think that isn’t true. Instead, willpower is the greatest tool towards exhausting oneself, and reaching a breaking point.

I’d assigned myself an appointment with Margaret Rosemary, but I was already beginning to taste the spice of stress— the idea that my toil would not be one that bore any fruit.

My car was screeching down the sleet-paved streets, and into the sludgy underbelly of the city. The night prior, when sitting at my desk, I’d called up Jonah at last minute. Like the unwise genius that I am, I asked him for the phone number to Margaret Rosemary— something that I should’ve done a while back, but neglected to under the weight of procrastination and internal weights that I had yet to wrangle.

He eventually provided it to me, and I came to see just how uncontradictorily oxymoronic the entire situation had been— I’d gotten what I wanted, but far later than I should’ve gotten it. And, yet, I still felt as if everything was just as it should’ve been— as if everything were in its proper place.

I suppose that might be the strangest thing about me— I’m able to see the bright side in things that don’t have bright sides. I’m able to see things in ways that aren’t meant to be seen by anyone.

Does that make me absurd, or irrational? Most likely. Though, that’s also what makes my mind so keen for the work of investigation. I’m able to study the parts of areas that nobody else dares to look upon. It might be unimpressive, and even annoying at times— though, I’m now beginning to see just how necessary of a thing that it really is for me to be doing.

My car turned a left down the street and I found myself driving through an ever entangling web of building shadows. They started to sprawl over every aspect of my car, and I found myself having to keep my eyes roving everywhere. I was starting to see just how terrible my eyes really were— weak betrayers that ran at the sight of any darkness.

I felt the shadows clutch me, and threaten to throttle me into the abysses that were encircling me with an ever thinning distance from me. They were the alleyways, and from out of them I could hear the darkest parts of the city’s belly belch and groan. It threatened to breathe a fire down my back, and throw me into a tail-spin. Thankfully, I was far too crafty to fall into its clasp. My mental fortitude is one that doesn’t faze so easily.

Rather, I repeated the phrases that I’d heard in nursery rhymes as a child, to pacify my urges to run and hide truly the instinct that everybody else in my situation would’ve listened to.

Of course, my bravery and courage didn’t last long. I’m afraid that, in spit of all of my genius, I have far more weaknesses than I’m able to acknowledge. I found that the street overcame my senses, and my car slowed to a crawl. Eventually, I had to leave my car and walk out into the streets.

I felt a sort of bare nakedness as I did so. Within that car, there was a bit of removal, and distance from everything that was going on. Once back out in the street, I was forced to confront the fact that everything was out of control, and that I had no hand in anything that was going on. It seemed to me that every building looked down upon me, and attempted to rapture me should for itself. I felt it carve deeper into me, leaving me with only the base layers of my consciousness— the primal fears and surges of anger, which was the only way left for me to respond in.

In a sense, while everything appeared turned against me, I felt as if there was nothing that I could do. I looked at the buildings, but I didn’t know that I was looking at them. Instead, I was looking at g=figures draped in a darkness that I couldn’t quite understand. Instead, I was listening to the whisperings from the pits of hell. The groaning, not of building’s aging, but of my own soul coming under threat.

Within the darkness, any of my fears might’ve come true. Without the car’s headlights to guide me amongst the blackened street, and without the lampposts to give me any sort of guiding heat, I was aware that everything and anything could’ve occurred amongst the darkness. Wherein, my mind decided to accept every possibility as going on. It constructed my nightmares, and made them into something solid.

Anybody else, if they were to have stood next to me, would’ve told me to snap out of my slipping grip on the truth— they would’ve told me that what I feared was something that wasn’t there to fear in the first place. However, I now know that this is a grave mistake. What we find in our dreams, or inside of the spinning terrors of our brains, are just as real as the ground beneath our feet— or the skull that encloses the brain which dreams. For, dreams are a gateway into the circus that goes on around us. In exploring our dreams, we explore the worst— and, in exploring the worst, we confront the worst parts of ourselves.

I squinted so that I could read the address on every building that I passed. I was once again in a downtown area, but it was far more abandoned and destitute than even Jonah’s place. In the air, I could smell the debris of death, and abandonment. It was perhaps the only sense that I could really trust— and, it was one that made me feel more fearful than any other.

Oddly, with it being the only sense that I could understand, it was also the only sense that gave me a sort of courage or hope. I felt that, in understanding what I was smelling, I might soon be able to understand everything else that was going on around me. I’d be able to get rid of the torridness was haunting me.

The water drained into my eyes, and I found myself spluttering to get a hold of it. I could tell that I’d started to walk too closely toward the buildings. The rain was splashing down onto me with the force that might be found in a bb gun, and I instantly knew that I’d taken steps too close to the edge of safety. I had grazed slimming thread of my mortality, and I could feel it start to screech, like a guitar string that had been tightened too much. I was standing under the roof of the house that I needed to go into—right in the targeting position of their overflowing gutters. My misery in having done so was like a raw cut.

Feet dragged against the gravel as they climbed up a case of stairs. Knuckles crunched softly, as they smacked themselves against the wood of a rotting door. There was a mushy bristling, sounding like a parade of soggy sponges, caused by a pair of drenched clothes.

My pair of drenched clothes. My crunching knuckles. My feet. Yet, not mine at all— I wouldn’t have had the courage to have knocked on the door on my own. It was something else inside of me— my instinctual duty— that had ordered me to do so.

The door opened with the sound of a wailing cat. There was a tearing at my ankles, and I realized that there really had been a screeching cat. However, I couldn’t look down or kick the cat away, even as my muscles tensed and told me to. Instead, I was forced to stare into the eyes of a man, who was far more disturbing to look at than the cat probably would’ve been.

He had a ratty look to him— crooked teeth, untended whiskers, beady eyes, mussy hair, and skin that was tough and matted. As I looked at him, I wished that I couldn’t look at him. In that instance, I wished that I was blind as I had been before the door had opened.

That was possibly the only good thing that had come out of the door opening— while I had to stare and feel all of this ugliness, at least “I knew that this ugliness was the truth— not some conjuring that my head had built for me.

“What are you doing here?” the voice croaked, staring at my police uniform.

I could’ve sworn that I heard the sound of a gun being loaded as he said this, and I realized that I’d made a mistake in coming.

I suddenly wished that I had only come in plainclothes. It would’ve made things so much easier for me. In fact, I was beginning to sense that going around dressed up as an officer was perhaps my greatest weakness. It seemed that, in everything I did, there was somebody who looked upon my uniform in disgust. I couldn’t blame anybody who did. I would’ve done the same exact thing, Should I have been placed in the same situation. There was something to coming to houses dressed as a cop, in an area like this. Everybody looked at us as if we were the villains. Many places were robbed, and many people were arrested. Those who remained in this area had come to associate the police with the many friends that they’d lost. When I came to their door, dressed as I was, I represented that very thing to them— I represented all that they feared and resented. I was a monster.

“I am here,” I said, “to speak with Miss Margaret Rosemary. Is she here?”

“You’re here,” the man said, preparing to spit at me. “Why not, eh?”

He had a look of terror in his eyes, in spite of his fury. I could see that he was just as weak as I felt inside— maybe even more so.

“I only want to ask a few questions.”

“You’ve already asked, them…”

He stopped, to read the nametag on my suit.

“Sergeant Kyler,” he said, uttering my name with a strong sense of revulsion.

I grasped my collar with my finger. Even though I was drenched, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly hot on the doorstep. I was getting the feeling that my visit wasn’t going to work out in the slightest.

“I know that you’re planning to arrest me,” the man said, under his breath, Then, with a booming yell, “Just do what you’re going to do already! Cuff me! I don’t need to wait any longer! If you’re going to do what you’re going to do, then there’s no reason in making me wait for it! I’m not playing gmames1 I’m not interested in playing cat and mouse!”

“Neither am I,” I said. “You’re taking things into far higher proportions than they’re actually in. I’m not planning to hurt you in any way— I’m only here to speak with Miss Rosemary. Are you going to answer me, or not? That’s all I need to know, and once I know, our conversation will be over.”

I looked down at him, and watched him twitch in the struggle between giving his answer. I felt incredibly fearful when I looked at him. I didn’t know what to expect out of him. For all I knew, he was preparing to strike at me I would be helpless, if he chose to do so. Though, I also saw that he was just as afraid as I. This was probably the single thing that kept me standing there, at his doorstep. In spite of all the strangeness that was taking place.

“Fine!” he yelled. “She lives here on this floor, in the back room. But, if you do anything to hurt or trick any of us, then you’ll have made a big mistake. We’re not playing games here, with you officers. If you want to take us down, then you’ll have to do better than decide to come here all on your own.”

He made sure to give several quick glances at my arms— particularly my broken one—0 in order to drive his point in.

I suddenly realized that I’d walked into far more than I’d bargained to. If this was just a sample of the sort of people that I’d be dealing with, then the conversations would be a lot more straining than I possibly could’ve anticipated.

As the man stepped out of the way— still not bothering to give me his name, and with me not bothering to ask for it— I was tempted to ask for guidance. I didn’t know the building very well, and I had a feeling that I was going to get lost. The back room wasn’t a very specific instruction. However, a quick look back to him reminded me why I wasn’t going to dare to ask him. He had the fiery anger of a thousand suns within his eyes. The very idea of daring to keep trying to speak with him was one that put me into a daze— the beginning of the conversation had been terrible enough, and I was in no mood to go through the conversation a second time.

As I walked through the stuffy hall, I saw that there were two back rooms— one to the left, and one to the right. I had to assume that the man had been referring to the left back room, as that room appeared more abandoned and unused. But, I was honestly clueless.

There were only six rooms on this floor, but it felt like they were probably all half the size of what they’d been intended to be. Everything was so condensed that I hardly even felt as if I were actually walking through a single floor. Instead, it was like a sad excuse for a maze.

Everything was crumbling too. This wasn’t at all new to me. In fact, I pretty much expected all of this. The entire city seemed to have caught the virus of age, and there didn’t appear to be any avoiding it. Though, this floor took the cake. There wasn’t a single space that wasn’t covered in some kind od stain, mold, or hunk of missing plaster. It appeared to entirely lack any sort of maintenance. It even smelled terrible. Usually, buildings in the downtown area smelled bad— but this building was something different entirely. It was as if I was walking within a rotting tree.

My knuckles rapped against another door, and I found myself feeling the same terror that I had felt the first time that I’d knocked on the door— there was no telling what kind of person would come out of the room. However, just by judging everything else that was going one, I was starting to suspect that it wouldn’t be a person who would be very amiable.

“Who is it?” I heard the person on the other side of the door yell.

I instantly knew that it was Margaret Rosemary. However, I also instantly knew that she was not interested in my visit. The apparent annoyance coming from out of her throat spoke this, and much more to me.

“It’s Sergeant Kyler, of the CPD,” I said, in response.

I caught the woman’s eye staring through her peephole, before the door finally snapped with the sound of its locks being opened.

The door steadily swung open, in the same way that the original door had. Except, this time, I didn’t have to fear another cat jumping out at me. In fact, I was no longer caught amongst the concern of having to deal with rats either.

“What do you want?” she said, in the same way that the apartment building owner had. Thankfully, it took just one glance at her for me to tell that I wasn’t quite dealing with the same threat. Instead of having a desperate, ratty look to her, she appeared to be very clean— at least, when compared to everything else around her.

She was a fairly young woman, looking to be in her mid to late twenties. Though, she looked as if she’d seen a lot— her face was worn and tired, and her clothes had the same coarse look to them. Her hair was probably the only thing that looked to be abhorrent of the grimy nature that the rest of the building held. However, her hair was a jet black, so it was probably fairly easy for her to have been able to hide any dirt that might’ve been in it.

“Are you Miss Margaret Rosemary?”

“At the moment, I wish that I could say no.”

Her face was scrunched into a non-receptive scowl. I’d clearly pushed her to the edge, and she wasn’t entertaining my stay. Although, I wasn’t keen on entertaining her anger either, so I continued.

“Can I come in? I have a few questions for you, concerning a strange series of capers… I’d prefer to speak with you in private on these matters, since this is strict police business.”

“I’d prefer for you to not speak to me at all… It’s nearing night, and I was preparing to go to sleep.”

“I’m afraid that I can’t satisfy those wishes— you can wait for sleep. Right now, I have a few questions that I need to ask you…”

“Yes, I think that I’ve already figured that out… Since you want to so much, come in. But, you’re not going to be satisfied…”

I stepped into her doorway, only to be greeted by a massive stink of perfume. My eyes started to water, and I had to force myself to keep them under control.

“So…” she said, pulling up two cheap lawn chairs, and taking a seat in one. “What do you need to know so badly? I you think that I’m the one who’s been doing all of those capers, then I’ m afraid that you’ll be thoroughly disappointed. I’m no mastermind, I’m afraid… I f I was, then you probably would’ve never gotten to find me.”

“I’ve caught plenty of convicts ma’am. If you were one, I don’t think that I would’ve had that hard of a time… But, I don’t suspect you of anything at the moment, anyway.”

“I’d believe you, if it wasn’t for the fact that you police rarely ever get anything done. Though, let’s entertain the idea that you’re presenting to me for the moment… Why are you coming to me at all?”

“I need to know your story…” I said. “Eye-witness testimony might be terrible, but I’m in a cloud of eye-witness testimonies right now If that’s all that I can get, then I’m gladly taking it. I need to know what you know about the robberies that are going on, because you’re the next person that my sources have informed me of...”

“What sources?”

“I’d prefer to not expose them,” I said, taking a glance at her ceiling. The light above me was flickering, distracting me from talking. Cleary, it was a bad lightbulb that needed to be replaced— just like a lot of things in the apartment.

The place around me was so poorly built and occupied that it was almost hilarious.

“Now, enough with your questions,” I continued, trying to take the reins of the conversation. I think that we’ve chatted in circles long enough. You need to start giving me answers.”

“If you have the right to your questions, you should at least have the courtesy to give me the right to mine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “but., if you insist for me to give you answers, then fine. About a year ago, my house was robbed. I went inside to found the place completely ransacked… I didn’t know who did it, so I started running out my door to tell the apartment manager. But, some black figure knocked me to the floor before I could. I couldn’t get a good look at them and they left. That was it— that’s all I have to say. The robbery began and ended— it really isn’t that big of a deal. I can’t see why you’re so interested in something so trivial.”

I knew that she was lying. Jonah had told me that there was a lot more to the story than his own. I just needed to give her the right motivation to give me her story. Amongst the rain and the sleet of downtown, I knew that anybody was willing to do anything, should thwey be provided with enoughgh positive reinforcement.

“What occurred before the robbery took place? Any important events? Anything of note that you can think of?”

She scowled again.

“Who sent you here?” she asked. “and, why aren’t you leaving. I gave you the answer to your main question, didn’t I?”

I looked into her eyes, and returned the scowl. I wasn’t in the mood to play games, any more than the front-entrance manager had been. I could feel her willingness to give me the truth steadily grow. I knew that, if I pushed long and hard enough, I’d be able to get my much-needed answers from out of her.

“There are a lot of questions that I have. You should know that I can’t leave until I have all of the information that I need. Now, answer my question. What happened before the robbery, that might’ve caused it?”

Miss Rosemary looked down to the floor for a while, without giving a clear answer. I heard her mumble a few things, but I knew that she wasn’t speaking anything worthwhile. Rather, she was weighing her possibilities.

I’ll never be able to understand this part of interrogation. And, afterwards, I’m never fully able to tell if the person is ever telling the truth or not.

“You didn’t answer my question either,” she said. “Who sent you here?”

“Jonah,” I said. Felt my tongue sting as I said this…I knew that I’d betrayed Jonah’s trust, to degree. Though, I also knew that I’d had no other choice. “He told me his own story, and then told me that you’d have some answers. Though, I also saw your name somewhere else— it was written in graffiti, at an abandoned hospital wall. Those are two times that I’ve seen your name.”

I felt my breath heavy after having said this— an adrenaline rush, as well as a jolt of shock. I now partially understood the reluctance of everybody, in the interrogation position. The revealing of the truth didn’t feel as a very pleasant thing to do.

“Now, I’ve given you your answers…” I said, still groping for breath. “It’s your turn to give me yours… What happened before the robbery?”

I watched as Miss Rosemary’s face crunched up, and her eyes started to water. There was something that had changed in her, after I told her about her name on the hospital wall. It seemed to me that she knew something, which not even I had suspected.

“Fine!” she said. “Similar to Jonah’s story— if he told you his entire story— my house was robbed after a series of robberies occurring in a friend of mine’s house— my brother’s house, to be specific. He too, like Jonah’s friend, was in strange dealings. And, after his house had been vandalized and stolen from enough times, he disappeared… We held a funeral for him, and everything. The whole family was there, to mourn for him. He was way too young— younger than me, at about he ag twenty when he passed. I thought that he was truly gone, as well as everything that I’d known him for…

“My brother was a great man; from what I could tell. Very unsuccessful, and poor, but still a great man. He provided for our family when he needed to, he held a steady job— even if it paid him very little— and he seemed to deeply care about the whole family. There was never a day when I worried about him. Although, something shifted when was at the funeral… I realized that there were a lot more dimensions to him than I knew. A lot of his friends came to his funeral, and most of them were people that I’d never even met.”

She paused, to reposition herself in her chair. I saw that there was sweat on her forehead, and her lips had started to quiver. My question had had a far greater effect than I’d ever thought it would have.

“I’m probably getting into details that are too personal,” she said. “But, you asked… Anyway, after my brother’s funeral ceremony, my house was robbed. The dark figure was in my room, writing on everything, and making a mess of my stuff. The whole place was a complete mess, and I feared that the figure would take me away. I never actually went to tell anybody, nor did I say anything. Part of me thought that I was dreaming, and part of me thought that I was looking at my brother’s ghost. For some reason, even though the figure saw me, it didn’t leave either. It was as if it recognized that I wasn’t willing to alert anybody of its presence. Somewhere inside of it, it saw that I thought it to be harmless. It saw that I wasn’t any sort of threat. It was a supernatural being like no other, to be sure.

“Eventually, it finally left, making the terrible whirring sound that might come from an old motor. I had been reduced to a statue, but I forced myself to move. I found that the robber, whoever it was, had only vandalized the things that were sentimental to me. A lot of the items that traced back to my childhood were gone. Eventually, I had to wonder if the robber had known me. however, it hadn’t bothered to touch everything— just a few things. A few things, and my wall.

“on the wall, it wrote a message to me, warning me that my brother was still alive— warning me that, if I tried going to look for him, it would return— and, I wouldn’t make it out alive. Finally, the message scribed on the wall told me that I would have to start sending it money, and that I could tell nobody about what was going on— or else, it would find out, and it would return to spite me… I had this wall cleaned, and the manager never told anybody about it… But, it’s still engrained in my memory.”

She stopped again. But, this time it looked like there wasn’t a way for me to get her to talk again.

“This wasn’t’t the last time the shadowy robber came— is it?” I said, giving her a look of concern.

“No,” he said, her voice giving off an air of relcuctance. “Not even close.. The shadow robber followed through on its warning. It came back for the money, a week later. I remember all of my bones feeling llike gelatin, and my eyes not being able to move focus. The shadow actually spoke to me, this time around. And, it was one of the most terrifying things that I’ve ever heard in my life…”

“What did it say to you?” I ssked, in conern.

“It said many things,” she said. “It was always saying many things, from this part onward. IT toold me not to ask any questions about my brother— that I should only be worrying about myself from now on. The only thing tha tit was willing to tell me about my brother was that my brother was a cowardly, treacherous man. The shaodow also told me to give all my money away to it— this was something that I, regretfully, easily obliged to. The shadow was just so angry— overbearing too. I even tried to fight it at one point. But, it was as if it were oprepared for every sudden movement from me— as if it could reas my mind, and stop me from doing things before I was even willing to do them…”

I shivered myself. I knew exafctly what Margaret was talkling about. I knew it all too well.

One of my greatest problems with detective cases had always been the fact that I had a hard time relating with my clients. I don’t know why— but, throughout all of the interrogations, I could never really feel their pain— never really worry when they were worrying. It was probably always an effect of my stone heart, and a strong sense of removal. However, today, I realized just how close I was to everything that was going on— the fact that I was only mere steps away from habving become the very same thing that this woman was. I suddenly realized that I was no different from her. In learning so, I also realized that my only hope was listening to her.

“It sounds all too similar to the cases that I’m currently working on,” I said. “I definitely think that this is relevant to the topic at hand. How long did this keep on happening?”

I regretted asking this question. I started to regret asking all of my questions. Because, as she answered them, I would steadily begin to know the severity of the criminal that I was dealing with. And, I would steadily begin to see just how much clout they really had, without even my slightest awareness.

There was something else that haunted me. All of the people that were victims of this haunting vandalizer seemed to be people who had lost good friends. My thoughts instantly went out to — the only man who seemed to fit the description for me. It was a startling and unsettling notion, but I was starting to be forced to recognize that he probably wasn’t the great person that I’d wanted him to be.

“I would hope it doesn’t sound too similar…” she said. “I wouldn’t want anybody else to be going through the same exact things that I went through. There are other people who have gone through things that sound akin to what I’ve gone through. But, none of them quite match my extreme.

“To be honest, this has been going on nonstop, twice every month. I can never know when it’s coming each month. One time, it came twice within two days. I’ve told a few people about it… But, never within this room… I’m afraid that he’s always listening. I’m afraid that, somehow, someway, the shadow will eventually find out that I’ve spoken about it— I’m afraid that it will eventually find a way to make me repay, if I do.”

“You don’t have to worry…” I said. “I’m here to protect you from that happening. That’s the whole reason that you’re talking to me— so that we can finally get rid of this thing, and take them— or it— to prison.”

“Yes— well, I didn’t tell you the full truth… I actually have told somebody about what was going on, in this very room. However, that’s when I learned just how big of a threat that I was dealing with. When I escorted them out the hallway, and then returned to my room, I found a knife stuck in the place where I was sitting. There was a draft in the room as well. When I looked up, I saw the shadowy figure standing within the light of my window. And then, it left without a word.

“The only thing that I can say I was glad about, concerning the visit, was that the monster never dared speak to me. That was probably the only gift that I received. Because as much as I wished for it to talk at times, its words were only threats. Moreover, his voice was like the sound of iron being welded.”

I looked at the window after she said this, with a wariness. I swore that I could’ve seen something stalking through there, beyond its greasy screen. However, I also had to pass it off as a dream, because it disappeared as soon as I began to look after it.

“You honestly think that the only reason this shadow is after you is because it wants revenge over your brother’s actions?’ I asked.

“That’s the only reason that I can come up with…” she said.

We sat there for a moment, with me pondering about the ramifications about all of this— about just how much it had shifted what I was thinking about everything.

“I know that it’s been a while, so I don’t really expect accuracy. But, describe the shadowy man in the best and most accurate terms that you can.”

There was a pause when she didn’t say anything, and all that I heard was a sniffling. I felt a sudden sympathy for the poor girl. But, then Miss Margaret offered me a tissue, and I realized that the sniffling was my own.

“Yes, I suppose that I might as well give you as much information, however inaccurate it might be,” Margaret said. “Well, from what I can remember, the figure wasn’t particularly lightweight, or heavy. It seemed to balance somewhere in between. However, something that I did happen to notice was how unusually tall that it was. This was how I was able to see it, despite its efforts to hide itself in the shadows as much as it could. I never did get a good look at its face— but, I always smelled a sort of perfume whenever I was close to it. In fact, it was the perfume of a woman. I’m not sure if they were trying to mask their scent, if they were in fact a woman, or if here’s some other explanation. But, as far as I can tell, nothing of it can really be understood. It’s all just garbled information that I’ve managed to retrieve from the corners of my memories. Who knows— amongst all of my nightmares concerning it, some of my details might be slurred. I know that you might expect me to know more, but this person is simply too hard to measure. In fact, sometimes I wonder whether or not it could be different people each time, with all of them stalking me with the same information. It’s these sort of questions that keep me up at night.”

For a minute. I didn’t’ have any answers for her. I just scribbled down all of her descriptions, and hoped that I might be able to make something out of it. Although, the more that I thought upon it, the more that I realized it wasn’t something that I could rely upon at all. It began to appear to me that there was in fact multiple shadowy caper culprits. That, or there was a lapse in memory concerning all of the victims— including myself. There were so many varying descriptions— a short, heavy, womanly figure, a tall, normal weight, womanly figure a lightweight, tall, manly figure, and a short, heavy, manly figure. Though, none of this actually brought me any closer to a conclusion. Instead, it just made me wonder if there were any conclusion that I could draw at all.

Finally, I closed my notebook after reading, and re-reading everything that I’d put down. There was so much information. Yet, none of it seemed to be lining up.

I checked my watch, and saw that it was a quarter to seven. Then, I took a glance out the window— storm clouds hadn’t done the daylight any justice, and had made it look as if nighttime had already started its reign.

“At least it isn’t as late as I thought it was…” I muttered to myself. Then, with a louder voice, “Miss Rosemary, all of this is fine and good information. However, I now need you to show me where in the room that you’ve seen this shadow y figure. I need to know as much as I can in as short of time that I can— I have a tight schedule tonight that I really need to keep.”

Miss Rosemary didn’t seem too eager to comply, and squirmed in her seat before she got up— probably due to the fact that she was annoyed by my rushed manner.

“There was one spot where the intruder consistency like to hang around— it was my window. I’m not sure why, but they constantly found a comfort being there, often seeming to elicit the spirit that they felt the window was a sure escape for them. At other times, it would hang around my front door.”

She paused, and turned to gesture to the ceiling over the door. “Whoever it was, they must’ve been crazy. They’d crouch upon the thin ledge above my door, and a thin lightbulb in the ceiling, above my head. That way, if I ever tried to attack them, they’d have the ability to jump over me and leave. This month, I actually tried doing so with my broom, and ended up knocking them off balance. They landed on the floor with a hard thump, before finally deciding to leave.”

She then walked over to her desk.

“They’ve also hung around this area, whoever they were, sorting through my personal files and papers. This is probably why I despise them the most, and I feel that they really need to go. Now that they’ve gone through a lot of my personal belongings, I feel that the only logical course of action to take is to completely remove them from the equation.”

I nodded, in a placid agreement.

“Yes— this is all very terrible,” I said, studying all of the locations for anything that might’ve serviced my investigations. I found a strip of brown cloth near the window sill, a smattering of blood and dust remains on the carpet in front of Miss Rosemary’s door, and a few grubby fingerprints on Miss Rosemary’s desk. I figured that they were all from Miss Rosemary, and that the criminal had probably taken measures to wear gloves at all times, but I went to the trouble of collecting as many samples as I could anyway.

“Well, that should be good enough for now,” I said, taking one quick glance over her room. “I should probably stay to search the premises longer, but I really don’t have the time tonight. If there ever happens to be another one of these occurrences, make sure to tell me. Oh and also…”

I pulled a slip of paper, with my address on it, and gave it to her.

“Make sure to send me a letter if you have anything else you want to tell me about.”

Miss Rosemary nodded.

“Yes— Yes, I will…” she said. “But, what will I do, if you can’t find me— if something terrible happens to you?”

I grimaced, but knew that I’d had to answer her anyway.

“If that happens, then be prepared for the worst,” I said. “There’s only so much that I can promise—m only so much that I can do. However, I’m going to need you to be able to do this for me. You’re going to have to inspect the premises yourself, as well— tell me if you see anything in here that isn’t yours, and also send me a note containing the list of all the things that this man destroyed. I would love to stay here and jot down as many notes about it as I can. But, I really have to go.”

She frowned— although she’d been angered by my sudden visit to this place, she was now instead angered by my sudden decision to leave. “There’s no need to try leaving. WE still have plenty of time on our hands! Don’t go! What’s with the rush?”

I shook my head.

“I’ve spent too much time here already,” I said.

And, with that, I opened her flimsy door and left. I noticed her face as I left the room— a really sad sight to be, for certain. Though, I also noticed the flimsiness of the door— how easy it would’ve been for a very skilled individual to pick the knob’s lock, and break into the room. It was in focusing on this that I was able to ignore her, and leave for my studies. In fact, without this to guide me, and give me a sort of drive, I might’ve stayed. Thankfully, I didn’t.

As I hopped into my car, there was one other thing that consoled me as I left— one other bit of motivation I had, which gave me a sort of confidence— the fact that the entire place had smelled horrible.

“I just had to leave that place,” I chuckled to myself. “There was no other choice. If I’d stayed there any longer, I might’ve started smelling like the stuff.”

I later found that this joke wasn’t nearly as funny as my mind made it out to be. But, it seems to me that the mind loves making things out to be a lot funnier than they actually are, in the toughest moments of life. Leaving Miss Rosemary was something that I’d done in extreme reluctance. There was so much that I still had to talk to her about, and I could already feel the rocks of regret pounding down my back. It was probably going to be set back, due to my decision.

Though, I also knew that I was making another decision– one of which might’ve been able to be paid off thoroughly.

“I need to go meet,” I said to myself. And, I can’t afford to miss it. Not only that, but Detective Crusoe is coming to my house tonight as well— I’ve had plenty of experience with double dates in my time. Perhaps the greatest mistake concerning them is making the rookie decision to skip them over…

*

I pulled up to my apartment, and ran up to it, thirty minutes behind the designated time. My decision to go exploring downtown had been one that easily set me off.

Technically, I was actually an hour and a half behind my actual schedule. I’d planned to get dressed into my nicest outfits, and to clean up my house in the preparation of the coming guests. Yet, all of that time had slipped through my fingers now… In attempting to make a time for myself, I’d only begun to feel far worse about everything. I was so far behind, that I knew I’d have a hard time getting everything accomplished. It was all going to become a horrid mess, of which I would end up regretting, if I didn’t keep up rushing.

So without bothering to take my notes or anything out of the squad car, without bothering to park the squad car in the police station, I went to my house— nothing mattered to me anymore, except making sure that I was there on time, so that my two guests wouldn’t be coming to an empty house. I knew that I was going to be walking upon a thin rope as it was.

It was a daze on my way up into my apartment. By the time I’d shoved myself onto the other side of my apartment door, I could hardly remember any of the rushing that had led up to it.

I wiped the sweat off of my brow, and then placed my police jacket onto a coat rack next to my door. After that, I strolled up to my chair with a sense of ease and relief. In all of my rushing, I’d finally reached my goal. There was something satisfactory about that thought— the realization that all of your work has paid off, and that you’ll finally begin receiving the rewards for it.

I hit the floor, and I suddenly felt pricks of shock and surprise rip into my forearms, back, and chest. MY eyes scanned for what had happened, and then they met Crusoe— he’d been the one who knocked me to the floor.You would’ve been able to prepare for something like that, years ago,” Crusoe said. It was clearly Crusoe, no doubt in my mind.

“Yes, well you wouldn’t have exposed your voice so quickly, years ago. In fact, you would’ve made an attack that would be much harder to evade…”

“I suppose that we’ve both gotten old then…” Crusoe said. “Not that it matters. I have the upper hand here.”

“Come on,” I said, struggling to fight him off of me. “You know that I’m no threat, and I know that you’re no threat. Why don’t you get off of me, and start acting civilized?”

Crusoe laughed. His laugh had a loud, and haunting element to it— a sort of echo within it that made me feel deeply disconcerted.

“In all of our years of knowing each other, you should know that I’m not the type that’s civilized,” he said. “I don’t know what’s funnier. The fact that you didn’t acknowledge that, or the fact that you act is if I’m the sort who obliges to people’s pleas for me to stop. The very fact that I returned from my grave proves that I’m not limited by your foul wishes to put me under.”

He chuckled again, before getting off of me— clearly acting as if his words were said in light jest, and not meant to be taken seriously. Though, I couldn’t help but swallow every word that came out of his mouth. I don’t know— something didn’t feel quite right around him. And, the one phrase that particularly set me into a spiral of questions was him saying, “I returned from the grave.” I don’t know… I knew that he didn’t seem to be taking himself too seriously, but there was always a mystical element amongst Crusoe. And, I was no longer so certain that I was a man who was against the arts of mysticism— not after all of the strange things that I was constantly seeing, and everything that was going on around me.

“Yes,” I said. “I do remember the plunge you took— we all thought that you must’ve been dead afterwards.”

“I don’t know, “Crusoe said.

He’d stopped holding me down at this point, and was now standing in the shadows, far from where my eyes could see. I’m not sure what had changed his mind, but I’d clearly appealed to some sort of latent better nature from within him.

“Though, I don’t know how you’ve survived your growing heart condition, either….” He said.

I stood up, and brushed myself of, before hissing, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” Crusoe said. He’d now returned to his usual calculated self, and the very thought that he was capable of laughing seemed impossible. Though, it was perhaps better that way— his laugh was not one that I’d prefer to remember. “You’ve done quite a few strenuous exercises in the past month, and I’m sure that your ticker is starting to tick down to its last tick. You’ve been tumbling through too many mountains of stress. I have no doubt that this was why you gave up on all of your pursuits…”

“No…” I said. “I gave up on detective work for a little while because it wasn’t suiting me. You see, you don’t understand. There are too many encumbering cases… It’s all mounding on top of me, and there was a span when I thought that rest would be preferable to this. Of course, there was something that drew me back. In spite of the stress of the job, I realized that—.”

“There you go again— the stress of the job. I should’ve known that it was coming to you. Unlike I, you haven’t learned how to forget about all of the cares of other people in this business. You think for others too much, and are constantly focused on solving all of the other cases— never realizing that you’re sticking yourself into a trap. Your heart, mind, and body can’t take all of it.

“The irregular heartbeats, the constant sweating you have, the strain in your ability to move fast, your distaste for terror— all of it, and more, has added up to what I perceive to be your heart starting to fail. Tell me that I’m wrong. In fact, I’d love to hear that I’m wrong. It’s been quite a long time. But, I know that I’m right… and, you know it too.”

I didn’t want to hear any more of it. Even now, my chest thumped horribly, and I was aware of just how correct he was. My doctor was consistently warning me about my heart at every time I met with him— telling me to keep the stress down, to take things easy, and not to let my urges to run this stressful environment win. But, there was something within myself that wasn’t willing to listen to the doctor. I didn’t want to have to listen to Crusoe either.

“Bravo, you figured out the mystery, just like all the rest,” I said, with my eyes darting around the room so as to avoid Crusoe’s gaze. “You know, I always look to you to solve problems for me, and give me your results. But something that I hate about you is just how effective you are. One of these days, you need to figure out how to only give me the answers to the mysteries that I want to hear the answers to– I’d prefer not to know the mysteries within myself, as appealing as that may sound at first glance.

“Now, to the answers to the mystery that I actually brought you here for… You see, I’ve been dealing with a series of capers. A lot of people think that you’re guilty of them, but I’d prefer to think otherwise. However, I still need some answers from you— everything that you know. WE got off on the wrong foot, sure. But, I no longer think that it’s you who’s doing all of—.”

I stopped, mid-monologue. Off to the side of Crusoe’s shadow, I saw another shadow— the shadow of the burglar that I’d been dealing with so often.

“Crusoe, behind you!” I shouted.

Crusoe turned, and the other shadowy burglar turned with him.

“No… It’s not possible…” I heard Crusoe whisper, with shock.

The other shadowy burglar said nothing. Rather, it just stared, with the piercing glare that might come from a stalking wolf, or a preying owl.

“What’s wrong now?” I finally said to the shadow, after Crusoe and the shadow had stared for a while. “I thought that you were satisfied with your work— that you were done with me!”

There was a part of me that was deeply terrified. Not because the shadow was in my house, or that Crusoe even seemed scared. It was the fact that this shadow was looking at me, with a sort of knowing. It was as if it were trying to tell me that it knew what I had done with Miss Rosemary— and that it was waiting to strike.

I might not have had any basis for these thoughts, but this didn’t stop the continuous waves of terror from finding a way to crash upon the shores of my mind, and make me feel chronically helpless— forever entrenched in a loss.

I know you,” Crusoe said. “I’ve been chasing after you for months on end. What do you want now? After all this time, why have you finally decided to show up in front of me. You certainly have gone to a lot of trouble to ensure that I wasn’t here!”

That was one thing that did ease me. Despite the discomfort in the scenario, and that this shadow refused to talk, there was still the fact that the shadow and Crusoe were in the same room— the overwhelming fact that they were two spate entities. I no longer had to be concerned about whether or not Crusoe was guilty of the shadow’s crimes.

I only had to worry about whether or not he’d still be perceived as such.

“When are you going to talk?” Crusoe shouted, stalking away from the shadow in a sort of regretful disappointment and distress. “You can’t keep trying to hold yourself over me. I’m just as informed in the matters of mysteries, and stealth, as you are. You might think yourself to be the superior mind in this room, and that you can hide forever… But, you can’t.”

Something odd that I noticed was that, as Crusoe backed away, the shadow started to back away as well. The only thing I could presume was that the shadow was just as afraid of Crusoe as Crusoe was of the shadow.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I know how to take care of this guy… He isn’t a threat.”

I started charging towards the shadow, but I watched it dive away from me, prematurely— and, at the same time, Crusoe dived away from his spot, and into me, knocking me back onto the ground.

“I’m sorry about that,” Crusoe said. But, this being is incredibly dangerous. I’ve encountered it on multiple occasions, and it’s not one that you want to mess with. In fact, it will kill you if you give it the means to. I know that your arm is broken, and that me knocking you to the floor has probably lengthened it’s healing period. But, I need to do this on my own…”

There was a sudden laugh from the shadow, as Crusoe stood back up, and I crawled further away from it.

“I’m here for him,” the shadow said. “Sergeant Kyler has been digging his nose into places that are far too disgusting and vile of evidence against me— against me, and my enterprise. I can’t let him get by, without hearing my warning.”

I looked upon the shadow with a disturbing feeling of hatred— it was at such levels that I’d thought myself incapable of expressing, or feeling.

“You’re not going to stop me from continuing to explore what’s going on in this city,” I said. “I don’t care how many threats you throw around. The truth of the matter is, the longer that I leave you alone, the bigger influence that you’ll have. You expect me to let you continue to garner your influence, and take the city as your own? As long as I have the power to do so, I’m going to make sure that you fall. You already hurt Eddy Mulligan— I’m not letting you hurt anybody else that I know, without trying my best to put an end to your antics.”

“An awful lot of words, all used to little effect…” the shadow said, pacing back and forth.

The voice was probably just as disabling as the shadow’s presence. It was tinted with a sort of melancholy shade, which made me feel the most depressive periods in my life return to the labyrinth of my thoughts. It also had a mixture of a manly and womanly voice– it was incredibly neutral, with it being on the brink between discernment. The neutrality was one that was used to a harmfully alarming effect. I could no longer feel any assurance as I listened to it. In a way, being able to hear the voice had only scared me further. I’d used to have thought that its voice was its one weakness— that, when I heard it, the shadow’s humanity would be entirely exposed. But, instead, it only showed me just how much the shadow really had a hold of. It was this grip over everything that deeply jolted me.

“Crusoe, now!” I said.

Crusoe never came out, even with my beckoning. Wherever he was, he’d made sure to keep himself from out of my sight.

The shadow clucked its tongue in disappointment.

“Crusoe can’t hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. In this city, everything is a toy for me to play with. Everything is a ball of yarn, of which I can push around to my own wants and desires. There’s nothing here that’s sacred, or that’s capable of saving you. You see, even in everything that you’ve explored, you’ve gained virtually nothing.

“I’ve already shown you, once before, that you have no chance at besting me. Your arm will be a constant reminder. Do you wish for me to implant another reminder?”

“If it means that you spend another second to try besting me, rather than my city, then yes. I’ll take anything over my city becoming your stead.”

“It’s not a city, Kyler. Not in my eyes. This place is but a chunk of land, designated as a city… You might have the concept that there’s something about it that stretches beyond such... but, nothing that you can say will convince me otherwise….”

“Well, it is far more that what you act that it is…,” I said, desperately searching for some kind of point that I could make to put him in his place. “I’s way deeper than you might like to believe it to be, because the city is more than just a designated plot of land. IT’s the people that live within the city that makes the city into what it is. And, I’m not going to have you take that away from them. You can’t just come in here, and take the people’s rights away— terrorize them, without ever having to pay the consequences.”

The shadow laughed, again— it had become an obscene and absurd thing, in my eyes. If there was anything that took me out of my surroundings, it was the laugh of somebody who laughed at something that they weren’t supposed to laugh at— for the laugh to come from something that never laughs. It has always left me with an unnatural amount of squeamishness, which I’ve never been able to rid myself of dealing with.

“You can’t win this,” I continued. “You can’t run away from your ultimate vindication. You’re going to have to pay, eventually… In some form, or another.”

“The world is ambivalent to your code of ethics, Kyler…” the shadow said. I began to wonder where Crusoe was, amidst all of this. Deep down within myself, I was worried that he’d run away. Though, I still felt as if I could hear him, at some points during my conversation— he must’ve simply been lurking outside of my range of vision, looking for the perfect moment to act. “You act as if this city is the people‘s city.. But, is it really? All of the banks own the people, and all of the businesses own the people. Most of the people are wandering on the streets, and some of them have left to find work elsewhere. This entire city is a wreck, and you know it— we all know it. You better be prepared for the reality that, nothing is as ideal as you’d like to paint it out to be. The entire world is moving passed your mentality to see things in cherry-tinted lenses. You might want to believe that there’s a great hope for your city. But then, on what basis do you believe this...?

“This might be an odd proposition for me to make, but how would you like it if I called you the terrorizer? IO wouldn’t be lying if I did, you know. You are a hypocrite, to the nth degree, whether or not you wish to admit to such… I’ve watched and studied you in many ways, and you rarely ever act in ways that you should, as an officer. You infringe on other people’s rights all the time, especially in your attempt to solve this case. You’re intruding upon others, in the name of upholding the law. But, all that you’re upholding is your own ego.

“You can stand atop your pedestal all that you want, and declare that you know better than I... but, the fact of the matter is, you’re absolutely clueless, even in your search for clues. I pity you. And, no matter how many near-endless speeches I recite to you, I know that you’ll always remain ignorant to this truth. After all— you don’t care about the people, or how you might affect the… I mean— you do, but I know that you don’t… all that you really care about is getting the job done, regardless of the people that might be involved in accomplishing such a grand mission…”

“I shook my head, and prepared to speak against him, so that I might be able to correct him in his flawed thinking— but, I was interrupted when Crusoe jumped out from the dark, and crashed into the shadow y figure— surprisingly, when he did, I watched his hands clasp the shadowy burglar’s hands, in a perfect symmetry.

“You’re not going to keep this up any longer,” Crusoe said, with a growl. “As long as you’re under my watch, you’re going to be submitting to the laws of Chicago.”

The shadowy figure let out another laugh.

“How are you supposed to enforce the law upon somebody who you don’t even know the identity of? Surely you’re not so immature as to assume enforcing the law is as simple as pinning me to the ground, and using violent words and actions to strike fear into my heart?”

“While I might not be capable of enforcing the Chicago City laws, yes— that is my brand of law enforcement. If you don’t appreciate fear-mongering, maybe you should try to stop using it on others.”

As they said all of this, their arms remained locked, and my eyes remained locked upon them. I was entranced by them. It was watching a flock of birds fly south for the winter. The symmetry and organization, amidst the randomized madness, was something that I almost couldn’t wrap my mind around.

It looked as if they could’ve gone on for hours— but, they were interrupted from their heated arguing by the ringing of my doorbell.

“Who is that?” I heard Crusoe say with a grunt, as he still struggled to hold his own amidst the dark corner of my room.

“It’s Amelia Mulligan,” I said. “She’s the sister of Eddy Mulligan. I invited her to come and visit today…”

I heard Detective Crusoe moan in frustration— but, his moan was now far quieter, with him keeping in mind the new presence. And, the shadowy figure had quieted as well.

“It’s about time that the volume in here thinned down,” I said, waltzing to my door.

I found myself suddenly feeling lightened by the fact that they’d calmed down. It reminded me that, even in their grotesque and great amounts of influence, they were still human. They couldn’t act against such forces of nature as a friend dropping by, no matter how much they seemed to want to.

I opened my door, with an eccentric grin, after making sure that all of the lights in my house were turned off, save the ones in the kitchen. I knew that, no matter how long Amelia stayed at my house, the shadow would be watching, and Crusoe would be battling with the shadow. And so, I didn’t want them exposed— I knew that I needed to spare my guest.

As my door opened, I was greeted by the face of Amelia. She no longer looked anything like I’d once remembered her to be— granted, I didn’t remember her very well. Just like it had to me, age had stripped some amount of youth from her. Not only that, but the lighthearted joy was also gone. I could see in her face that she was incredibly weary, just like I was, and looking for a way to escape it all. She looked trapped inside herself, and as if she were looking for an escape route out.

“SO, I see that this is your house,” Amelia said, putting on a big smile. Then, she outstretched a hand. “If you haven’t figured it out already, I’m Amelia, by the way.”

She let out a laugh, and I did the same. There was a lasting awkwardness afterwards, but I was quickly able to do away with it by saying in response, “Yes, well that’s a shame… Because, I’m afraid that I’m not Mr. Kyler, if you haven’t already figured it out yet.”

I then stepped to the side, and let her walk in. I still held a pernicious fear that she’d be able to see Crusoe and the burglar hiding in the shadows— watching us, with a cold, hard gaze. Btu, thankfully, she never said a word— and so, I was never put into the position where I had to say a word either.

“I suppose that it’s been long enough,” Amelia said, with a wry chuckle. “It wouldn’t be wrong for you to stop calling yourself a completely different person, after all these years. After all, you’re extremely changed from those days— all of your ambitions gone. As well as most of the color in your hair.”

I would’ve frowned if it hadn’t been an old friend that I was talking to. While it had been so many years, and while I’d hardly ever known her, there was a strange sense that I was still able to catch up with her, in spite of all of this.

“Hmm…” I said. “Awfully brave words for somebody who doesn’t even know how to tell the difference between me and.”

Amelia laughed— there was so much laughing, but I wasn’t willing to let it stop. It was very infectious, in an almost cyclical way. One would bring it into being, and then it would become something overwhelmingly influential. I would want it to return the moment that it started to go away. So, even as it was odd and strange for me to be experiencing so much of it, I knew that there was a quality to the conversation that I wasn’t willing to let fall apart.

“Yes, well…” Amelia said. “Sometimes, you need to say things that nobody else will say. Isn’t that the sort of logic that you came up with, when you decided to become an officer?”

“It was a lot more than that,” I said. “At least— it’s become a lot more than that. It’s no longer just about doing the job that nobody else will… I can see that there are plenty of people at this time who would easily trade my job over their current position. Instead, it’s about making this city and the world a better place…”

“Hmm…” Amelia said, studying my apartment. “After twenty years, it seems like making the city, ‘a better place’, doesn’t pay very well.”

Then, she looked at the back of the room, where Crusoe was— there was a long moment where she stopped to stare, as if she’d seen something. However, just as quickly as she was willing to do this, she turned away. It seemed that she didn’t really care— all of my worries about her having seen the shadowy figure was but in my head. “It also has bad lights?” she asked. “Or, are you just one of those cheapskates who can’t keep a light on without feeling that you’re wasting money?”

I smiled, nervously.

“You, and all of the hard questions,” I said, fingering my wrist. “To be honest, I don’t know. Maybe a mixture of both? I just don’t like it here, in the light. It can get so lonely— you know? I’ve always thought that it was easier to pretend that there was something there, in the darkness, than it was for me to stare into the emptiness, exposed by the light.”

I then stopped to pause, and reflect.

“That, and I’m a slob who doesn’t like to have to look at his own messes,” I said. “Trust me— if those lights worked, you’d see a whole mess hidden in there.”

Amelia grinned.

“Well, I guess that I won’t bother with it then.”

She then walked into my kitchen area— a very sparse area, furnished with only a gas-oven and a countertop. It was a big joke, considering all of the restaurants in town. For a moment, I even considered asking her to go to one. I knew that it would’ve been far easier than trying to skate by on the little space that I had, hoping that she wouldn’t come across my visitors.

“It’s pretty quaint,” she said. “For the city, anyway. What have you been doing all these years, that left you like this?”

“Like what,” I said, gesturing to the room around me. “This place is a dream… Are you honestly going to act as if I’m not living the dream...?”

I couldn’t help but find myself holding back a laughing, even as I put on this show. Clearly, my place was a wreck. Even as I spoke, I watched plaster crack, and start to hang from the ceiling.”

“Yes…” Amelia said, still unimpressed— and, returning my sarcasm. “I am suggesting that. Now, how could such a successful officer as you end up in a dump like this?”

I grinned.

“Dump is a strong word… I agree that this place is a mess. But, there is a rustic charm to it, and even you can’t deny it.”

“The whole building will be leveled within twenty years— I can bet on that. Anyway, since you don’t seem willing to talk, I might as well update you on how things are going on in my life.”

“I always thought that it was the courteous thing to wait until somebody asked you, first…” I said.

“Yes…” she said. “Well, when you start to catch on that the other person isn’t going to do the courteous thing, then it’s often time to take matters into your own hands, I’m afraid…”

There was nothing that I could say to that in response, no matter how much I racked my wit.

“You win; I guess…” I said, waving the flag of surrender. “I might as well have the courtesy of doing that.”

“I’m sure that you could do a lot more, if you tried. But, I guess that I’ll be satisfied with that.”

She looked around my decrepit apartment once again, and found my kitchen table. Hastily, she stole a seat there, and beckoned me to join her. I felt tempted to deny her of this— I could feel Crusoe calling out to me, telling me that I had to figure out a way to make her leave. But, I was simply unwilling to… Not only was there the problem with the fact that Amelia was already here, and that I couldn’t afford to have bad blood with her while she was grieving over her brother’s loss. There was something more— a selfish motive. I felt that, no matter how much Crusoe might’ve wished it to be otherwise, I was tired of fighting. I couldn’t stand the thought of having to withstand another one of Crusoe’s insane brawls, without having my head spinning back upon the floor.

“Sorry Crusoe…” I found myself whispering, with a regret that I hadn’t thought would be there.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat so as to make sure Crusoe could hear my decision of loyalties loud and clear— I’d chosen Amelia’s company over his. “How much has really happened in the span since we last met?”

“Considering that we hardly knew each other, in the past, quite more than you might think… I moved out of Chicago, as I’m sure that you already know. I went out of the city in order to find a quieter life, that wasn’t so overrun by the stress that was within the city. My brother, of course, never did see the reasoning in their logic— he claimed that it was stupid of me to go out of the city, and that the city was where all of the wealth was at… I tried my best to give him all of my arguments for why I was leaving— lower population density, which offered better job security. There was also the potential to make close friends easier, since you’d be around people a lot more in the quainter parts of town. There would be a better closeness to nature. And, of course, there would no longer be the constant sound of car engines roving all over the place.

“While all of this had been enough to convince me that leaving the city was a good idea, he never was so convinced… I guess he needed more proof that it was really as good as it was made out to be. Not only that, but he was comfortable in the business that he was making...”

Amelia suddenly paused.

“This might be a very personal discussion, towards somebody that I hardly know,” Amelia said. “But then, I need to tell somebody about this... I don’t know, but I just don’t feel like I can keep everything inside anymore… Not after his death…”

I leaned back in my chair, with an ease.

“Yes, well… I speak to complete strangers all the time, and get all sorts of personal stories out of them. Trust me— none of this is news to me, in spite of the fact that it really should be.”

I would’ve hoped that my words would’ve gotten across with the same ease that I had spoken them with— but, there were several bangs and crashes resounding from the area where I’d left Crusoe and the shadowy robber.

“I knew that I shouldn’t have left them there, alone…” I growled to myself.

However, I was angrier at the situation, than anything else. Everything seemed to be in a perfect arrangement, with I and Amelia suddenly starting to bond over something that both of us had been bursting to let go of— and now, that moment was being stripped away.

I found myself having to restrain a scowl— I was unwilling to let myself become exposed.

“What was that?” Amelia said.

“Oh, just another example of how cheap this place is…” I said, in response. However, the response was probably just as cheap as I was making my apartment out to be. “The maintenance here just isn’t as good as it used to be— there are all sorts of things that are constantly falling over. That’s why I left that section in the dark— it’s honestly too much of an eye-sore for company…”

Amelia looked skeptical, but stopped further questioning— even as the bangs continued. Having the grace of a bird landing into its nest, a sort of bonding trust had come between them. In a way, to outmoded all other things that dared bring my words into question.

“Yes…” Amelia said, looking like she was now no longer to finish her past conversation. Instead, her eyes started to wander, clearly looking for ways to change the subject. “My old house isn’t the nicest of abodes. Back in my small town, down in one of the southernmost parts of Ohio, my home is one of the humbler kinds. I’m sure you remember the sort of houses that I used to say I wanted to live in, when I was younger— the sort of house with nice hard, wooden floors, and a sturdy build— the sort of house that was built by the hands of a select group, who gave care into building it, rather than a contracted cluster of workers who only were looking to build a big enough square.

“I guess you can say that I got that house… It isn’t the castle that I might’ve wanted it to be, and it definitely isn’t perfect. But, you know— it has a sort of quiet charm to it. It’s open about itself, giving off a quaint personality. And, in a time when everything feels so questionable, it’s nice for me to sometimes feel as if there’s something that’s non-objectionable…”

I placed my hands behind my back, to stretch and let myself breathe. I could still here the sound of Crusoe and the Shadowy burglar fighting— however, it steadily disappeared, after the sound of breaking glass— drifting out of my apartment, and into the streets below. While I could tell that Amelia was concerned, all that I could feel was the complete baptizing of relief, coating over my entire body.

“Yes,” I said. “It is nice to know when everything is as it should be— when there are no more mysteries, or secrets to hide…” I said. Then, with a reddening face, “To be frank, I don’t actually remember much of what you told me when we were younger. I typically ignored you, in favor of Eddy Mulligan. You were always a sort of baggage– the person you’d always ignore.”

“Ha,” Amelia said, half-heartedly. “Well, that’s comforting… all those visits, and you hardly even remember me?”

“It was over thirty years ago,” I said, tasting the sting of age on my tongue as I said it. “It hate to have to acknowledge that… But then, I hate to have to acknowledge how much of an arrogant fool I was back then too. There’s a part of me— perhaps a part of all of us— who prefer to renounce our failings, in favor of shifting the burden onto the grip of age.”

I smirked, but Amelia didn’t return it— she clearly wasn’t enamored by my sense of humor. Perhaps being an officer had detached me a bit from what others found to be funny

“I suppose you’re right...” said Amelia. “It’s really strange for me to think that, something so important to me, might be so irrelevant to you. As time goes on, we think that the words that we’ve said, and that the thoughts that have passed through our minds, are all thoughts and words that ware unique and innate to us. But, there’s nothing quite as unique to them as we might like to make ourselves believe… Do you understand where I’m coming from?

“I probably talk too much when concerning topics of memory— especially due to how touchy I’ve been on my memory, lately… But, there’s simply a sort of majestic art to being able to look back into your thoughts, and recall all of the things that you once found important— watching the clock strike down to midnight, right before new years’ day… The first time you ride your bike… The first day that you step out of the house. All of these moments are so monumental to me. And yet— it’s such a thought to think that none of it might matter at all.”

I scrunched my face in confusion for a moment. I had a hard time grasping how Amelia might’ve been able to turn the conversation from something as harmless as her house, to the concept of how are memories make us who we are— and that who we are aren’t necessarily as connected to the rest of the world, as we might like ourselves to be.

Though, then I realized that Amelia’s words weren’t her words at all. Rather, she was instead speaking out of a clearly latent grief— a depression that she was probably unwilling to reference, up until this point.

“Yeah, I suppose that I can see where you’re coming from,” I said, trying to measure my words correctly, so that they might not have a sting to them. “But— it’s not so desperate of a situation that you’re making it out to be. Life is but a relative exercise— stuck in between the confines of what we can observe. While this might not be the most comforting thought, it’s the truth…”

I paused again. I felt my mouth come into itself, with my dry-chapped lips, rubbing against each other— with my skin chafing against the cheap fabric of my clothes. I felt my hair stand on end, as I felt the fear of messing everything up, and saying the wrong thing. And— I felt my heart thump rapidly, out of a sort of empathy.

Yet, even in these extreme sensations, I was the only one who was experiencing it.

“You know, Amelia… That clock, on New Years’ Day, was clocking down at a different rate from every other clock. No matter how slight the difference, every clock runs differently. The experiences that we have— all the observations that we make— might be stuck with us, and forever removed from everybody else. But, then we still have the ability to connect with one another. We still have the ability to spread our ideas around. And, as long as we’re able to have our own unique observations, that should be something that we find a joy within. Because, we won’t be able to observe forever. And, the observations we make are one in billions— there will never be another one quite like ours, and nobody else is going to experience it for us. Therefore, we need to make the most of the memories that we do have, and share them for as long as we have…

“I’m sure that you’re upset at Eddy’s passing…. I have too. As a man who bases his life upon the observation of facts, and the enforcing of human-designed stipulations, I often find myself trapped in a box… I think that everything matters about the facts that we find, and the things that we understand. But, the things that we don’t understand are just as important too…

“I know that your sadness might be borne out of Eddy’s passing. But, there’s one thing that I find cheers me up, in the face of it all. Whatever Eddy gave to me, I still have— and, what he gave to me will influence the way that I live my life, however slight this influence may be. In a way, Eddy changed everybody in Chicago— because, even the slightest of changes is still a change. And, wherever Eddy might be now, it doesn’t sanction any need to be upset. Something that I’ve found is that, in spite of our wish to be upset about somebody’s passing, we should be happy about the life that they left— the people that they were. Because, that’s all that can ever really matter to us. We might not understand what happens after Eddy’s death— maybe nothing, and maybe an eternity of something else. We never know, nor can we ever hope to know…”

I stopped, and then thought back to Crusoe— choosing Amelia and Eddy over focusing on him, and the oversized pursuits that my career was compelling me to follow.

“Well, maybe we can hope to know… That’s perhaps the greatest beauty in this. Despite the fact that we can never know, we’re still provided of something better, in the face of not knowing— a constant state of hoping to know. In this way, we can always have something to hope for, even within what might appear to be the end. Because, the end of something can always be the beginning of something else. Despite the fact that Eddy is gone doesn’t mean that he’s gone… In fact, his passing might be the brink of turning us to see something new.”

I thought that I saw a tear in Amelia— but, she quickly rolled her eyes.

“Are you done yet?” she asked.

I looked out the window, trying to grin in the face of the weight in everything I said. Amelia might’ve seen everything in a lighter way— and, I knew that I should’ve been able to, too. But, for some reason, I just couldn’t. Even after everything I said, happiness still escaped me. I felt the need to keep looking onward— looking for the answers that I could never seem to find. For some reason, the feeling of joy was one that was constantly hiding its face.

“Yes… I’m done…” I said, hoping that my fraudulent smile was convincing enough.

“It was a beautiful speech,” Amelia said with a yawn. “But, I didn’t come here for speeches, Kyler. Instead of constantly hearing your head, one of these days I want to hear your heart. Anyway, this was a nice talk. I hope to come back soon— there are a lot of things that I wanted to discuss about the funeral, tonight— but, I really need to get to bed.”

She stood up, and began to walk towards the door out of my apartment. For a little while, I found myself harnessing a sort of regret for having tarnished the opportunity to make a reconnection with her. She was an old friend of mine— even if it was more on an acquaintance level. I found myself jolted when I started to realize that I’d been the entire reason that she’d decided to leave. It was in my dark speech, and in my attacks towards the sinking jaws of depression, that I’d driven her away. It was all of my doing. And, the more that I thought of this, the m ore that I regretted having not spoken her in the way that I used to be able to speak— the old casualness of conversation that I’d long abandoned, and was still heavily thirsting after….

The odor clicked shut, but I couldn’t hear it. Not even as I locked my door could I hear the sound of me locking my door. Instead, I heard the sound of my apartment’s emptiness— the fact that, despite all of the guests that I’d invited for the night, I was truly and utterly alone. Somehow, I’d managed to utterly wipe away every chance that I had at socialization. I’d completely bashed every opportunity out the door.

“Why…” I said to myself— partially to break the silence that was encroaching upon my spirit. As I said it, it wasn’t even quite a question— nor was it a statement. AS I thought about why I’d even bothered saying the word, I didn’t know the answer— other than the fact that I wanted to hear my own choice, as all other voices dissipated.

Perhaps the greatest fear of anybody is being truly and utterly isolated— being forgotten, and left in the dust. The complete abandonment by society— by your own mind’s wishes and dreams. Whenever such happens, one must face the facts of life— the fact that, in the end, this will be how it will feel. It will be the utter loneliness. It will be the rottenness in having been forgotten. As your body joins the countless other bodies in the grave, one wonders if they’ll become indistinguishable from them. This grim question that harbors the mind in the visage of the reaper. Though, this question isn’t anywhere near the worst. The worst part is, you’ll eventually have to acknowledge that it isn’t a question it all. The question is in fact the answer to itself.

“Why?” I asked. “I was so happy…. Nothing felt like anything could go wrong. I was doing everything right. And yet— I feel like I did something so wrong… I just can’t explain what’s going on.”

This was an ever greater phenomenon of upsetting facts— I didn’t know what was going on, or quite understand. OI was choosing between two sides of myself— the nature of cordiality and conversation, which I had begun to abandon, and the nature of calculation— of rock solid thinking. Both were threatening to swallow me whole. The real trick was figuring out which I wanted to be swallowed by.

“AS much as I want Eddy’s death to be one that’s great, and monumental— a death that m makes me feel driven to live a life like him… I actually feel that Eddy was not the man that I should be looking up to… The more that I think about him the more that I realize just how corrupt of a person that he might’ve been He was likely a friend of the shadowy burglar, having gotten himself into the darkest parts of the criminal element…”

I stopped myself, before I could let my words get out the ultimate statement that they were bordering upon. Instead, I only let myself think them— the words were too disgusting to me for myself to let my tongue enunciate them.

After all the years that Eddy lived, I thought. And even after the4 friendships that he made… I’m starting to think that nothing he did in life was anything of great effect. He was not necessarily a good man. And, his death very well might’ve been more benefit to society than harm… What if, in my death, the world will see things the same way? What if it all continues on without me? What if nothing I do will ever really matter, in the grand scheme of things? The more that I look out into the distance, and weigh the scope of everything, it’s not nearly as promising of a scheme as I once thought it to be. In fact, all that I see before me is a devastating mess that appears to b e a near impossible clean-up. I become more and more aware that the word. And my fate after it fades from my eyes, isn’t as grand as I’d like it to be…. And, if this is so, does any of my thoughts towards the world really matter? Somehow, I’m starting to think that it doesn’t…

I managed to stop myself from continuing down my path of nihilism. I tried to tell myself that it had only been birthed out of the terrible direction of the conversation between myself and Amelia Mulligan. This, of course, was but a thin cloth that I pulled over the eyes of my mind— it wasn’t convincing, in the slightest. It was all birthed from the reminder of Eddy Mulligan’s death. But, then, it was also the very thing that I need to convince myself to get out of this train of thought. And, for that, I still greatly appreciate it for what it did.

“Hey, Crusoe,” I shouted, looking around the room of my apartment. You still in here? I know that it might look like I blew you off in favor of Amelia— but I promise that it’s not what it looks like. It was all just a big flub on my part. I thought that you would be able to handle the shadowy burglar on your own.”

If Crusoe was in the room, he revealed that he wasn’t interested in talking to me anymore. I had exhausted our relationship trust, once again.

“Well then…” I said to myself. “Clearly, I need to schedule these things a lot better…. And here I was, thinking that this would be a simple and peaceful night. “

I turned my light back on in the house, and was forced to confront the mess that was hiding in the darkness. It looked that I hadn’t lied to Amelia about the mess quite as much as I’d thought I did. The entire space was covered in broken glass, strewn about clothes, my bed sheets all torn up, and other various possessions that had been either damaged or thrown onto the ground as if they were nothing more than bits of dust, covering the span of a beach-front.

“Crusoe definitely still has his fighting spirit… I said, sarcastically.

On the ground, I also found a few blood stains, and bits of hair— the brawly between the two figures had been far more vicious than I had even suspected, and I began to wonder how it was that they never shouted, or even let out so much as a grunt, during my entire time with Amelia.

“Clearly, these two, are far more skilled than me…” I found myself saying.

There was one bit of the artifacts left from the fight that confused me, though. There were bits of mirror glass all over the floor— utterly busted. But, when I looked over to where my mirror was, I found that it was undamaged, and without blemish. Somehow, they’d broken a mirror like object— I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Oh well… I guess that I’ll be stuck wondering until I need it,” I said to myself. “No use worrying now.”

There were one things that still concerned me, outside the mess of this room. The shadowy burglar had been capable of doing all of this. And yet, I wasn’t quite sure about what else it might be able to do. Uncomfortably, I realized that a being as capable as this one could do just about anything, undetected— and, to devastating effects.

Immediately, my thoughts turned back to Margaret Rosemary, whom had been terrorized by this figure in the past. From what I can tell, the figure knew that she talked, And, my trust was starting to slip in this figure’s seeming restraint. If there was anything that I’d learned about it tonight, it was that there were few things that it actually expressed as being sacred to it. If there was something in its way, it seemed that it would be all too willing to rid itself of it.

It was all too engrossing, and the fears too frequent for me to focus on it too much, But, as I tried to go to sleep for the night, I realized something dark, that I’d since been trying to avoid. If Margret Rosemary met any sort of harm because of my visit, it would all be weighing on me.

Not only that, but Eddy’s death was also weighing upon me. The burglar had a vendetta towards the friends of his victims… I was within that category. Without Crusoe’s help, I was hopeless.

“Yes…” I said, trying my best to use these thoughts as a comfort. “I just need Crusoe’s help. And then, everything will be made clear.”

*

The map of crimes was so shifty and confusing that I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever hit an end. Another robbery had occurred as I was sleeping, and this time it had hit the house of the Mayor.

“As if I didn’t already have enough on my plate,” I found myself grumbling as I sat at my desk in my department office.

This time around, Jackson had decided to omit me from the investigation. HE said that my findings hadn’t been of any use last time around, and that I needed to stay where I was needed most— at the department, studying my current cases.

In the meantime, I’d given Jackson some of the testimonies that I’d gained, as well as inform him that I would need to take a day off within a week, because of Eddy Mulligan’s upcoming funeral.

Jackson seemed receptive enough. He still had his slyly obnoxious sarcasm, and his passive-aggressive remarks to give out— I swear that his pale skin only turns to a ghastlier shade of white as he talks to me— but, he had the kindness to give me the day off, and actually congratulate me on my findings. I’m not sure how sincere either of these acts were, but I couldn’t help but gain a sense of comradery as he did so.

In spite of his kindness, I still wasn’t willing to give his orders the time of day. Though I was hard at work trying to unweave my entanglement of facts in my office, I felt that I needed to go to the crime-scene— even if Jackson’s every word had decided to go against it.

In the meantime, however, I was stuck philosophizing over what all of my evidence meant… After the night before, I now knew that Crusoe and the shadowy burglar were different people. Not only that, but I was starting to suspect that the burglar was a group of several people, all of whom had a similar goal of screwing with people’s minds, and bringing a sense of judgement upon people.

I despised this thought, but there was one other thing that I’d noticed, in my studies. Eddy Mulligan was poised to having been a criminal– something that I deeply rejected. Not only that, but Crusoe still wasn’t the clean-cut man that I might’ve liked him to be. From just about everything that I could tell, he was fighting the burglar just like me. However, for him to have discovered the burglar, I think that he should’ve had to do something against the burglar— to have dealt in things that he wasn’t meant to deal in.

For the most part, though, my questions all still remained. I was only a bit closer to a few answers— but, there wasn’t anything of use that I truly knew for certain.

“Oh…” I said to myself, with a bit of a forlorn tone to my voice. “If only things could be made clearer… If only it wasn’t a consistent question.

I wanted to laugh, cry, smile, or frown… But, I couldn’t get myself to express any of my emotions. In a way, the burglar had measured everything in order to make sure that I was emotionally inert, throughout it all. This was probably their greatest talent— being able to make my emotions fall away, while simultaneously making me feel more pain than I’d ever felt before.

“They can torture me and give me joy at the same time… I guess that I should give them credit for something,” I thought to myself.

Oddly, I wasn’t entirely disoriented by all of this, like I should’ve been. I had a way to wipe all of my fears and concerns away, as if they were all trivial matters— matters of which there was no importance. I felt my goals steadily turn back to figuring out the answers to the map that was building around me.

“Maybe the differing accounts of the shadow aren’t really so different as I might like them to be,” I suddenly thought to myself. “Perhaps the differing accounts are spawned from something far darker, and more nefarious, instead… The falsehoods of memory. After all, eye-witness accounts are never what they seem to be. I need a picture— some sort of way to monitor what’s going on with this shadow…”

After saying all of this, I made sure to stop talking, and look around the room. Then, I switched from my audible voice to my simple thoughts. I realize that the shadow might be watching me from anywhere, and that there was no real way for me to tell whether I was being watched or not. I had to retreat to the recesses of my brain in order to ensure that the thoughts that my brain was creating weren’t infiltrated by any outside influences.

I couldn’t help but feel the driving nail of the thoughts outside of me… They were far too effective for me to ignore. I saw that, the only way to ensure that I knew more about the shadow would be to full gain some solid evidence— evidence of which couldn’t be denied.

I already have some of my own observations, I thought to myself. If this criminal is actually anything like he seems to be from my memory, then he— or they, for that matter— must have a relatively light body, and a thin build. That’s the only way that they’d be able to run so fast, hide so well, and jump from place to place, unnoticed… In fact, even from my memory I can recall the shadow seeming to have a thinner build than that of Crusoe.

But then, it will also need to have a very high height in order to make up for this lightness. They’ve knocked my down on multiple occasions, and even broken my arm. Something that I begin to see abut this is that it usually does so through knocking me to the ground. The only way that they could do such a thing, while still being lightweight, is by having a tall build that gives them a bigger leverage in combat. After all— I’ve rarely ever had a moment where I’ve been bested by them in direct combat. In fact, it seems to me that the only way they’ve beaten me is through a form of misdirection—making me think that they were in places that they weren’t. Their way of overcoming me isn’t through any sort of brute strength, but a brutish strategy instead…

It was at this point when I felt myself beginning to reach several different crossroads.

The one issue with it all is that Crusoe seemed to have a struggle battling them, with it having lasted nearly five minutes… I saw them, and it didn’t seem like they would let up. Even during my conversation with Amelia, there seemed to be a persistent battel for quite a while. If this figure truly didn’t have any sort of strength, then they surely wouldn’t have been able to outmatch Crusoe.

My mind suddenly stopped when I came to a shocking possibility.

Or, maybe Crusoe isn’t quite as skilled as I’d like to think he is—n perhaps the years have worn him down a lot more than I’d like to believe… This is an uncomfortable notion… but then, there’s rarely a time when I come across a notion concerning these things that are particularly pleasing to hear…

I was only conjecturing though. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to formulate a clear picture of what was going on with the shadow, or Crusoe, until I had some clear documentation of them. It was at this point that I began strategizing a few ideas. I realized that Margaret Rosemary was about to become a prime target, if she hadn’t already— I still needed to check to make sure that she hadn’t been made into the shadow’s newest victim, in the middle of the night. If so, then the shadow would be back soon…. I just needed to build a way for it all to be captured, and studied— I would have to give her some sort of camera, so that the shadow could be caught on film. It was the only way that any of this would begin to unravel.

“That’s perhaps the single-greatest thing that I’ve learned in all of my years as an officer…” I told myself. “The only way that you can ever dissect the mystery out of something is by removing its ability to be a mystery altogether— by dissecting it from the world of the supernatural, and placing it back into the world of the natural.”

I then opened my notebook, and looked back to all of the names that I’d written down. There were two other people that I needed to track. I felt tempted to go back to Jonah’s shop, and ask about them— but then, I knew that I wouldn’t get the answers that I needed.

“Research…” I told myself. “The grimy coals of research are the only things that I can use to light up this steam engine...”

I spun around in my chair, and turned to my phonebook— perhaps the most important object of my investigations. In all of my career, it was probably the only tool that hadn’t failed me. all of the names within it were so perfectly updated and kept together, that I knew I wouldn’t be failed.

“I just have to hope that the ink isn’t runny,” I said. “That, and I have to hope that there aren’t too many people of the same name.”

*

Thunder crashed overtop of me, and forced me to listen as it pelted raindrops at the roof of my car. I hadn’t done anything to antagonize the weather, but the thunder didn’t seem to care. It rained down on me, sending down fleet after fleet of depressing sleet— making me want to shove my face into the concrete. I felt as its languid liquids lingered on my brow— in a way, it made me feel one with the waters, and the dashing of lightning that raged on. Though, this was of no comfort to me– rather, it only showed me my frailty, in comparison with everything else that surrounded me. The thunder shouted, with the force that a furious Coney Island magician wouldn’t have even been able to conjure…

Each time that my tires splashed a wave of slush onto the sidewalk, the thunder roared again. In a way, I almost felt as if it was warning it. It steadily became louder and louder— so tremulous that my entire body, as well as the floor of my car, quaked amidst its tremulous power I’d never quite felt a storm like this— somehow, even in the office of my police department where I was exposed to open windows, this storm had found a way to creep up on me. Without me even noticing, it had overtaken the city— it had overtaken me.

In a sense, this was no shock to me— an ironic statement, considering that lightning is perhaps the most shocking thing I know. In everything that I’d been experiencing, I was exposed to far too much of this sort of thing— the seemingly idle threat creeping up, and subsequently conquering. At this point, it came as no surprise to me. In fact, I’d been expecting it— I was always expecting to be thrown off guard

Something that I must admit, however, is that the sensation of being thrown off guard was steadily becoming more exhausting. It was like the task of trying to drive a car for hours. While it’s not all that strenuous a task, and while one usually knows where they’re going, there’s still a point where all senses of navigation and tact start to cease. Even when somebody knows that things will eventually get brighter, and that they’ll soon find themselves on the other side, it’s still a struggle.

This might help explain something else that was going on inside of me. This storm had elicited a new sense from within me. At this point, I’d grown sick of driving to crime scenes. It’s funny to think this, but it’s too true.

There are only so many times that you can sit upon the leather seat of the squad car, shove a rusty key into the car’s ignition, and drive off onto the dark asphalt road, before it all begins to become a worn tedium.

I’ll reiterate this though: there’s still a funny aspect to me feeling this way.

When I first got in the squad car, and rode to a crime scene, I can’t deny that I had a thrill flying through my gut. Granted, it was a reserved thrill— it had the solemnity that you might find within a priest to it, since it was still a crime that I was dealing with. But then, the childish thrill and excitement was still there, and I’m afraid that I simply can’t deny it. I think that I even once remember saying to myself that the joy in my job would never go away— that the great feelings I felt when helping people would never be something that I’d give up, or throw aside.

That’s where I was wrong. There’s only so long that you can go in life before you begin to feel tired of it— tired, and worn. I eventually discovered that the greatness in the career of enforcing the law didn’t have the glamor that I might’ve initially thought that it did. The movies tricked me, really good… Man, do I hate the movies.

It’s a rare time when you’re overloaded with crimes. And when you are overloaded with them, it’s never something that gives you a sense of satisfaction. Instead, you feel like you’re being stretched too thin. After all— even a single crime can be a matter with extreme extraneous weight to it. It requires so much effort, and attention to solve. It’s usually by a fluke that you’re able to solve it, and find the guilty party, and it typically requires multiple crimes, in order to fully formulate a pattern. But then, with multiple crimes, your problems are also just as compounded as they are simplified. There are far too many things to take note of, and far too little a number of things that are actually easy to understand. This partially comes as a relief to me at times— the fact that I have an excuse when things don’t go as planned. But then, most of the general public doesn’t see it this way… Us officers are far too slow to find the answers to crimes, and they oftentimes go completely unsolved. When they don’t, we’re lambasted, and considered to be shoddy at what we do. A part of me wonders if we actually are…

Either way, even if we do happen to get things right, there’s still a part of me that always wonders if we really did. There’s always the chance that we screwed up, and got the wrong guy. That was probably one of the greatest things about having Crusoe on our side. I was able to have a hero— a sort of idol— that I could look up to, and place all of the weight upon. I was able to look at him, and saw somebody that I could never be. In this way, I never had to worry about the things that I probably should’ve been worrying about— all the things that were unsolved steadily became solved. It didn’t matter that they might’ve been solved in the wrong fashion, or that there was little chance that Crusoe was trustworthy. I’d made him into a hero, and I had regained the thrill that I’d once had.

This is probably the greatest mess in building heroes— they tend to fail you, and you tend to fail to meet their standards. It’s a vicious cycle, because one thinks that they need a hero in order to give them a sort of security. The most terrifying thing to all of us though is that, perhaps we’re wrong about our heroes. Perhaps we don’t really need them, as much as we’d like to believe…

Something else that I’d been wondering was even more disturbing… I’d become a police officer for two reasons. I thought that it would help people, and I thought that it was who I was supposed to be. I wanted to be what society had taught me was the right thing to do— what society taught me that I should become.

Though, as society began to bear down on us officers, and criticize us to a higher extremity, I couldn’t help but begin to wonder if everything I did was but a result of what society dictated— if everything I did was but a fluke, at the will of culture’s whim.

It was a disturbing thought. It was a thought that I would have to ignore, for the sake of my own sanity.

“You again?” Officer Paul said. He was standing by, to guard the crime scene. It was just my luck too— it looked like the area was swamped with police.

“Yep,” I said, displaying my badge. “Lieutenant’s orders.”

“Funny…” said Paul, skeptically. “I spoke with the Lieutenant just this morning— informed him of your contribution to the last crime scene. He said that you wouldn’t be needed.”

I looked around the house’s yard— all of its thick shrubbery, its stone walkways, its rather humble house at the center, and its brick walls— to make sure that the Lieutenant wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“You know, he told me about that just this morning,” I said, with a passive chuckle. I was trying to act nonchalant, but I could tell that Officer Paul wasn’t convinced. “He— he umm… He said that he’d changed his mind, and that he needed me on the scene after all. I guess he decided to usurp his own commands.”

“Hmm,” said Paul. “Usurp his own commands? Are you sure that it’s not you who’s trying to usurp his commands?”

Realizing that Paul had a grudge against me, I was forced to recognize that this conversation wasn’t going to get anywhere.

This is what you get for treating people like dirt, I thought to myself.

“No,” I said, plainly. “I don’t know why you’re automatically assuming the worst, but trust me— this is the Lieutenant’s orders that I’m following here. DO you honestly want to have to speak with him about this?”

“I do actually,” Paul said, stepping aside. “I do.”

Ignoring Paul’s ominous words, I strode up the house’s garden. This time around, I’d made sure to inform myself of the crime before walking onto the scene, so that I wouldn’t look so suspicious, and ignorant— I had a hunch that Paul would be shadowing me throughout my entire investigation.

From what I’d been able to gather, this house was a vacation spot for one of the richest man in town— Gregory Humphrey. Mr. Humphrey was a rather prudent ma, with a terrible case for vacation houses. Not only was this property landlocked, but it was also caught in the thick of a rat-infested section of town. The closest thing to this house being beachfront property was the fact that it was positioned in front of a series of large sewer holes.

Despite all of this, the property itself was rather enviable. It had a humble design, and a yard that would make even the best of landscaper’s drool. All of the grass, shrubbery, and trees, were properly manicured. All of them were formed into the shapes of very rich and exaggerative figures. It was humorous to think about, and even more humorous to see, but the yard’s shrubs were ultimately a vegetated version of Grecian statues. It was hard to be able to absorb it all, amidst the downpour of rain. But, it was still all there, in full display.

I opened the door to the house, after making it over a bit of caution tape— something that I was now realizing that there was an abundance of. The inside of the house was a lot less intriguing than the outside had been. It was probably the most standard of homes that I’d seen— not to say that it wasn’t a vast improvement over my own disposition. The halls weren’t well-garnered, with them instead being painted with simple drywall. The floor was carpeted, instead of tiled. And, the ceiling was filled with the most basic of lamps.

Not a very worthy place to rob, I thought.

However, I then remembered the testimony that I’d read.

The night prior, Mr. Humphrey had been kidnapped, sharing the same fate that Mr. Donald and his guests had endured. While there didn’t seem to be any missing possessions, and while nobody knew the exact circumstances of the crime, we at least knew the night that they had occurred upon— last night, between ten o clock, when the butler and maids were taken off duty, and after four o clock, at around the time that the butler and maids returned. They reported, and the investigations showed, that the bedroom had been completely ransacked.

I walked into the bedroom.

The bed, around king-sized, was overturned. All of the sheets were torn up, and destroyed. A picture frame, on the opposite wall, had been knocked down. The corner opposite to the bed had a hole busted into it. And, a light had been ripped straight out of the ceiling.

What I found, however, was that the room had a look of being framed. Everything about it simply appeared as if it had been falsified. The bed was overturned, but it was also a king-sized bed— much too big to have been overturned in the accidents of a fight. The sheets were torn up, but without having any apparent reason to be so— there was clearly no reason for a knife having been used. If the kidnapper had actually slashed all of the bedsheets with a knife, it would’ve only slowed them down… The busted hole in the corner had no reason of being there. The picture, knocked from the opposite wall, was too far away from any of the other messes for it to make any sense— if it had been knocked down in a fight, then why was the bed knocked down on an entirely different side of the room. The torn lamp held this same illegitimacy. I could tell that, if anybody had actually tried to take the light down from the ceiling, they would’ve had to have been crazy. If they’d knocked down the light because they didn’t want their victim to be able to see, that would’ve been counterintuitive— they would’ve lost their own vision as well. If they’d knocked it down in a fight, one would have to wonder how exaggeratedly tall the kidnapper was. Any other explanation was just as unreasonable as the next.

Except, of course, that the crime scene wasn’t a crime scene at all. For some reason, the place was had been faked. I wasn’t sure why, or how— it had clearly fooled the other officers. But, there was one thing that I did know— it was definitely fake.

“Maybe the evidence was faked by the cleaning staff,” I wrote down in my notebook. “And, maybe this evidence is a McGuffin that the kidnapper placed here, so that we wouldn’t find the truth.”

Both didn’t make any sense… But then, it was all that I could make out of it.

Out of everything in the room that was a waste, there was one thing that I did happen to find interesting— on the floor, there was a monkey. A glass monkey, about the size of my hand, to be exact. When I looked at it, my mind immediately backtracked to all of the monkeys that Miss Prestel had kept, as well as the picture that I’d seen of a man in an alleyway, holding a monkey— right over a sewer grate.

I put the glass monkey into my pocket. I didn’t know quite what to make of it, or if I should’ve made anything out of it at all— but, I knew that if I was going to get anywhere, it would have to be with the monkey. Nothing else in the room was useful, in the slightest.

“Hey there,” Paul said.

I turned around, and saw his smug face looking me into the eye. He was more annoying than Lieutenant Jackson— and Lieutenant Jackson was the biggest pain that I’d ever met.

“What have you got there?” Paul continued.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I made sure to shove the monkey statue deeper into my coat pocket, so as to make sure that Paul would have no way to confiscate it from me without looking like a pick-pocket.”

“I saw you grab something from the crime-scene,” Paul said. “What was it?”

“You must’ve missed the part where I dropped it on the ground, I said. “It was my wallet— no need to stick your nose into everything.”

I started speed-walking towards the door out of the house, and Paul made sure to speed-walk after me.

“It was a pretty weirdly shaped wallet, then,” he said.

“Oh, agreed. But, I don’t know if the shape of my wallet is really this interesting to be wasting our time on.”

Paul nodded his head.

“I’d much rather talk about the item that you stole.”

“Me too,” I said. “but then, I’d prefer not to talk about nonexistent objects.”

Paul jumped in front of me, and looked me straight in the face. I could see every inch of his face crease with a fury— he knew that I’d bested him. But then, he also knew that I wasn’t telling the truth.

“You’re going to get caught, at some point, Sergeant,” Officer Paul said. “And, I can’t wait until your arrogance is exposed. I used to admire you… but, you’re clearly just as void of values as any other criminal that we arrest.”

“No,” I told Officer Paul, pushing him aside. “I’m just as arrogant as you, or any other officer. Maybe that’s worse— but, if you’re going to start claiming things about me, you might as well get it right.”

With those words, Paul walked off on his own. It seemed to me that he didn’t actually care about the truth of what he was saying— whether or not I was guilty, or whether or not he was right. Instead, it seemed to me that he’d only chosen to slam me in every way that he possibly could. His wisdom that I’d once thought all officers possessed, was instead proven to be a ruthless drivel— a spray of something so unpleasant that all of society should’ve concentrated their efforts into the disposal of it.

“If only others could see exactly what I see,” I said. “Things would be so much easier— not just on me, but on everybody around me.”

I felt my blood pressure begin to reach higher heights, and my body grow ever wearier about what was going on around me. However, I eventually was able to stand myself back up from off the wall that I was leaning upon, and place my mind back into the things that were actually of importance.

“Time to do some real investigation work…” I said to myself. “Clearly the other people put on the job aren’t qualified. And to think that Lieutenant Jackson put them on the job, over me.”

I laughed to myself as I said this, but I was as serious as could be. It was very shocking to think that Lieutenant Jackson had opted not to put me on this case, only due to the mere angry complaints of a few detectives. I’d never thought Lieutenant Jackson to be the sort of person who would cave in, and give up his ground, over such measly attempts as that. But then, Lieutenant Jackson was always a person of surprising. I don’t know how he hid them all, in that gaunt build of his— but, wherever it was hidden, it was hidden well.

“How do you do, Sergeant?” an officer asked me, as I walked out the front door of the house, and into the yard. “I saw that Officer Paul stormed out of there, really angrily. I think that you might’ve pressed a few of his buttons. I know that it might be easy to take offense oat him, for how he acted, but trust me– he’s just a hotheaded rookie, hoping to wipe out all of the competition. He’ll come around, and see you in the right light, at some point…”

“I sure hope so,” I said.

I was studying the yard— making sure that there were no clues of what might’ve actually happened the night before. I was gaining the sense that, whoever the criminal had been, they were playing us police as fools— trying to make sure that every element of the environment suited our needs.

“No need to hope, sir… It will definitely happen. I’m actually sort of apprenticing the man… He’ll get around to learning the true nature of our work, and just how hard it is. HE still thinks that he’s one of those gods amongst officers— he thinks that he’s capable of solving any crime, at any time.”

“Yes, well I advise you to snap him awake as soon as you can… He’s been butting into my investigations, and causing me to have to juggle two problems at once. I shouldn’t need to be dodging him, whilst trying to solve a mystery… Do you know what I mean?”

“Completely, sir. I entirely understand. You know, I found myself saying the same thing just the other day to him— that he should be focusing on the crime scene, rather than the people at the crime scene. After all— the clues will stay where they are, as long as you search for them first. He seems to have a sort of grudge against you. He isn’t impressed by your seeming dependence on Crusoe, or the fact that you came across as rude to him.”

“I come across as rude to everybody,” I said. “Speaking of which, I think that I’m onto something.”

I was staring into the garden– And I found that there was a trail of broken plants, torn shrubbery, and knocked over pots— all leading to the street.

“You looking at that trail in the yard?” the officer asked, following my gaze.

“Yes… Why do you ask?”

“Eh… We never found anything there. The evidence actually points to the criminal having escaped through the back, rather than through the front. This trail was probably caused by these storms that we’ve been having.”

He then held his hand out, and let it fill with a pool of rain.

“See? This place hasn’t gotten a break all night… It isn’t a wonder that there’s a bit of the shrubbery all messed up. Not to mention, some of this was probably caused by us officers.”

“I’m still going to check,” I said. “but yeah— I need to check everything, with an open mind. I know that there must be secrets kept amongst this wood that I’m just not finding… We’re going to catch this criminal, no matter what. So, I don’t really care what we find. I’m going to make sure that I look everywhere, so that there’s nothing that we missed. It’s the only way that we can safely find an answer to our problems….”

“I suppose so...” the officer said. “but, I’d advise that you slow down there. There’s no reason to take things to such a high extreme. Everything will be solved soon enough. It always is. No need to go on a rant about it…”

“Not everything,” I said, “Not everything.”

I kept walking into the shrubbery, before I began to see the faint hints of footprints in them— at least, they looked like they were footprints. However, pools of water, and the vagaries caused by what appeared to have been running led me to a place where there didn’t seem to be any answers. Instead, I was only looking upon a field of conjecture, in which everything that I looked upon was a big, unanswered question.

“If only things were clearer…” I thought.

At this point, the officer had already stalked off. I think that I heard him muttering something under his breath, akin to, “Paul was right.”

Normally, I might’ve corrected him, and tired pursuing further conversation. But, I was too deeply engrossed in everything that was going on around me to let myself slip up into the temptations of everything that was going on around me. Not even a looming sense of regret scared me off.

The trail eventually led into the street— and this was where it ultimately ended. At that point, it seemed that all hopes of more proof was gone. I couldn’t find anything— not a footprint, not a single article of clothing— not even the slightest indication. I was at a complete loss of clues, and I almost felt as if I were being mocked. In spite of being able to find the clues, all of them were hidden from me by the rain. In a way, nature had found a way to pull the wool over my eyes— to make me look as if I were nothing more than a bloated joke.

Though, there was one thing that gave me a sense of hope and alleviation. I looked ahead of me, and into the street— I cast my eyes into the same direction as where the trail would’ve led, should it had continued. In this way, I was able to see that it went directly towards one of the sewage holes— the criminal, whoever they’d been, was using the sewage lines as a means of escape. At first, I couldn’t believe it. Not only did it seem too good to be true, but it also seemed too unreasonable to be true. Throughout all of my career, I’d never stumbled upon something like this so easily.

“Not that I should be surprised…” I thought to myself. “After setting up the McGuffin for us officers, it probably would’ve been all too easy to get into a rush, get lazy, and then go to an escape in which nobody would expect you to go. Thankfully, there were still people out there who look at every single detail. And, that’s where they must’ve gone wrong.”

I was tempted to go down the sewage shaft myself, and to inform the other officers about what I’d found. Though, I then immediately remembered how easy it might be for me to be wrong entirely. And, I if was wrong, then I would’ve exposed myself, and given myself away to everybody— Lieutenant Jackson would probably get into a fury with me, over having broken his orders for no reason at all. And then, of course, there was also the risk of coming up with something, but never coming back up— my mind trailed back to the monkey statue that was in my pocket. This person clearly had a web of people, and, if not, they definitely knew their way about the own. They’d already broken into some of the greatest houses in town, and were showing no sign of stopping. They hadn’t even bothered to give a ransom threat. They were just taking things, and leaving— they didn’t care about the police, or anybody else.

They were a force that was independent of all other past conventions. They weren’t held down by what people might’ve thought would constrain them. It was in this moment that I realized I was still in a battle that was far harder to get through than I’d initially thought it to be— the answers to my questions might’ve been simple ones, but they were also answers that held a great risk to them.

In gaining knowledge— in gaining the truth— I’d learned just how hard that everything really was. I might’ve gained something, But, at the same time, I also suffered loss. I would’ve liked to believe that the gains and losses were equal and mutual to each other, but I couldn’t help but feel that they were swallowing each other whole.

“So, what do you think about all of the strange robberies occurring at these rich birds’ houses?” the officer asked me, as he walked to his squad car, and prepared to leave.

“The robberies?” I repeated. “They’re some sort of caper— I know that they are. They’re simply occurring anywhere and everywhere… they’re akin to the plague. And, as we all know, all plagues have causes. We just need to figure out what’s going on, and who’s behind it all… Nobody just kidnaps rich folks for no reason. There has to be some sort of ploy to it all…”

“We could just be dealing with a pure psychotic,” the officer said. I listened as he turned the engine on his car, signaling that he was ready to drive off.

“I’d prefer to assume that the people behind these crimes are totally sane. The assumptions of insanity should always come after the fact, when all other explanations are gone.”

“I’d say that we’re pretty close to that point… Wouldn’t you?”

With that, a wave of city sludge sprayed into the air, and the car drove off. I watched as its chrome rear-end faded off down the rain-slicked street, and out of sight.

“Yes…” I answered, reluctantly. “Yes I would….”

*

Today, I found that I was in a rush to make sure that everything was accomplished. Now that it was the day before Eddy Mulligan’s funeral, I found that everything a had gained a new sense of urgency. I felt that there was nothing that I could do but make sure that everything was covered, so that I would be able to make sure that he was alive. By tomorrow morning, everybody would become accepting of the fact that Eddy Mulligan was dead— even myself would end up adhering to it, on the basis that there seemed to be no chance that he could still be alive. Though, I instantly saw the danger of this thinking, and just how poisonous it would soon become, if not exposed as soon as possible. Above all else, I planned on making sure that I had done all of my research, and that I’d sought everything out.

I was already planning on heading to Mr. Donald’s house— after the revelation that I’d just had, I was getting a new sense of understanding about what was going on. Everything was starting to fall into place, and I was starting to see the importance in making sure that I had sought every possibility out, Though, I was also beginning to see the importance in making sure that I informed everybody of the truth. And so, I was trying to make sure that I had taken care of something that away long overdue. While Mr. Donald’s house, and what I was suspecting about it, was important, it was the next location on my map. I found that there was another stop that was just as important— if not, more so.

After having gone to the crime scene, I stopped back at my house and started to do some digging. I phoned Jonah, to see if he had an y new information, and then went to my police department colleagues for a few more answers. I was able to scrounge up enough information to determine the rough location of where both Bill Clyde and Jack Crowley were. It turned out that they were both companions. They also got around. Jonah was able to figure out who they were through some of the note-cards that he’d printed— a few of them had been directed towards Bill Clyde and Jack Crowley, as birthday cards.

By using the names that he offered me, I was able to talk to my police department and get some answers out of them, too— they gave me the criminal records of the purchasers of the birthday cards, as well as their phone-numbers and address. After that, I caught Jack Crowley’s address, and I was on my way to his house.

Jack Crowley was another one of those people who lived in the grime of downtown— something that I was becoming more conscious of by the day. I t seemed that whatever was going on, t it was intrinsically linked to the poverty stricken areas. It almost seemed to be inherent to these places, which is something that I tend to avoid giving to things. But, it’s true. I don’t think that there was a single place I could look without seeing any sort of ark and distant foreboding sense of a lack of wealth. It was like this series of crimes clang too it, and thrived off of it.

Either way, whether or not my interpretation of things was correct. I found myself driving into an arena of grayish buildings, which looked no more appealing than anything else that they’d recently used. It was hard for me to be able to tell what was going on entirely, but it looked to me like most of the buildings had been ravaged, and were completely neglected. There were broken windows in many of them, and they all seemed to symbolize a lack of wealth and disrepair. The very sight of them brought a cold, harsh terror to my heart, and I wondered if I’d be able to escape the place without becoming subject to tits cruel inventions.

“Well, I guess that I shouldn’t have come here…” I said to myself, as I looked at it all.

I’d seen some of the worst parts of this area, and some of the best parts of the city— I understood the clash in tones pretty well. But, I hadn’t seen anything quite this devastatingly bad for a while This was like a sort of punch in the gut for me. I hadn’t thought, even in my wildest dreams, that something could reach these levels of destruction.

There were bricks that had fallen from the buildings laid out in the streets, and articles of clothing, furniture, and other such things all throughout. It wasn’t something that I could easily look at and discern a judgement based off of it. But, it was definitely something that made me rethink all of my past work, and caused me to wonder if what I was doing was the right thing to be doing. All of the sudden, nothing seemed to be quite so black and white as I’d liked it to be. Instead, there were two decisions that I’d come upon— exposing the damage of this place to everybody that I knew, or leaving it be for the sake of my investigation.

I chose the latter, but not without feeling regret seed itself in my gut.

It all happened as I was in a daze, but I found myself standing face to face with Jack Crowley— a sniveling sort of man, who seemed perfect to punch at first glance. He was very tall and imposing, but was so soft that he didn’t look like his threats had any merit to them. His eyes sneered and glowered as he looked down at me— but, it wasn’t anything that was done deservedly. All that I’d done was knock on his door, and asked to come in.

His eyes were the sort that weren’t hard to miss— both of them were surrounded in thick purple rings, making them look like large bullseyes. He also had a very heavy look to him, and a weathered visage. Though, these both did him a disservice, instead of making him appear more intimidating.

“What do you want?” he asked, with a voice just as crooked as his posture.

“To stop hearing that question,” I muttered. Thankfully, Mr. Crowley was hard of hearing. “I’m here on police matters— I wanted to know your relation with some crime sprees that I’ve been sifting through.”

Jack Crowley opened his mouth, but appeared too slow to come out with a response. Instead, he just took a glance at my arm. Seeing that he was distracted, I took a glance into the room that he was blocking me from— it was full of furniture as old as the building was, and it was also just as much of a mess.

“Just a few simple questions,” I explained. “There have been a few disappearances of people lately, and I’ve found that they’re all seemingly connected to similar past events… I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t have any similar things going on. I wouldn’t want you to end up falling victim to such a crime spree.”

“I don’t think that I have anything to worry about,” Mr. Crowley said, grinning. As he did so, he exposed his teeth— all of which were yellowed, and clearly not maintained. “I’m the sort of person who is very good at taking care of themselves— I don’t need any help from you in order to tell whether or not I’m in danger.”

“That’s fine…” I said. I was already beginning to tell why I’d been avoiding this for so long. Unlike Margaret Rosemary, I’d had no idea what I’d be getting into. And, clearly this person was the sort that was stubborn.

“It better be! Now get out!”

AS he said this, he fell into a coughing fit. I looked at his face— it was extremely pale, and it looked like he’d been battling something extremely harsh.

“You don’t look too good…” I said, with a caution in my voice. “Are you sure that you’re alright?”

“If you keep asking questions, you won’t look alright either.”

All I did was look back at him, and stare into his face. I thought that I could see something tin him that looked familiar— but, I didn’t know how I thought this, or what that feeling was exactly coming from. All that I knew was that he smelt of a mildew that made my stomach lurch in disgust.

“Well, I’m sure that it must be hard for you to come up with some sort of explanation frog what your sickness is for,” I said. “It’s the middle of summer, you know. You must not think that I’m o stupid as to be unsuspecting about what’s wrong with you.”

I had completely shifted my tone from that of my placid questioning. Though, I could tell that that this was a large mistake just by the look in the man’s eye. He was both angered and unimpressed. Clearly, my wishes to figure out the answers had gotten in the way of coming across as appealing. He was now looking more and more like he was preparing to hit me. The best that I could do was back up, and prepare to block any attack that he might lay down upon me. I had no other real defense. In fact, even if I had I’m sure that it wouldn’t have made a difference— I could tell, just by looking at his arms and body, that he was the sort of person who liked to fight and throw his weight around. I could already feel my heart pounding in my chest, and my breath beginning to quicken.

“Well, don’t you have any answers?” I asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible. He clearly wasn’t impressed with my display. He glowered at me. The best that I could do was try to replicate the look that he gave me, and give him the same exact sneer in return.

“Don’t pretend that you’re the only one around here who has any idea of what is going on,” he said to me. “You might want some answers…. But I’m not giving any to you.”

I looked around for something that I could leverage to get him to talk. I soon found that there was nothing. There could never be anything that I could use to my advantage around this man, as it was. He was the sort of person who didn’t care about using reason, and was only interested in pronouncing his threats to everybody.

“Are you trying to terrify somebody, again?”

I looked back up to Jack Crowley’s face, to see if the words had come from him. It was somebody else.

Jack Crowley’s face turned red, and he reluctantly turned around.

“WE have a cop on our doorstep,” he yelled.

Those words muted whoever had been back there, talking behind him. After that, I didn’t hear much more out of them.

“Come on now, it isn’t like I bite,” OI said. “I was just wondering— do you two know anything about this shadow that has been parading through the streets, and making everybody involved with it disappear?”

Jack Crowley tensed, and I watched as his face turned harder than rock.

“Where did you get any information on that?” he asked. “And, why are you talking to me? I don’t know anything about it… You have no reason to believe that I know anything about it.”

“I have my ways,” I said, “and I know that you, and your friend, are direct targets of it. I just need to know exactly what’s going on, and it will all be over with.”

“Please. We all know exactly what you have planned. You’re just trying to dig up information… And, when you don’t get that information, you’re going to threaten me and my friend here. But, we don’t know anything about what you’re talking about. Even if we did, it wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

“I’m not leaving until I get my answers,” I said, firmly. “I just don’t have the time to get any of this done… Not the way that it’s going, right now. I have a lot to do today, and not a lot of time to play hopscotch with you two. If you want to be safe, and protected, then just tell me what you know. I promise you— I’m on a mission to make sure that everybody in my city becomes safe and protected. My sole goal is to make sure that these crimes are no longer a problem.

“WE don’t have anything to give you!” Jack Crowley said again.

Seeing as I wasn’t getting through to him, and that I wouldn’t be able to get through to him, I instead yelled out to his friend.

“Hey! Bill Clyde! I need to talk to you!”

There was the sound of something crashing and clattering on the floor, in the distance. A fit of coughing and sneezing broke out. Then, nothing. All that remained was an echo reverberating in my ears. And then, it stopped. Not even he was going to give me and answer.

“Maybe they really don’t have anything to say…” I wondered.

I found this doubtful— especially when I considered the place that they were lying in, and how the crimes seemed to correlate with the rich and the poor— not that there was much in between, these days, However, they refused to give me what I wanted. And so, I ended up abandoning it all, entirely, and simply walking out of their apartment building. I felt defeated and humiliated for leaving the place, especially after all of the interrogation that I’d tried to conduct— it had been my duty to ensure that I got the answers that I needed. Though, that rain dumped down onto my head, with such a constant influx that I felt there was no real break it would provide me. Eventually, I overcame the raindrops, by stepping into my car and driving off. The muggy weather wasn’t enough to mug me, even as I felt as if I’d been subject to a complete failure.

There was still so much for me to do. I realized that nothing could stop me from moving forward, if I simply kept up the pace.

*

My knuckles clicked against the cold, hard wood of Mr. Donald’s door. The nature that surrounded me chirped with a chipper spirit, and the storms had finally decided to subside. However, I could tell that it was all just playing me for a fool. I could tell that, beyond this faux appearance of peace, nature was steadily winding up a pitch of reality towards me— it planned on hitting me hard in the head, and knocking me to the ground. IT was just waiting for the right moment— it was always waiting for the right moment.

“Who is it?” I heard a voice croak, form inside the house. It was clearly Mr. Donald’s butlers.

What one of these robbed mansions don’t have a butler running the show? I wondered.

“It’s Sergeant Kyler, of the Chicago Police Department,” I said. I’m here to investigate the premises for something that I believe the overlooked, during our first investigation.”

“Sergeant Kyler?” the butler repeated, now looking me straight in the eye from the other side of the peephole. I could see him trembling just by the look of me— clearly I didn’t give off the most comforting of presences.

“Yes,” I said. “As I’ve told people that I’ve come to investigate many times over, you have nothing to worry about— I simply plan on inspecting what you have here, and then leaving, IT’s going to be as simple a matter as that…”

“Nothing more?” the butler said.

“Hopefully.”

Seeing that this promise was good enough for him, the butler opened the door for me. With that, I gave him a hello, and then briskly walked down the hall to the place where the marble ballroom was— the very place where I’d found all of the fingerprints.

“How long did it take you to install the plumbing for this place?” I asked the Butler, as I scanned the floor, and then took a quick glimpse at the fountain.

“About three years, in its entirety,” said the butler. “We did it in spurts, as Mr. Donald saw it fit. First, he inserted all of the basic plumbing— that took about four months. After that, he inserted all of his exorbitant additions… I always cautioned him against this, but he apparently never cared about how much money he spent of the place. Beauty was the only aesthetic that Mr. Donald ever wanted in this house.”

“I see…” I said. “how did you go about taking apart the plumbing, and redoing it?”

“We had to get rid of the basement, and turn it into an entirely new space from plumbing line to go down,” the butler said— he was a lot less willing to have actual conversation than Miss Prestel’s Butler, Eustace, had ever been.

“And, why is that? Wouldn’t you have designed all of the plumbing line in the same way, in order to keep continuity?”

“You would think that— especially about somebody as rich as Mr. Donald. But, you see, he decided that he wanted to go a cheaper route— he was always about spending money where he felt it was worth spending, and investing money where he felt it was worth investing. This was a rather frugal and imbalanced philosophy, often causing him to waste money where it need not have been wasted, and to save money, when it need not be saved. Either way, this resulted in him having a plumbing line built down into the basement, and into the rest of the plumbing lines. The basement is now used exclusively for plumbing lines…”

“And, do you ever go down there?” I asked.

“No sir,” said the butler. Not after all of the money want poof. I don’t feel too comfortable going around such a dangerous area when I don’t even have a job security anymore. I prefer to have plumbers go down there, and maintenance it every so often…”

“I see…” I said, “Well, this was all very useful of information, sir. I thank you for you giving me your time. I’m just going to be here a little while longer, and see something for a minute— was every room in your house checked during the investigation?”

“Of course!” said the butler. “Except the basement… We— we umm, closed the entrance to that room up, with bricks. It’s locked off, only for when there’s an issue with the plumbing…”

I bent down to the ground, and crawled to the tile where I’d noted the fingerprints, which had matched Mr. Donald’s fingerprints, having stopped.

“Is the other entrance to the basement under this tile?” I asked, meticulously wording my words, so that the butler would have no way around them.

“Yes…” he said. “But, I don’t know why that should be of any importance to you. Like I said before, it’s just where all of the pipes go. Surely you don’t think that—.”

“Whoever kidnapped Mr. Donald, they were insane enough to force him to go down here…”

I pulled a crowbar out, which I’d been hiding in my sleeve, and then jammed it into the crack of the loose marble tile.

“Are you suggesting that—.”

“I’m not suggesting anything… all that I know is that somebody knew about this plumbing, running under the house— somebody knew about every detail. And, somebody trapped Mr. Donald down here.”

“It wasn’t me, Sir… Whatever you find down there, it wasn’t me. I promise, I had nothing to do with this!”

“That’s fine,” I said, heaving heavily as I tried to lift up the tile with all of my might. “But, the evidence definitely puts you in an awkward place… Why were you so keen on making sure that this plumbing section was closed off?”

“It was closed off over a year ago! It was done for no more a reason than that it was an eye-sore— and, it was done upon Mr. Donald’s request! I promise— there was no devious intent behind any of this!”

“That’s something that I’ve begun to notice a lot lately… The intentions of things tend not to be the meaning of things…”

The tile was eventually pried off, and I found myself staring into the deep blackness of the plumbing basement. Despite it having such a mundane and everyday title, and air about it, I couldn’t help but see it as something far more supernatural, and beyond the realm of understanding. When I looked down into it, I couldn’t help but feel as if I didn’t understand. Everything became a big question mark, and I became a bearer of these many questions. In this weight, I felt the blackness begin to pull me in. In a sense, I wanted it to pull me in. I wanted to become one with it, and feel it all encase me— feel all the questions become so numerous that I could no longer feel them anymore. Sadly, this wish of mine was not one that came to fruition. As instantly as I’d wished it to be, I had to recognize that it wasn’t going to come out. I was too afraid to dive into the darkness. My terror was something that I felt I simply wouldn’t be able to face. I’d need light to guide me through. There was something within myself, inherent to my nature— something tied down by the need to know.

I suppose that those are the two opposing dichotomies that lead to human development— then need to know, and not knowing. Whichever you focus on can determine which one you choose to follow— follow the spirit of exploration, or the spirit of terror.

Against all reason, I chose exploration. But then— I couldn’t tell if this was the right choice.

I dove down anyway, grabbing onto the vague shape of a pipe that my eyes had caught. With that, I allowed myself to slide further, and further down, taking heed to give a look and consideration to everything. I was unwilling to let myself fall into the trap of ignorance.

I turned on my flashlight, once near the bottom. As I did, I found that the basement was far less glory-filled than the ballroom above. In fact, it was almost like going into an entirely different world. It was full of a dirty brown sewage, which I could hear dripping from the pipes. And, as I splashed down into the water, I found that I was standing upon flooded concrete.

I opened my mouth to make a sarcastic remark about it all, but then stopped to listen to the water. At each drip, it signaled and reminded of all the soupy mess that it had caused— it reminded me of just how dark this cavern really was, and just how hard it would be to make it back up— to make it back up with the knowledge that I needed would be an even harder feat to pull off.

“I see that you’re enjoying yourself down there…” the butler said, after I groaned in disgust of my surroundings.

“Yes,” I said, in disgust. “I’m enjoying myself very much…. Please— whenever you find something that pleases you, from up there, just ask of it— I’ll make sure to bring up a bit of this sewage waste for you…”

“I might be the rarest of the butlers in this town,” he said. “I’m not as constrained by what some might see as required of a figure such as myself…. But, I don’t care for the nastiness down there, I’m afraid. I’d far prefer for the world down there to remain desperate from the world up here.”

I started waving my flashlight upon the rusted tubes of the underground sewer, and the broken bits of plaster that were flaking off into the water, and away from the structure of the building. While the mansion above this basement looked too beautiful to imagine, its underbelly was one that was too disgusting to behold. The house was falling apart from the bottom up, despite appearing to be otherwise.

“Yes…” I said, “After seeing all of this, I’m sure that you do…”

“I’m serious though…” said the butler, with a shift in tone. “Whatever you find down there, I don’t want you to bring it up here… I just can’t bear the thought of having to face the horrid mess of my master… If you find his body down there dead or alive— make sure not to let me see him. I only want him to be viewed as he properly should be— in his normal dress, if he’s alive, or at a funeral, should the worst of fates have come upon him…”

“And if I don’t find him...?”

“We both know that you’ll find him… We’re dealing with a madman here… I’d prefer for us both to acknowledge that, in a proper form.”

“Will do,” I said, motioning for him to step back. I can’t tell if he was able to see me from down where I was, or not— it was a far drop, into a black abyss— but, it certainly looked like he could see me, because he stepped back. “Things are probably going to get grotesque… And, if they do, you’ll probably not want to see it.”

I didn’t actually know what to expect myself. However, I had the dread upon me that the butler had. AS I looked upon every corner of the basement, I knew that I was steadily nearing where Mr. Donald might’ve been. Every inch that I covered was another inch closer to him.

I was drawing upon him, whether I liked it or not… and, I knew that I wasn’t going to like it, and so I drew even closer.

I might as well get this all over with as soon as I possibly can, I thought to myself. The dirty deed needs to be done away with, so that it won’t trouble me anymore.

These thoughts pretty much worked, to keep me going forward. But, they didn’t rid me of my terror. Nothing could rid me of my terror.

Within the murkiness that encased me, I felt as if my entire soul were trapped— everywhere that my eyes could perceive seemed to be encompassed by a blackness, and I too felt encompassed by that blackness. The claustrophobia seemed to choke my breath, and make me feel as if the entire world around me had turned to a vapor— one with the smothering proportions that might be found within an oven. There was nothing that I could do to escape the feeling of it. Everywhere in sight was a smoke to me. I couldn’t think of a way to get out— I couldn’t think of any sort of escape. I was trapped. But then— the light above me was the single solace that I was able to take hold of. I t was the only thing that could give me any sort of peace of mind…. But, I still couldn’t help but feel distraught. I knew that, in this tunnel. There was a dead man. I could smell it. It was crawling all over my skin. It made my eyes burn, and water…. I felt as my cheeks began to have hot coals rolling over top of them…

My stomach felt as though it were both nauseous and sick at the same time. There was nowhere that I could look and feel a sort of solace Everything around me had suddenly gained a threatening gleam to it.

I knew that I was nearing the cornered where the suspect was— if he were anywhere at all. I could feel his presence beating into my skull. My muscles tensed, and I listened to them crack under the strain that my body was coming under. There was nowhere that I could look and find any sort of peace of mind. Any thoughts of rest were now gone, and replaced with depraved thoughts of how I would get out of this place, with my mind inn tact. So far, I couldn’t conceive such a possibility— the scars of this mission were already beginning to form upon my mind.

“I think that I’ll be heading back up soon,” I called up to the butler. “Prepare the rope. I haven’t found anything down here, and I think that staying will prove to be useless!”

I heard the structure around me wail— then, I listened as the Butler mimicked the wail.

“Yes, sir,” he said, feebly.

“I never did bother to catch your name…”

“it’s Mr. Dom,” he said, with his voice having turned to a wiry rumble— one that my ears could hardly perceive.

“That’s—.” I began to say. Though, something had stopped me.

Doom.

My foot slipped in the water, and I felt as a thousand pins were jammed into my legs and arms. All of the nerves in my body were now unruly and unorganized, making me feel them everywhere at once. My face was suddenly drenched in the sludge— its filth went up into my nostrils, and I felt my entire body become partially frozen by it. Its nastiness clouded over me, making me feel like but a phantom of who I really was— making me feel like I’d been overtaken by a phantom.

As my throat filled with the unclean sludge, and as my mind began to struggle to retain its level, I began to fear that I was never going to gain any sort of ground— as if everything that I did would be futile, and that the water would prove itself to be the victor.

I wasn’t wrong in the former thought.

I ripped myself out of the water, as if I were a dolphin ripping from out of the ocean. My arms groped, to find a sturdy holding to stand myself up with. Nothing in sight gave me any place, because there was nothing in sight— my flashlight had been submerged, and all that I could see was a faint glow.

My feet finally stood up, but they didn’t feel like they were standing up anymore. I could’ve had my legs severed off of my body, and not have noticed. In the water, where the faint glow was, I saw the face of a man— but, it wasn’t the sort of face that I’d been expecting to see. Instead, it was a face that I’d been afraid to see— the face of the man that I’d deeply wanted to find. But, I now realized that it was also the face of the man that I hadn’t wanted to find.

My mind was so undecided and conflicted, that it was just enough to distract me from the disgust that was forming in my throat.

Under the water was Mr. Donald, in a tight tuxedo. In fact, amongst the water, it almost looked like he wasn’t in a tuxedo at all— instead, he appeared to be wrapped in an oily foil. His entire face was so pale— and dead. I knew that this man was long gone, just by the emptiness that was in his eyes— the way in which his arms floated amongst the glow of my flashlight, and the way in which his head bobbed. His head looked almost as if It were nodding in agreement with something. His unnaturally peaceable face only completed this image

That act of nodding how I truly knew that he was a dead man. The moment that somebody agrees with something that’s working against them is the moment when they’ve utterly died.

“At least I know that he went out happy…” I said to myself, uneasily.

I reluctantly placed my hand into the slimy water and grabbed my flashlight. Steadily, the glow dissipated from Mr. Donald’s body, until it was as if he was no longer there anymore— as if he were gone again.

“Mr. Dom, I think it’s time that you let me out of here,” I said. “I finally found Mr. Donald— I know that you said that you wanted him alive. However, I sadly won’t be able to give you that message of hope...”

I didn’t receive an answer. Rather, all that I heard in return was a muteness. Something was amiss, and I couldn’t even quite tell what was going on— suddenly, I felt entirely alone. And that, beyond anything else, was probably my greatest fear with being under Mr. Donald’s house.

“Is anybody out there!?” I shouted. “Please don’t tell me that you’re gone, Mr. Dom! I need you over here, and quick! I can’t stay trapped down here forever.”

Strangely, I didn’t get an answer the second time that I cried out, either. Nor did I get an answer the next time that I called out for an answer— or the time after that. In fact, I never got an answer. I listened as my voice pinged across the dank and murky walls of the underground cavern, steadily making the water feel like a desperate chain that had made itself around me. It didn’t matter how much my voice went out. It only made me feel words. My body steadily felt as if it were becoming weaker and weaker, with even my mind wishing to fall subservient to the forces that were at work. In fact, I felt like my entire mission had become desperate. There was nobody who could help me because nobody was there.

“Mr. Dom. This isn’t a game!” I finally burst out, as loud as I could.

I’d been telling at the top of my lungs, up to this point. But, this time, I felt as if there were somebody there to hear me. I’m not sure what it was, but the air around me shifted— I could practically smell the shift of atmosphere. Nothing was quite the same afterward.

There was the sound of somebody above me. I know that there was. My ears aren’t the best, having been dulled by years of mileage. But, I know that I could hear the breath of somebody far above me. It was undeniably there. There’s nothing that can convince me otherwise. My senses were so acute and aware of it, that I was shocked that the person never made a peep. There wasn’t a word that rolled off their tongue. Rather, they just stood there. Breathing.

In fact, all the way down where I was, I almost felt as if their breath was upon me, brushing up against my rough skin. In a jolt of fear, my eyes turned down to make sure that the breathing wasn’t coming from Mr. Donald’s corpse— an irrational fear that quickly proved to be false, but one that was pervasive all the same,

Eventually, the breaths stopped being so loud and prominent, and I heard them become distinct. They were replaced by the sound of something scraping against the ground— tearing at my ears, and clawing at the strength of my chest. My pulse started to climb up into my mind, making me feel as if I were about to burst. Even the room around me started to fade from sight, in my fever of stress— it was all dissipating, and fading away. There was nothing. Nothing, but black.

I struggled to shake myself awake, form out of my feeling of paralysis, and I looked above myself to where the noise had been coming from. To my dismay, I found that the hole in the ceiling that I’d entered through had been entirely sealed up. I was stuck under the rood, in this mess of pipes, without anywhere to go— the only person with me was the corpse of Mr. Donald.

Suddenly, I wished that Mr. Donald had been a ghost, as much as the idea terrified me.

Trying my best to accommodate to the circumstances, I controlled my breathing, and pulled out my flashlight. After flicking the light on, the underground maze of pipes looked to be just as revolting as they had been as they had looked when I had first come down. And, the ceiling above was no different from how it had been. However, as my eyes peered about, and as my wears tried to accommodate to everything that was around me, I found that there was nothing that I could do to adjust to it all. Rather, I felt like I was staring at one enormous question mark, and I was attempting to erase it. But, the question mark was in permanent ink. There was no answer to the question mark either.

There could never be an answer. I didn’t even know the question that preceded it.

My light whirled all about the wide expanse, trying to find some sort of way t climb up, to where the escape tile was— some way to break out. But, there was nothing. Any hint of a ladder upwards had been tucked away from my view. For a detective, I found that I was having a hard time getting any sort of clue. The entire place was about as barren as one of the downtown Chicago streets would’ve been.

Even as I looked up, to where my hole in the ceiling had been, I couldn’t figure out what tile that I’d come in from. The entire ceiling was hard to decipher, with wooden beams keeping it utterly indistinguishable. I came to a point where I realized that, if there had been any hope for me to get out through the ceiling, it was long gone. Whoever had kidnapped me, they’d made sure to leave me in a position where I had no option. That is— no option, except to surrender to my distasteful fate

There was no use pretending, either— I knew full well who had done this.

“I was so gullible. I knew that I never should’ve trusted Mr. Dom…” I said to myself. “You never trust a butler. That’s probably the first rule to these sort s of investigations… Wow— I really have been getting slow at this…”

“Then, I looked back up to the ceiling, with a scowl upon my face.

“Somebody!” I shouted. “Let me out of here! You’re not going to get your way, no matter how much that I know you want to! This isn’t the sort of way that you can win! This time around, you’re going to see the light, and pay! I’m on your tail!”

My shouts were frivolous, and I was certain that both of us knew it. It was too hard for me to ignore— all of the truth was staring me too hard in the face to ignore. I was placed in a position of which I had no other option but to get myself out of with it. The problem was, I didn’t have a strong wit, and the idea of having to rely on it was a troubling one— one that I knew I had little chance of overcoming.

I began to turn my flashlight about, and search deeply for a place of escape. It seemed that they were all placed far beyond me, and out of my reach— no doubt to make sure that I’d fail, and give up. It seemed at everything had been plotted out so that I would be trapped in here, no matter what. While I wasn’t certain that Mer. Dom had been the cause of this all, I had the feeling that he was. There was something inside of myself that was undeniably attracted to the fact that he was. The truth of the matter was that I needed to know who was behind all of this— I needed to feel as if I had the answer to it all. No, the thought of him being behind it was one of comfort, so I didn’t bother to stop myself from thinking it. All of my rationality went out of the window is this idle moment, so that I could pool all of my focus onto the menial worries at hand.

My knees and legs carefully crawled across the sewage waste floor, making sure to avoid all potential dangers. There was nothing under here that was sacred, or safe of disaster. However, at the same time, I also knew that there was nothing here that I could bring myself to be wary of. It seemed that, in the thought of watching out for danger, I allowed myself to become subject to the fears that danger wrought. And, it became to be that everywhere harbored danger, and that I had no possible way to avoid it. While I knew that this was blatantly untrue, and that I’d allowed myself to be tricked, I couldn’t help but still believe in it all. There was something far too terrifying about the arena of sludge that kept all of my plotting and deep-thinking from entering my mind. Instead, I was just being run by a frivolous drive to escape before my time was out. I had a terrible feeling that the whole house might fall from above me— that the entire place was just one big trap, preparing to jump upon me like a venomous viper.

Eventually, I found that I’d scoured every inch of the room, and that there was no space that had revealed itself to me. It began to seem to me that I’d become a sort of mouse, running around in a cage of emptiness. There didn’t seem to be any area in which I could get out of the maze, though. I was constantly looking for the cheese, placed at the center, but it evaded my grasp. I was beginning to see that it was nowhere in which I’d be able to find it. I’d left myself in a positon where I wouldn’t be able to find it. The entire place was a trap.

These thoughts kept running through my head, as if it were a rusted merry-go-round from at a carnival. I couldn’t quite turn them away, no matter how tempted that I was to do so. It seemed to me that it had a nasty way of ways turning about, and exposing the ugly bits, every time that I thought it had finally turned into something ridable again. There wasn’t an angle from which I could look upon, and feel any sort of peace of mind. It was all blockaded from me— the solace that I was searching for had slipped from my grasp. Instead, all that I had to cling to were a few remaining straws of sanity. That, and brick.

Bricks where everywhere. Mortar was everywhere. Pipes were everywhere. There seemed to be no exit— no entrance. It was all designed so that I’d be lost, and confused.

“Where is the door out of this place!?” I shouted, listening as my voice, once again, reverberated through the room. Though, this time, I listened to it as it even made the pipes in the room rattle, with a sort of terror. It was as if even they were afraid of the situation that had benighted them— even they felt discomfort from the fact that there was nothing apparent, in which they could’ve made an escape. It had all made sure to conceal itself from them, so that all hope steadily was leaked away. In fact, I started to feel that there was no hope at all— that all time had run out, and that I was stuck to be there forever.

I began to remember all of the progressions that I’d made in my case— all of the questions that I’d had, and how few that I’d gotten answered. I began to see that I was on the trail of getting things figured out, and understood, but I’d just barely gotten myself stuck in a place where there was no such answer. I’d brought myself to the den of the culprit, obliviously. And, I was going to have to pay.

“Where is the door,” I found myself whispering. “I know that it’s supposed to be here… It was supposedly blocked off, and placed somewhere… It has to be here!”

I listened as my whisper glided across the room, and over the water, leaving a solitary ripple upon it. There was something about this solitary ripple— the ways that its rings steadily spread and grew, despite the small impact that had changed them. It reminded me of Eddy Mulligan— both of the Mulligans, in fact. He’d changed the entire course of my mystery— give me a sort of motivation. Though, there was something else to the ripple that I saw. It was going to bound across the whole room, and effect everything, even if such an effect wasn’t noticed. It was going to be like a sort of echo of its own, making sure to change things.

This was when I had an idea. With a revolting splash, I dug my hand into the water beneath me, making my best efforts to ensure that my hand went as deep to the ground as t could. I picked up a rock from out of the water, and stood myself back up. After this, I subsequently threw the rock at every portion of the wall that I could. There was a clink, a splash, and another clink, followed d by another splash. Over and over again, the cycle went with me making sure to listen for an echo on every portion of the wall.

I needed a ripple— I needed a way to tell if I was having an effect.

I needed to figure out what portion of the wall was connected to the outside.

For most of these throws, I directed the rock upwards, so that it made an echo in the upper floors— I was trying to make sure that, whatever I discovered, it was in the right place. Finding a hollow section on my current floor wasn’t going to get me anywhere, and I was certain that everybody knew it.

It was a long and arduous task of throwing the rock into the air, without so much as a ray of hope to motivate me to keep going forward. To a strong degree, I felt that I was simply wasting my time, and that nothing was going to come out of my efforts. It certainly looked that way, and it only felt even worse. Though, I eventually gained the clink that I was searching for— when it hit the brick, the different sound was one that filled me with a sort of satisfaction that I still can’t quite replicate in words. It was so grand, and pleasing that I think I’m never going to be able to describe just quite how I felt.

The way that the rock struck against the brick rumbled in such a way, that it couldn’t have neem compared to the dozens of other clinks from the rocks. I knew that my mind was exaggerating the experience, to fit its own needs. But then, that still didn’t change the fact of just how satisfying it really was.

Nothing will change how I feel right now, even if it’s the most dissatisfying thing that happens to me, I thought to myself.

Though, I was primitively wrong. There was one thing that could’ve taken me from my spot of mental leisure— the realization that there was no way to climb up to the spot the I was looking at. I was trapped under the tiles, hopelessly left to look on my escape— but never have any chance of reaching it. It was probably one of the crueler forms of irony, if it hadn’t been for the fact that I knew that there was a way out, beyond where my eyes could see— I had this single ray of hope that I just couldn’t seem to squelch, no matter how much I was tempted to do so. I knew that my way out was just up ahead of me— I just needed to exert everything that was within me, in order to ensure that I reached it.

My eyes turned to the pi pes, and I quickly realized how I was going to accomplish this. It was so simple— but it was also so brash and bold, that I knew it was near unconceivable— near unachievable.

It was the exact sort of thing that I was looking for.

I threw the stone at the brick wall several times, before turning to climb the pipes. I felt my slimy hands slip, and begin to slacken in their grip, and I tried to scale its height. Even my shoes threatened to fly off of my feet, and into the water. Thankfully, I managed to control myself, and bring my body upward. I was going to reach the top— I had something in my spirit, telling me to do so. Nothing— not the darkness, not the sickness that I felt broiling in my gut, not my headache that I‘d gained from the sight of Mr. Donald, and not even my own fears, could ever have taken me down from there.

When my grip finally fastened around the pipe that I’d been looking for, I still didn’t bother patting myself of the back. Rather, I struggled to unscrew all of the large bolts that had been wrenched into there. I quickly found that this idea was nowhere near as easy as I’d hoped for it to be— my hands became cut up by it, and I found that my arms were weak. My heartrate was suffering too, with me falling into a tumult and finding that my heart was threatening to send me tumbling back into the sewage water below. Oddly enough, this wasn’t strong enough to halt me— not even this managed to hoodwink me into a sense of fear. Instead, I continued on my goal, striking my hands harder and harder on the bolts. My palm swelled with blisters, and my eyes swelled with the wrenching of pain— and wrenching— but my own will broke past it. There was something unseen to me that I couldn’t quite detect. A part of me wanted to call it a miracle. Though, another part of me wanted to call it the fruits of brute force.

As the bolts creaked and screeched at the act of e pulling them away, I almost felt as if they were screeching at me— into me. I felt as if a part of them had leapt into my soul, and that they were beginning to overtake a part of me. Of course this was wrong, and unfounded. But, I couldn’t help but feel as if this was the entire truth, and that there was nothing else going on around me. In fact, I’d argue that the bolts had brought the worst parts of myself to light, and that they’d made me into a me frightened state than I ever would’ve been otherwise.

Either way, it didn’t matter. I aptly made sure to start pulling the pipe from it place, attempting to knock it toward the sewer sludge below. Of course, my plan wasn’t anything close to having the pip knocked into the water. Instead, I had a far more in depth plan. My arms had griped around the entire pipe, and prepared to knock the pipe no the wall across from me. I could already see all of the crumbling elements of the bricks, within the wall across— it would just take a bit of brute force, and I’d have it all under control.

Granted, it wasn’t just a bit of brute force that was necessary. Rather, there was quite a lot that I’d need to utilize. I could already feel my body revving up for the physical beat down that was about to succumb it, and the amount of force that it was going to have to lay down. It wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. As much as I wanted it to, nothing could be enough to do what needed to get done. In truth, everything that I’d planned was doomed to failure, and I was doomed to go down with it. I had no chance at making it thorough. I could already feel the water beginning to spurt out of the pipe, with a pressure that I’d never felt before. It was only going to get worse, and I feared that I was not going to have a way of stopping it from flooding the whole place— not that I’d ever had a way of doing so.

The water went into my eyes, and I felt as it burned me— there were chunks of dirt and algae stuck within the pipes, and they rocketed into my face in both a distasteful and painful mixture.

“This is why I never will understand plumber…” I said to myself. “I don’t know how else I’m going to get out of this place, if I can’t get past all of this disgust. I just don’t know if this will be easy, or if I’ll struggle the whole way through.”

My answers came for me. I found that the water started to cease spraying at me, and everything began to clear up. In fact, there was a sense of elation and peace of mind that I began to sense— none of my concerns held the same barring on me that they originally had.

I pulled off the remaining bolts with the same strain that I had with the other ones. While their rusted edges still chomped into my palms, and left my hands running with red tears, I was still able onto overlook it all. Instead, my sights were upon the wall, and that alone. The spray of toilet water, the fears of wound infections, and even the wound s itself, disappeared. I’d felt the mixture of despair, followed by hope, several times within these sewers. But, none of it had quite matched this time. This time, I knew that I was safe— that I was doing things right. And, I was no longer feeling any of the previous concerns that I’d been suffering from.

The brick wall made a loud cracking sound the first time that I wacked at it. The second time, I watched as a chunk of brick plunked into the water, leaving behind a splash of liquid. Another time after that passed by, and there was a substantial dent— but, I was already beginning to get the feeling that the metal pipe wasn’t going to get me as far as I’d hoped. It was about the size of my forearm, and heavy as thirty pounds— but, as I wacked it into the wall, all of these forces were multiplied, and I becoming increasingly aware of just how weak and helpless that I was. Despite all of my best wishes, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get what I wanted out of all this. In fact, I was gaining the feeling that things were going to steadily avalanche, until I had no way out– until all of my hope was gone, and my chances at renewal were made minimal.

I watched as the whole steadily enlarge, and felt as the spray of water was thrust upon me in increasingly rapid rates. In fact, it became so much so that I started to fear I’d have no hope at breaking it at all. Thankfully, it steadily became more apparent that none of this would matter— rather, I knew that it would all eventually fall apart, and come to an end. My willpower was just too strong. At least— that’s what I’d convinced myself of. The truth within this belief, however, was probably one that was more up to debate.

It came to the point where I’d broken onto the other side, and I could see the light and hope that lay beyond me. There was nothing that I could deny now— I knew for a fact that I was where I needed to be, and that there was nothing that could stand against me. In fact, I felt so confident that all other fears and worries started to appear as small as fleas in the face of me. They were barely worth acknowledgement!

I wanted to convinced myself of this, at east. Though, I then remembered how much effort it had taken for me to break this portion of the wall pen, and just how much harder it would be to breakout a substantial portion— I started to remember just how much I was going to be susceptible to failure on so many fronts, that I wouldn’t even be able to concede to them all. All it would take is the slip of the foot into water. And then, I’d need to find a safe way to get across and over the water, or else become subject to my own issues. And, of course, there was also the fact that my issues were far too numerous. They were all too abundant, that I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to get all of it down. I was going to have to figure out a way to make sure that Mr. Donald was brought from the crime scene. And, I’d still have to make some last minute inspections— but then., I was getting the feeling that such last minute inspections were going to be too far out of reach. I could practically hear the call of my demise off in the distance. If I were to deny it, I knew that I would deny Mr. Donald too. But then— if I were to accept it, I had the feeling that it would be the need of the road for me.

There were so many other problems that I was being confronted with, but this one seemed to take precedence over the rest. I had to answer it, and quickly– I could already see how much the blasting jet of water, from out of the pipe, was already beginning to change. And, I had the weird feeling that it was about to change a lot more, if I didn’t act soon. It would be to the point where the place would be unsusceptible.

“What should I do?” I wondered. “If I was dead, I would definitely want people to abandon my grave— I wouldn’t care, considering the fact that the only other option would be the death of another person…”

I paused to think. The ground beneath me was no longer ground, but instead an overwhelmingly large map of ink. It was so spread out that I could barely perceive it, let alone what might’ve been hidden beneath it. At that moment, I knew that Mr. Donald was lost to me, and that I practically had no hope of finding him— I practically had no reason n of finding him.

I turned my flashlight on, and clung it from in between my teeth.

“But then, that’s not what Mr. Donald would’ve wanted,” I said. “He was a rich man… He would’ve wanted his death to be just as rich as his life had been. I’m going to have to try, and represent that.”

Beyond all reason, and most certainly out of the influence of the grime that was surrounding my body, I dived into the water. I’m not quite sure what was going on in my head at the time— it was probably something inane, and utterly absurd. But then, there was also something beautiful to what was going on in my head, despite the fact that it was completely unreasonable, and against everything that I found to be worthwhile. It was the fact that I was acting out of a compassion for my fellow man. No— not only my fellow man. Rather, I was acting out of compassion for a man wo was long gone from the world from reality, and deeply-rooted into the basement of the house that he’d built— in a sense, the graveyard that he’d built for himself.

That was probably the driving force for my actions, now that I think about it. I didn’t want to leave the man there, to decay in the place that he’d built for himself. There was a sort of irony to it that I was too disturbed to think about. I wanted to do what I was always supposed to do for people— serve them, and protect their well-being against all reason being to the contrary. I wanted to make a difference that I knew nobody else would be willing to make.

My body plunged into the water— I struggled to follow after it, but I ended up doing so anyway. There was a portion of my spirit that gained a bravery— one that I still struggle to understand. I feel as if a massive weight was lifted off of me in that moment.

Under the water, everything had turned to a murky and garish image of what it had once been, with the entire place being distorted and unsightly. When looking at it, I felt as if I were looking at a madhouse, and trying to navigate through the directions provided by its funhouse mirrors. The very notion of it all was already stumbling enough, but I felt only more confused when I started to find that OI couldn’t find the person that I was looking for. Mr. Donald seemed to be nowhere to be seen, and I felt as if I were trapped under water, amongst a myriad of the repercussions that came from such. I t started to look to me as if the place was riddled with all sorts of traps and problems, of which I wouldn’t be able to avoid. My voice was made mute amongst the waters too, so there was no comfort in thinking that I could at least make my voice heard when things began to become tough. There was no hope in the concept of being able to swim away, and into a place where there was refuge. There was nothing that I had to protect me. Rather, my entire world was gone from me, and I found that I was utterly trapped in a maze that couldn’t be reined in.

“Well, I guess that this is where I lay down my spirit,” I thought, to myself, sarcastically. “This isn’t the worst way to go out… Granted, I probably would’ve preferred it to be at my bedside, then in an abundance of sewages water. But, this is fine.”

I was just entertaining myself— I was distancing the thoughts of the potential fatality of my missing away in a sense, this was my way of deflecting all of the fears that were trying to vault onto my back, and make me weakened. I was just deflecting the fears that were becoming ever so prominent. But then— I began to wonder I f I was doing the right thing in this practice, or if I’d allowed myself to become victim of my own inanities. Either way, it was no longer something that I could truly face. Instead, I had to look into the water, and attempt to find a sort of meaning and solace. That was the only place where anything that I did really counted. The water was gushing into my ears, and up my nostrils, making me feel sick in the gut. I felt was if I couldn’t handle it anymore, and that what I was doing was nonsense.

My feelings weren’t wrong. In fact, they were far more right than I might be willing to give credit. Without recognizing this fact, I might fall subject to a folly that needs to be deeply addressed. It’s the fact that fear should overtake reasoning.

It’s becoming all the more apparent that reasoning matters more than fear. While fear keeps you alive, it also keeps you from experiencing the fullness of consciousness— certain thoughts become prohibited, and only one true thought takes a precedence— the thought of fleeing, and making sure that you’re safe, over anything else.

My clothes started to become heavier, the deeper that I went down, and I was starting to have to pull a few articles of clothing off. At this point, my breath was all but gone from me, and my pulses was throbbing from the lack thereof. In a few different spots, I saw flaking hints of where Mr. Donald was. In one spot, I saw a tie. In another, there was a floating, loose shoe. But, he still alluded my sight– I almost felt as if her were hiding from me— making sure that I couldn’t see him.

It was probably another ten seconds before I finally saw him, floating upwards, amongst the water. There was a cloud of dirt and filth surrounding him, and his clothes looked just as nasty as they had when ‘d last seen him— clearly the abundance of water hadn’t made much of a difference, in that arena of aesthetics. Though, at least I’d found him, and I felt a sense of joy and levity in at least knowing that much. Typically, it’s very hard for me to feel happy in these sorts of scenarios— I find that it’s very easy for me to fall apart, and crumble inside, in such an emotional extremity. However, upon some swift grace that I was unaware of, I was able to take flight from the wish to take flight. Everything that should’ve been holding me back was held back, and all that was left was a feeling of relief— relief, and the satisfactory sensation of success.

I couldn’t linger of these thoughts for long— maybe five seconds at most. It seemed to me that everything had both slowed down and sped up, awhile I was underwater. I didn’t really have any time to slow down my thoughts, and think. Although, I also didn’t seem to have any time to speed up my thoughts, either. In a way, I was a mix of both extremes. I thought myself to be caught in a sense of joy. But, at the same time, I was also sucked into the fact that I had to rush. My breath was steadily slipping more and more, and I knew that I wouldn’t have the time to do everything that I wanted to, before I had to resurface. In fact, I was already feeling the negative results of my need to resurface. My stroke growing weaker and weaker, and my thoughts had become clouded.

“You’ve gotten me to do a lot for your sake, Donald,” I seethed, under my held breath, “so, I hope that, wherever you are, you’re going to be happy with just how much I’m helping you right now…”

I struggled to grasp Mr. Donald’s hand, and then attempted to pull him up— but, I was insanely stupid for thinking that such an idea made any sense. As I held onto him, and tried carrying him upwards, his body didn’t follow after me— rather, I felt like it was dragging me down, and trying to pull me back into the blackened depths with it. In a sense, it really was. In a sense, it wasn’t. Either way, I knew that I couldn’t afford to stay under the water with him. MY breath was failing me, and I forced myself to resurface.

My breath came back to me with the same willingness that a bird flies back to its cage. I didn’t want to have to breathe again— I wanted to still be underwater, pulling Mr. Donald upward with me. But, I knew that I had no other choice.

After this moment of catching my breath, I threw myself back underwater, and tried grabbing onto Mr. Donald— trying to carry him upward. It was very quick that I realized just how little of a hope I really had. The more that I tried pulling him, the more exhausted I became. Besides that, I knew that I couldn’t conceivably carry Mr. Donald’s corpse up with me. He was long gone from the world, and had no chance of actually pulling his own weight. I didn’t have the strength of carrying him upwards either. My broken arm was too much of a weight already, and Mr. Donald was only making it near impossible for me to swim.

Eventually, I forced myself to come to grips, and let go of Mr. Donald. Though, not before taking one last look at him. AS I did, I found that there was a note slipping out of his suit’s chest pocket. Quickly, I grabbed the note— and then, I left Mr. Donald. I couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of regret for leaving the man, and, by extension, his memory behind. Though, I knew that it was the only option that I had. So, I carried myself back up to my slippery pipe perch. Then, I jumped to the door that had been blocked from me, and out to freedom. In a sense, as I jumped off, I felt that I was jumping for Mr. Donald too. In fact, I could’ve e sworn that I felt a brush of wind, pushing me forward— almost as if Mr. Donald himself had come there in spirit, and attempted to help me for my efforts.

I managed to grip onto the ledge of the hole that I’d mad into the wall, and pull myself up into tit. Finally, I managed to go into the palace, where I began to give myself rest. I found myself doubled over, spitting out cups-worth of water. If I hadn’t known any better, I most certainly would’ve given up right there, on the account of feeling sick.

Though, there was something that drove me to keep going— something that told me not to stop to rest, but instead to keep searching for clues— to figure out exactly what was going on. Though I felt incredibly lightheaded, I managed to pull myself up from my spot on the carpeted floor, and read the not that I was holding in my hand. The paper was incredibly creased and wrinkled, and all of the ink on tit was bleeding off of it. Though, despite this, I was still able to made out the revolting sprawl of worlds that had been torn onto it. It read:

“Congratulations, Sergeant Kyler. You’ve finally started to catch onto the few things that I still have going for me— the kidnapping and torture of wealthy individuals. Sadly, you’re too slow to get me just where you need to. You’re too slow to quite figure out what’s going on. You don’t know who this letter is from in the slightest, nor any idea of what you’re supposed to do. Though, you do know one thing— one thing that will possibly neve matter to you. And that one thing is that I know who you are I know what you’re doing I know that you’re onto me. And, I also know that you don’t stand a single chance, in the face of what you’re up against.

I hope that you take everything that I’ve written down, and see it as a fact. Because, without that, you’ll be forever stuck in a cycle, of which you’re never going to escape from. Rather, you’re now completely fooled. I hope that you’re happy with just how little you’ve accomplished— I hope that you become supportive of what I’ve done, in due time, rather than against it. After all— the support of my actions is the only thing that will make sense, once I’m done. The truth of the matter is, I’m in the right. And, you’re egregiously in the wrong.

“Please— prepare to change your way. Prepare to be shown who is boss. Otherwise, you’re winding up for a grave mistake— the mistake of coming across me, and thinking that I’m somebody who you can ever possibly pick a fight with. My will and my skills are far beyond you bumbling and bereft attempts at such. Good luck, my friend, and I hope that you enjoy your upcoming funeral… But then— from what I can tell, you don’t have any luck. Well— at least you have a funeral coming up. So, you can take joy in that at least. Poor sorrow— it’s all up to interpretation, rally. Then again, what isn’t up to interpretation?”

I was both disgruntled and disturbed by what I had read. But, I was also all too willing to take it to heart, and read it incredibly thoroughly. In truth, there was nothing that I could do to get rid of the fears that were abounding inside of myself— I knew that as an indisputable fact. And there was nothing to do to get rid of this elusive figure, who seemed to know everything about me— and yet, I didn’t know anything about them.

“I seem to get a slot of this sorts of freaks…” I said to myself. “I’m starting to wonder what it will take to finally get rid of them, and show them who’s the boss. Who can possibly know everything about somebody, but still have that person know nothing about them. Isn’t that contradictory”

I stopped myself, in my words. I suddenly realized that, whoever this person was, they had to know me— it only made sense. Everybody around me knew exactly what I was doing— at least, they knew to some extent. Whoever this was, they were one of my friends. That, or they were a friend of my friends. Though, I couldn’t help but feel that they might be closer to home. The things that this note described about me were simply too detailed, and too in depth, for me to blatantly ignore. In fact, I began to wonder if there was anything that I couldn’t ignore about it, or if I was reading too much into it. This was probably the most chilling and confusing element of the letter. When I thought about it, I was worried that I was thinking about its details too much— seeing things that weren’t really there. But, when I didn’t think about it, I realized that I might’ve been making a different sort of mistake. In a way, I didn’t feel like there was any true way in which I could win— it was all poised in such a way that I would lose, no matter what decision I made.

“Well,” I said, “I guess that there are some days when you just can’t win at everything…”

With that said, I picked myself up from my place on what had formerly been Mr. Donald’s carpeted floor. I found that there was a sense of satisfaction within myself, in knowing that I was abandoning the very place that had been the article of my imprisonment. Though, even as I began to leave Mr. Donald’s mansion, and head for the narrow walkway that so beautifully represented the place’s spirit of entrapment, I found that I was torn between continuing onward, and heading back— heading back, to attempt one last effort to save Mr. Donald., and bring him back out into the world that had been taken from him.

Whether I perceive my decision as brilliant, or stupid is still something that I debate with myself over, to this day. Though, I tend to lean towards the latter. The moment of me deciding that I’d made the right choice, and done what I was supposed to— the moment that I headed out into the darkness of the night, and out of the safe enclosure that Mr. Donald’s house provided— I knew that it was also the moment when I ‘d decided that I preferred my career, and my life, over my own code of honor.

Yet, I didn’t feel disparaged by any of this. In fact, in a weird and twisted sort of way, I actually felt encouraged from this moment of seeming insanity. Because, in such, I realized just how trapped within myself that I really was, in acting upon my inherent bludgeoning of ethics, and codes. MY own sense of duty was one that made no sense, upon every form of inspection. I was appreciative, beyond all comparison, of just what had happened to me. In fact, I felt that there was not a justice that could be considered more fitting, or satisfying. I had taken a pathway that was right, and I knew it. And, that was all that could possibly matter.

As I walked out through the narrow walkway, and towards the front door, I felt my foot snag on a bit of string, which had been loosely put upon the floor. Then, I heard the sound of somebody snarling— it was as if somebody were watching me, and my every step. I quickly assumed that this sound that been triggered by whatever the loose piece of string had been connected to— but, I still couldn’t help but feel that my sense of security had been violated. After everything that I had just been through, there was not a feeling that I could consider more unfavorable. In fact, this was probably amongst the most unfavorable sensations that I have encountered in a while.

Anyhow, I bent over and inspected the string, before finding that it weaved into the wall— once I found that it wove into the wall, I realized that there must have been some sort of phonograph behind it, letting out the sounds— that was why the voice had been so muffled. Though, this disconcerted me for a reason that I couldn’t quite rationalize with— it made me feel that, whoever had been behind all of this, they had been a sort of mastermind, who had planned to bring everything to this single point. And, they knew every inch of this place. They would’ve had to, because there wasn’t a single sign of the wall that I was looking at having been torn apart, so that the phonograph could’ve been placed inside of it. It looked to me, that whoever had done this, would’ve had to have known of some sort of crack in between it the wall, and managed to squeeze themselves— along with the device— into it, without having been noticed by anybody, and without letting any sign of such an act leaking out. Such would’ve required a precision and skill that I knew I couldn’t even comprehend. And, the only true explanation was that, whoever had done this crime, they knew both Mr. Donald’s house very well, and myself very well.

“There’s nobody who matches that description...” I said to myself. “Now of this makes any sense, nor is it internally consistent… There has to be some sort of alternate explanation for all of this. That’s the only way that I’ll be able to explain it all. Or else, all that’s going on is complete nonsense…”

I knew that I’d tripped myself in that statement though. What was going on very well might’ve been complete nonsense. And then, whoever did this might’ve known the city very well, and I’d just been oblivious to their presence. It was not very hard for me to believe having happened, the more that I put thought into tit. It was just— it was simply not something that I wanted to have to think about. I wanted to believe that it was all supposed to be far easier than it really was. I wanted to believe that it wasn’t anywhere near as hard as it made itself out to be.

“I’ll figure you out,” I whispered to myself, ripping the string from out of under the floor lining, and placing it into my pocket. “You’re not going to be able to hide this from me forever. Sooner or later, for better or worse, you’re going to become exposed. And, when that day comes, you’re going to wish that you never bothered to mess with me— nor anybody for that matter. You’re going to wish that you’d stayed at home, and had never come out. Once I’m done with you, you’re going to be the laughing stock of this whole place— everybody will be…”

“Do you ever stop talking to yourself?”

I turned my head upwards. It was Officer Paul, with his arms folded into his chest.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought that you were busy on your constant crusade to slight me…”

Paul chuckled, just as annoyingly as ever.

“I might be becoming Lieutenant Jackson’s new right hand man,” he said, with his nasally voice biting at my ears with the same terrible force that might come out of a disgusting behemoth, “but, that doesn’t mean that I can’t give time to people who are steadily being— demoted from their position. I don’t mean to slight you, Kyler. I really don’t. I actually came here for utterly different reasons than to meet up with you. To be bereft, it’s not as if I would’ve been able to track you down to here, without having it occur out of entire coincidence. Let’s face it— you’re a pretty idiot is guy, and you don’t really have any of your findings posted, or written down, for us to be informed about.”

I nodded my head. Even though I despised this man with every fiber of my diet, I knew that I couldn’t battle him over this. He actually had a point that I couldn’t really refute— all of my findings were jumbled, and they were all over the place. There really wasn’t any sort of order to my research, despite my fervent wish for such to be otherwise. I simply planned everything out far too terribly, and allowed things to steadily be stacked against me. In a sense, I was my own enemy. In a sense, there was no true way to avoid what had happened to me. In a sense, I didn’t want to agree with him— but I did.

“So, when are you actually going to get to the point?” I asked. “There’s a lot of chatter coming from your mouth, but not a whole lot of information… How did you get here? Why are you here, talking to me, instead of conducting any sort of investigation?”

“No need to make fun of my investigation abilities— you’re the one who’s playing with a yo-yo string, over here. Anyway, I was busy trying to chase down somebody who was speeding down the road, in my cop-car. They were perhaps one of the greatest speeding drivers that I’d ever seen— they were clearly up to something.

“I followed them best as I could, but they were great at maneuvering through the obstacles of Chicago’s streets, and misdirecting me. Eventually, they turned down an alleyway— and, I simply hadn’t been prepared for that. They were gone from my sight for quite some time, as I tried to catch up with them, and replicate their sharp turn. But, I ended up crashing my car in the process, and I had to stumble after them. I eventually got to their car, which was in the alleyway that they’d turned down. Btu, what I found was that it was a perfect match of Mr. Donald’s car, save the fact that its license plates had been pried off. So, I came here, to make sure that the place hadn’t been robbed again—

I wanted to make sure that the original robbery hadn’t just been to get rid of this house’s owner, so that it would be unattended when the true heist occurred.”

“Well, you weren’t’ entirely wrong, I said. “You actually have some good reasons to come here, and I suppose that you aren’t as much of a stalker as I thought that you were… but, there’s nothing here that suggests any sort of heinous robbery occurred. In fact, from what I can tell, nothing happened here at all…. It’s really strange, but it was as if the crook in question came here… And then, they just left…”

A chill went down my spine when I remembered the harsh growl that I’d heard, when walking down this walkway. I’d thought that I was alone, and that I knew everything that was going on. Though, I was starting to doubt how much of that was true, and how much of that was simply my own grandiose delusions.

“Now, did you actually see this person?” I asked. “I just want to know exactly what they looked like, so that I can compare it with my own experience.”

“I’m afraid not,” Officer Paul said. “They managed to trash my car, and they left without me being able to obtain any sort of information about them. In sort, they’re amongst the worst type of criminal that you can ever come across— sly, slimy, and swift.”

“Those descriptive terms go far beyond just the criminals that I’ve had to go toe to toe with,” I said, with a wry sarcasm. “Well, that’s bad to know, on every level… but, I just want to know— what exactly does that do for us? Don’t we have a way of actually furthering ourselves, without having to worry about him? Don’t you have any more evidence that might help me?”

“Nothing at all, unless you count some strange monkey doll, and an oddly worded note that I found. The car was largely abandoned, and there were possessions within it that clearly seemed like they had been put there by the car thief… I don’t think that there’s any way that we can really get through all of this, without being left with an abundance of questions. That’s why? I need to hear your side of the story now.”

“Just a minute,” I said. “So, what you’re telling me is that there’s nothing weird going on?”

“Nothing to the level that you’re proposing… This was clearly just a casual car hijacker. That is— unless you have evidence to the contrary.”

I stole a look at the note and monkey statue that Officer Paul was holding in his hands.

“Could I please have a look at those?” I asked, making sure to rush passed the word, please, as quickly as I could.

Officer Paul had a reluctance in his eye, clearly borne out of his mistrust towards me. However, he reluctantly held out his hand, and gave me the paper and monkey statue that I wanted.

“Be careful with those— and you better not keep them for yourself, again,” he said. He was trying to sound as intimidating as possible. Though, I saw right through the facade. He seemed as weak as a whimpering dog.

“Yes— don’t worry about that,” I said.

I was inspecting the monkey stature first, I could see that it was covered in some sort of blackened powder, as well as a degree of wet slime on it. The slime smelt of a terrible stink— most likely from the sewage lines. Though, I was having a hard time determining where the blackened powder might’ve come from.

“Why are you busy looking at the monkey toy?” Officer Paul asked. “There’ s an entire note in your hand… Shouldn’t you be busy looking at that, first?”

“Please— I already know what I’m doing here, Paul,” I said. “After all of my years on the force do you really think that this is my first time looking at investigation material. I’ve seen several of these monkey trinkets before. I’m trying to sense a sort of pattern here… If only it was easier than it seemed…

“

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t trust you after some of the things that I’ve seen you do,” said Paul.

“Well, you’re going to have to,” I said. “Now, was there anything else in the car?”

“Not that I could see… Though, I don’t have a hard time believing that there might’ve been things that I missed. After all— the car had plenty of compartments in it that I couldn’t get open, without the keys. Though, the car is being towed back to our police department, so I don’t think that it will be too hard to figure out what’s going on…”

“Alright then…”

I placed the monkey stature within my jacket pocket, so as to ensure that nobody would be able to take it for themselves. Though, I’d also partially taken it for myself. I could see that Officer Paul was eying me, clearly angry that I was collecting these monkey trophies. In fact, I was beginning to think that he thought me to be suspect. However, I knew that there was nothing that I could do. So, I turned about, and began to continue talking.

“I will make sure to put that monkey where it belongs, once we’re done here… Anyway, I’m sure that this note paper needs to be talked about even more...”

“Most certainly,” said Officer Paul. “If you look at it, you’ll see just how much gibberish is sprawled across it. It’s ridiculous!”

I took a look at the paper. It really was gibberish. everything on it was just a cluster of words, making itself out to be logical. In fact, some of the weren’t’ even words at all.

“’…’ What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“It has to be some sort of code… The real question is, though, what kind of code is it supposed to be? I just can’t’ seem to figure it out. I tried thinking about it on my drive here, but there doesn’t seem to be any clear answers. I saw that we need to get an expert to work on this.”

“That, or just somebody who really knows what they’re doing…. That’s all that it would really take. It isn’t as if it’s all that hard to decode something like this. You just need to catch the right patterns— figure out the key.”

“I doubt that it will be obvious to find…”

“But then, what is obvious in these cases, Paul? We’re looking at the smallest of bits of clues right here. We’re not going to be able to figure anything out, all that easily… We’re dealing with master criminal, who has all of his steps plotted out before we can even think of taking a step. When we’re trying to move away, he’s moving toward us. Nothing is all that simple here. It’s all very complicated, and tough to comprehend. So, you need to stop complaining about it…”

“Got it…”

Paul then looked around the room that I was in.

“So, what happened her?” he asked.

You wouldn’t believe me if I tried to tell you.” I answered.

It turned out that he would try believing me. And, so, I told him.

“That sounds extremely far-fetched…” Paul said. “However, I can’t say that it stretches beyond the comprehension of my imagination. I wouldn’t be surprised if this had all been part of some major master plan. Whoever did this must’ve been winding up to do this all along. IT just makes me wonder— why would somebody go to all of that trouble, and not actually make any sort of dent? This place doesn’t look like it had been robbed. Instead, it simply looks like you’ve been terrorized...”

“That’s the thing, Paul. Whoever did this must’ve known that I was going to come here, and planned everything accordingly. Whoever did this doesn’t want either of us to find out–and yet, they really do. I’m tempted to ask Lieutenant Jackson about advice for this, but I’m afraid that he might laugh me off like he’s done before.”

Officer Paul made a look of disgust towards me.

“Laugh you off?” he asked. “He hasn’t done anything of that sort— he hasn’t done anything close. The only reason that he’s laughed you off a few times is because you didn’t have any evidence to provide him. Now that you do, it should be a lot easier on you.

“It isn’t that simple.”

“You’re right… There’s a lot more going on in your head than what you’re admitting to. You’re telling me a lie, and you’re telling yourself a lie. You actually like being the center of attention, and you actually like all of these mysteries. You don’t want anybody to know the answers— especially yourself. You want to keep it under wraps…”

I gave a scowl, and clenched my fists.

Officer Paul had no sense of boundaries, or respect. It seems to me that no topic was off limits to him— he was willing to spew any sort of nonsense that came to his mouth That was something that I really liked about him. It was also something that I deeply hated.

“It’s not quite that,” I said. “There’s a lot more to it. I— I.”

“You’re just a coward.”

“I’m afraid that Lieutenant Jackson will try to steal the credit from me.”

Officer Paul smirked and coolly placed his hands into his pockets.

“I’m sure that you are.” He said, “After all— it isn’t as if you’ve had a discovery that needs to be paid attention to, before. The truth of the matter is, you’re jealous of Lieutenant Jackson. You always have been— he’s far more accomplished than you, and you’re always striving to reach the back of his coattails. I’d be shocked if even this case ends up getting you anywhere. That’s your main problem, though— your jealousy. You’re not willing to share the credit. The only time that you ever worked with anybody is when that person wasn’t willing to give away their name– when you weren’t willing to get his name for us. You might see yourself as being amongst the most influential of us detectives. And, to an extent, you really are. There are few people who can contest your level of ranking, or anything that you’ve figured out. But, at the end of the day, you’re just the same pitiful bundle of uselessness that you always were…”

I wanted to sock him in the jaw, so bad. An anger had begun to broil inside of me, to the point where I as desperate and willing to do anything and everything, in order to have total control over all that was going on. I wanted to be the person who ended up taking him down— the person who showed him who was boss, and showed him just how cruel and harsh the world really was to us. Because, it really was cruel and harsh. It really was looking to lap us up, and make us into insignificant pond scum. Nobody wanted to have to acknowledge that. Not him, and especially not me. Though, at the same time, I also knew that it had to be acknowledged. Not just for his sake, or for my sake, but for both of our sakes.

This is why I pulled my one good arm back, and prepared to throw it at him— and then I let my arm drop to the ground. I stopped myself. Instead, I unclasped my hand, and put it into his, giving it a firm shake.

“You’re right,” I said, making sure to have wiped off my coming hurricane of anger. “I was wrong to try and fight you about all of this— you were right all along, after all. The both of us need to work together, if we ever plan on solving this case. I need somebody who really knows what they’re doing to be on my side. Now, please— be that person. Make sure that you’re the one who helps me out, rather than it being the other way around. I don’t want to have to do this alone anymore. Rather, I want to be able to side with somebody, and make them into an ally. I want to show somebody my secrets, so that they don’t go to waste once I truly meet my end…”

Paul chuckled.

“I’m sorry, but that’s never going to happen. You’ve already chosen your path— you’ve proven that you’re simply not the sort of person who works really well with other people. In fact, I’d say that you’re the sort of person who’s immune to such sorts of actions with other people. While I’d be really glad to take up a new partner, and solve this conundrum, you and I both know that you’re just not the sort of person who would be willing. In everything that you’ve ever done, you’ve proven yourself to be one of the most arrogant people on the field.”

Paul Stood there, still as a rock after that. He smiled, and I smiled back. I can’t quite put my finger on it—maybe it was the way that he breathed, his posture, or just his overall demeanor— but, Officer Paul was probably the first police officer that I’d ever met who really looked synonymous to a punching bag in my eyes. In fact, he perhaps even looked more like a punching bag then I expected. Because, after that, he began to bob back and forth. I stood there for quite some time— thinking. Waiting for a response out of me. It was as if he were digging for my anger. Digging for my rage.

Fine then,” I said with a sigh. “I guess that, if you’re done giving me your verbal beat down, then I’m done spending my time on you. You know, I was really looking forward to what sort of team that we would’ve made together. I’m certain that it would’ve been the sort that you never would’ve regretted… But, I get it. We both need to go our separate paths, and determine separate fates. I suppose that, in spite of all of this conversation, and everything that went wrong with it, I still understand your position. I still understand why to you don’t want to be my teammate. And, you know what? You’re actually right, to a sense. I never was the sort of person who worked well with others. Instead., I was the sort of person who always stuck to the mysterious, and tried to find out the answer to the mysterious on my own. All that I can say is that I thank you for waking me up, and I hope that it will help me in the future.”

It didn’t look like officer Paul really had a response for that. His smugness quickly subsided, and his hands came out of his pockets.

“So you’re just going to take the evidence for yourself, then?”

“If you want it, you can have it…

“No… No… I’ll be fine without it. I don’t need tit, unlike you. I have a good memory, and strong skills when it comes to induction. Though, there is one thing that I do need from you…”

“Yes?”

“Please tell me how the butler here looked… you might not have gotten any answers from me, concerning the driver of the car. But, the least that you can do, for the both of us, is tell me all that you can about the butler. Maybe, in this way, we can form a sort of way to track the suspect down. After all— both of us can agree that the butler must’ve had something to do with whatever happened…”

I nodded, reluctantly.

“I guess that I can tell you that,” I said. “But, I don’t actually remember much about the butler. It wasn’t until I was already in the tunnel that I got his name.”

“You have to have some sort of semblance of memory about the man. Don’t tell me that you’re just as clueless as any other cop would’ve been in this situation. You’re e one of the greatest detectives on the force! Come on now— buck up, and show me who’s boss.”

“That’s the thing...” I said. “I don’t actually think that I’m that much of a genius. Even if I were, I wouldn’t be able to find you the answers that you wanted. The truth of the matter is, they’re not that easy to get— even some of the smartest cops on the force wouldn’t have been able to remember well, if they were in my shoes. And, I just don’t have the greatest of memories— especially when things are stressful. In a way, everything that happens becomes a sort of lucid haze– some other, ulterior divine, takes me over. I can’t quite explain it, but it’s just so beautiful a thing. And, at the same time, it’s also so horrid. If only you could understand, it, you’d know full well. I just wish that my memory was better is all.”

“You’re a police officer, on the police force, and you don’t have a good memory?” Paul asked with a chuckle. “That’s rich. You, of all people, should be able to remember what happened.”

“I should,” I said, regretfully, “I honestly should. But, I strangely don’t. I can’t explain why, but…”

“Then explain what you do know, to me,” Paul said, with a sort to fury beginning to seep through his voice. “Tell me what you do know, because I don’t want to be kept wondering.”

“Well, the butler was very tall, and very thin,” I said. “He had balding hair, and a clean-shaven face. His hair was strangely bright red, though— he must’ve found a way to die it…”

“Interesting to know...” said Paul. “Is that all?”

“That’s all that I can really remember about him... I suppose that his voice was especially low, for a man in a suit. And, I suppose that it was odd that he was named Mr. Dom. But both of those things could easily be changed, if this is a master of disguise that we’re talking about her. We don’t really know. So, I’ve pretty much given you all of the best information that I really have…”

“Pretty pitiful for the best information…” Officer Paul said, with a frown. “But, I guess that it will have to do. It beats looking in the sewers for no clues, like you did.”

I waited for him to walk off, on his normal queue. Instead, he just stood there again— stood there, and waited for me to leave.

“Well, I guess that I’m going to go then…” I said, awkwardly staring at the floor on my way out. “But, thanks for all of the entertaining that you’d offered to my ramblings. You know, I really expected you to laugh me off, like most people do in these sorts of cases…”

“No,” Officer Paul said, watching me coldly as I walked out of the room. “I’m the sort of person who likes to study everything and anything— there’s nothing that I’m not willing to look at, and scrutinize. I’d say that it’s my biggest talent, and my biggest curse…”

“Good to know…” I said, heading out. I could still hardly believe that I’d survived the deadly trap in the bowels of the house, brought up a single clue, and yet I was still being reduced to something rather pitiful and powerless. There was nothing that I could really do, except beg and whimper. I was no longer at the level power that I so loved to exhort. Instead, I was trapped under a mess that I couldn’t hope to escape. Trapped, forever. “I hope to see you again.”

“I’m sure that you do,” Paul said, keenly avoiding the social que.

He acknowledged that I didn’t want to see him again. Though, what really got under my skin was the fact that he clearly wanted to see me again— he wanted to make me feel humiliated, just like he had in this encounter.

That was the single most annoying thing about Paul— if, not, disturbing. He wanted to keep you under his thumb, and make sure that you were tied down in just the way that he wanted you to be. He was the puppet master and you were just the puppet that he flung around. While it was fun for a time, it eventually came to the point where the fun was one sided. The only person who enjoyed beating me down was him. And even then, I had my doubts as to just how much it was really enjoyed by him— or anyone, for that matter. Perhaps there was no real enjoyment in it, but, instead, a sort of parasite of the mind. Something that took him, along with everybody involved with him, into a position where they had no sort of logic to sway them from falling into the classic mental traps that the mind held— the classic position of arrogance, and ignorance.

I’m the sort of person who likes to think of himself as being brilliant. The kind who is easily defined as being haughty and arrogant. At the very thought of declaring myself haughty and arrogant, I begin to feel so. Though, there’s nobody quite so much as that as Officer Paul tis.

The one thing that worries me is that There’s more to Officer Paul’s demeanor, and what he does, than simply the fact that he thinks he knows better. I fear the fact that, maybe, his character has something more suspect to it than I once wanted to believe. I used to think that he hated, me, merely because of the fact that I was somebody who was easy to hate— or, that I seemed like I might’ve been the criminal in question, to him. Though, I now begin got think that there was more to it than something so simple as tha.t There was another aspect— a part of me that was just so cold, and cruel, that It couldn’t recognize the fact that it was also very unintelligible. Though, this part of me did have something to it that I was beginning to think might’ve been right.

I had been wrong in thinking that Officer Paul thought that I was the criminal. Perhaps Officer Paul was the criminal… Perhaps he was in league with the very thing that I hatred. I didn’t want to think on this, but it was all starting to line up when I placed it in my head. He knew that when I stated the case— he knew everything about it, ‘m sure, and he was constantly after my position. In every respect, he wanted me dead. He wanted me to pay.

“Well, he denied my offer of partnership,” I said, “And, while I grant him the fact that I would’ve done the same, in his position, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to find somebody else. Nobody can just throw me to the wayside, pretend that I’m useless, and then expect go one without any sort of ramifications. I’m going to show him just how angry that I am. He’s going to know that I know exactly what I’m doing. Me, and a new partner, are going to expose him for the very person that he is. The entire group for what they are. And, there; nothing that well be able to prevent me from doing so.”

I drove down the long-winded and jagged straits that I liked to call the streets of Chicago, and I felt a bitter scent take flight over top of me— a puff of smoke. Or, maybe it was the bursting of fuel, form out of the back of my car. Whatever it was, I could feel the sort of regret in having wasted an opportunity to learn something new— a regret in knowing that wherever my enemy was, and whoever they were, they were one step ahead of me no matter wha.t. In this moment, I deeply hoped that Paul was my enemy, and not somebody else. It was the only explanation that I had in myself.

*

I sneezed form my nose. The entire room had an overpowering scent of roses to it, to the point that it made me want to fall flat. My nose had come to the point where it had become a miniature waterfall, and my eyes had taken a page from the roses’ book, making sure to turn themselves just as red as them.

“Please tell me that you’ll help me,” I said.

I could barely see across the room, because it was lit with so many fluorescent lightbulbs. Part of this had to do with my growing affection for the darkness, and living amongst that— my eyes were becoming too well adjusted to the rain-slicked streets, and lampposts that were so covered in water that their light was utterly drowned out. Though, I was also coming to a point, where I was beginning to wonder if this room had just been designed so that it could be overly obnoxious to a person like me.

“And, what makes you think that I’ll be able to help?”

I was in the room of Miss Mulligan. And, she made a good point— there were few things that she could actually help with, the more that I actually thought about it. Though, that didn’t change the fact that I needed help from somebody. And, she seemed to be the best possible choice that I could’ve come up with, weak as it may have been.

“You nearly drowned today, climbed through a maze, met up with somebody who hates you, and who also went to a crime scene— and, all on the eve of Eddy Mulligan’s funeral— and, you expect me to join you in your wacky crusade? You’re bound to get shot while doing this… And, if not, something worse will happened. Something worse always happens, with these sorts of things. Honestly, I don’t even know why you like this jo. To me, that sounds like a sort of torture. Though, I’ll grant you the respect for your career. Instead, I just ask you this— what makes you think that our job is worth any sort of respect? Why do you feel like I’s the right thing? And, most of all, why do you plan on dragging me into this? I usually find you to be pretty ridiculous, and hard to take seriously… But, this is a new sort of low. There’s nothing about what you do that I can honestly see worthwhile anymore! Honestly, just give it up. Eddy Mulligan is gone, and so is your career.”

I chuckled— not at the fact that she was wrong. She was actually completely right. I had no way to deny that. No—I laughed at the fact that I’d been placed into a corner. I actually had no true way of fighting back at what she’d said. She was right— I might as well should’ve given up on my crusade, should her help have been necessary for me to succeed in it. In fact, I probably should’ve gone way beyond that, and even admitted all of my mistakes— I probably should’ve dropped my career then and here.

Though, there was a solve of my career that I had, which was simply keeping me from doing so. I could feel that the day as beginning to wane, and I was more than willing to stretch it out as long as necessary. I had the unruly feeling that, if I chose to ignore all of my feelings of danger— if I chose to pretend that everything was going to be fine—I would fail myself. And, that would be the only way that anybody could keep their job.

The truth of the matter was, I needed to keep my job. Something internal, inside of myself, was ordering such an action to be carried out. It was the only way that I could succeed, and the only way in which I was willing to succeed. I had determined that things had to be done in a certain way. And, I wasn’t going to allow myself any leniency unless such was done in that way. I had a set idea in my head. And, that set idea wasn’t going to go away.

I needed a partner. And, if Amelia Mulligan was going to deny that of me, then I completely understood. But, I was going to keep looking, because I knew that I had to do what I had to do— it was simply something that I had an incredible passion for.

This was probably the very element that made it so funny. In spite of the fact that I knew I should’ve given up, and that the whole room around me spoke if a tranquility— of a rest that I needed to take—such rest was poison to me. I simply couldn’t take it, without feeling myself steadily whither inside. It was the sort of thing that turned me from a stone hearted, man, and simply into a hunk of stone, with his heart being the only remaining living element to him. I couldn’t do it— I had to let myself continue to fly from my problems.

“I’m sorry to hear that Amelia,” I said, making sure to have my smile melt from my fac. “I don’t mean to be the sort of person who seems to be giving out orders, and telling you to do something that you simply don’t want to do. Instead, I want to tell you to do something that you do want to do. I want to help you find your brother, before his funeral tomorrow.”

Amelia sniffled, and then laughed.

“You can’t expect to find him,” Amelia said. “And if you do, all that you’re going to do Is find a ghost. You don’t want to find Eddy Mulligan anymore… You know how this city works, and I’m sure that you know it. This place has too much garbage going around in it, and not enough to make up for this garbage. An alleviation period is on the horizon, and I’m sure of it. But, Eddy Mulligan coming back from the dead won’t be part of it. I wish that I could say otherwise… But, there’ s simply nothing that can be done. And, to be frank, if this is the path that you choose to take, then there’s nothing that I want to contribute– nothing that I could ever want to contribute to you, or the fallacious claims that you’re making. Even you, with everything that you know, can’t ever expect to make a dead man rise from the dead. I’d like you to acknowledge that.”

“Fine then…” I said, taking one last look around the room. “I never claimed that I can raise Eddy back from the dead. If I said that, then I agree that I deserve to be lambasted by you for as long as you want. I’m just saying that we might be able to find him, and then save him from whatever might’ve befallen him. He might not be dead yet. He might be safe. I’m going to keep out hope for him. And, even by the end of tonight, I’m not going to give up on what I know is the truth.”

“You know that you’re wrong…” Said Amelia. “You’re just putting me in the position where I look like I want things to have gone bad for my brother— where I want everything to look bleak and hopeless. But, let’s be honest with ourselves. You went under that house, and you saw a dead, rich man there… It was a conscious decision, by whoever the murderer was, to even give you aa note– a note to taunt you! Out of all people, you should know best that this whole mission is hopeless. You’ve gotten nowhere, even in your attempts to find answers….”

“You’re right. That’s why I’ve never claimed that I had the answers— just that I’m willing to look for them, wherever they may be. You’re right, on just about every front. I’m not going to be able to find the answers… I’m not going to be able to get what I want, no matter how hard that I look. This probably is all frivolous, and doomed for an end… But, do you know what else? None of that changes how I feel, about any of it. In the face of everything that seems like it’s about to go wrong, and in the face of all the travesties that I need to keep at bay, I think that I’m making a difference. And I hope, very sincerely, that I might be able to help you out, and give you exactly what’s needed. Your brother back…”

“Good luck with that…” Amelia said. “I know that I might sound sarcastic, and angry when I say that… And, I partially am. But, if you can find him— if you actually do think that he can be saved–then, I hope that things work out for you. I don’t think that it will, and I definitely think that you’re on a hunt to nowhere… But, at least I know that you’re not trying to prove something.”

I gave her a weak smile, and headed toward the door.

“I’ll probably be in the downtown area, if you change your mind about this and want to help me.”

“Eddy definitely hanged around there a lot, from what I know,” said Amelia. “Hopefully that’s where he is. I wish you luck, in that case.”

“Same to you,” I said. “hopefully everything works out.”

I walked out the door, and into the whirlpool of rain that was streaking down the poor excuse of a building. The motel was dilapidated, and crumbling, just like most of the buildings that I’d come to know in this city. At this point, I was beginning to think that decay was probably the one defining trait of Chicago— decay, and crime. Thankfully, I was just decaying— at least I wasn’t the crime element.

“I suppose that this city, in spite of the way it looks upon first glance, is symmetrical,” I said, walking to my car. “In spit e of all the buildings sloping over, as if they were brick hunchbacks, there’s one element that’s integral to them that can’t really be neglected— they’re parallel to the slumping disrepair that a person like me, or the people that I try to stop, have to succumb to. In a way, the city and its streets are a pure representative of those who adhere to it…”

I looked up into the sky, where the clouds were nearly all over, and not a single star poked out. I strained my eyes to be able to just obtain a faint glimpse of it— I wanted, with all of my ability, to be able to see beyond all of the limitations that might’ve been trying to strike me down. Nothing made me feel so terrible as the concept that we were all doomed to fall into a cataclysm, similar to what Eddy Mulligan had fallen int. In a way, this drove me to act. I didn’t want to be ignored, upon my death-day. And so, I thought that making sure that I didn’t die on Eddy’s death-day was something that I couldn’t deny, either.

“It’s all just doomed to become naught,” I said, allowing the wind t whistle down my ears, and through my pores. The city, wet and tired as it was, still was alive. And, as long as it was alive, there was still a hope for it. That was something that I knew that I could always grip to, even when all else failed— even when the chances of going beyond that were gone form my reach.

*

The man, with a crinkled squint, smiled back into my soul. The keeper of Margaret Rosemary’s apartment was always something that haunted me.

I’d knocked down Miss. Rosemary’s door, with the heavy thrust of m y foot, and I was now studying the room as best as I could.

“I should’ve come her first…” I said, under my breath.”

“you shouldn’t have come here at all!” snapped the squinty man. “Now I don’t have a rent, thanks to you….”

I would’ve let the man have it, but I was busy making sure that there was nothing in the room that might help me out.

“I was just trying to stop the spree of crimes,” I said to the man. “I’m trying to make sure that places like these don’t get robbed.”

“Well, you’re doing a fine job of keeping that up. If you really wanted to do that, you should’ve gone to your little cubby hole in your police department, and thought up something better— because, what you’re doing isn’t all that effective…”

“Yes… I really appreciate it, Sherlock. Maybe if this place was a bit more organized, I wouldn’t have such a hard time.”

“It’s not my fault that my tenant was a slob!”

At this point, I gave up with the man. At this point, I’d assumed that he had no information for me— even if he did, he was only going to spin me in circles first, before I could even get to it.

Instead, I just kept studying the floor.

“I came here to get evidence, and instead I’m stuck trying to figure out a different mystery…” I said, grumbling rot myself. “I have a load of evidence in my car that I’m trying to figure out still, and I can’t even talk to somebody without having more questions stacked onto my to-do list…”

Miss Rosemary really had been a slob, though— if there was anything that the man had been right about, it had been this. Messes were painted across her floor, in the forms of wrappers, papers, blankets, and clothes. The walls were just as bad—entire constellations could’ve been made out of them, if I had tried hard enough.

“Did you ever have any sort of janitor come in here, and try cleaning this place up?”

I asked. “It would’ve made your building a lot easier for me to investigate— and, it would’ve made it easier for you to get better future tenants.”

“You know how this place works… You can’t buy anything without having to beg and plead. I just don’t make enough money for that kind of thing.”

I just allowed him to keep talking, ignoring everything that came out of his mouth. All that I really wanted to know was just how much money his hotel was really making— to be able to tell whether or not they would’ve been motivated to commit such a heinous crime as murder. And, I’d gotten my answer, as slimy and detestable as it was.

Something that I’ve never really thought about is just how magnificent it is to feel like you’re weightless– the ability to no longer feel the force of gravity pulling onto you. The ability to become, in effect, a sort of person that is free of all shackles. I don’t know—it’s that sort of sensation of being freed of all chains that really sharpens the senses, and dulls the overbearing dialogue of the mind. Though, something that I haven’t really noticed, until now, is just how prominent it really is, in my life. I’m constantly puling myself up into the air, so that I can jump back down— and feel weightless again. The pulley upward is a heavy one, and one that I’ve found to be near impossible to overcome. Though, it’s also something that I still thoroughly enjoy. Maybe it’s just because I love the feeling of being free so much, that nothing else matters— the effort of getting up there is measly.

However, what I always tend to forget is that every high height— every free fall— always has the result of the free faller falling back down. It doesn’t matter quite how much effort ifs put forth, or quite how many attempts are made at trying to avoid such a fall. It almost always seems inevitable, and that avoidance of such almost always seems impossible.

I was looking down into the bounty of evidence that I had clustered, since my study began. The owner of the place was still babbling on and on about how poor they were, and just how much they were in debt. I was just waiting for him to list some names. I knew that, if I let him talk long enough, he’d trip quickly.

In the meantime, I had collected a blanket with a blood stain, a shard of metal that had somehow made it onto the floor, and a very unique strip of fabric.

The fabric was probably the most important thing that I found, in my eyes. Mainly because it matched the same sort of material that my uniform was made out of— a blue, coarse fabric, firm and stiff. For me, this finding wasn’t something that could be quantified, in any sort of way. In this moment, I knew with a certainty that the culprit was Paul. Nothing could’ve convinced me otherwise, even in the face of the fact that I had a bias against him.

“What’s with the smile on your face?” the hotel owner asked. “Wipe it off, will you? It’s not like you just won the Olympic medal, or anything…”

“Yeah… Of course not,” I said, trying my best to comply. Though, in my head, I had just won the Olympic medal. There wasn’t really anything that quite compared to how I felt. It was as if all the pressures in my head had completely been stripped away, and I was now in a place of rest, and tranquility.

“So, how are you going to help me, exactly?” I finally asked the owner. “I know that you promised me that you had some sort of important information. But, I’m suddenly not so convinced.”

“Oh please…” he said, making a nasty squealing nose between the gums of his teeth. “I’ve already given you everything that you need to know. For god’s sake, you’ve been able to investigate this entire room, no problem. What more do you want? It isn’t like I know that entire place, inside out…”

“Who works here?” I asked. “I was just curious if you knew if any of them ever came into this room—I want to make sure that this entire place is inspected, and in the best way possible. I don’t want to end up carrying misinformation.”

“Ugh— then, you have no problem. The only people that ever go into this room are the electric people. They had to turn off her electricity, since she wouldn’t pay them. Other than that, nobody comes in the place. It’s largely abandoned…”

“Right,” I said, keeping my eye on all of the elements of the room. The place was just as I had last seen it to be, except sloppier of a mess. And, all that I had left was a bit of blood on a few bits of clothes, and a mess of a room.

“Mr. Kyler, I think that you’re just wasting your time in here. At this point, I think that it should’ve been made it clear to you that there’s really nothing to hide. The whole place is rather empty, and there’s not a ton of substance to your beliefs that something suspicious is going on. I understand your dislike for the way that my business is run— but, I don’t think that you have the right to act as if you can control m y business. I—.”

“I’m just here to investigate, and make sure that there’s nothing going on here that can’t be missed,” I said. “I’d strongly regret it if there happened to be somebody here who needed to be protected, and then I ended up being the one who ignored them— even when there were clues that I could’ve used, in order to prevent that. I’m just the sort of person who wants to make sure that everybody is safe. That might be a flaw of mine. But, I also see it as a duty…”

“Well if your duty starts to infringe on my rights to run my business, then what doesn’t that matter?”

“Because— I need to make sure that people are protected. If your rights are infringed in the process, then so be it. I’m not going to have any blood on me.”

“Neither am I. So, I advise that you get used to the feeling of me wanting you to leave.”

“I got used to that feeling a long time ago.”

I turned away from the room, and headed out. I didn’t even bother to push the man out of the way, in spite of my temptation to do so. It had all become very clear to me that he didn’t care about the truth. Instead, it was all about himself, and what he wanted.

In truth, that’s always what it was about. There was rarely ever a time when somebody was caught telling the truth, in this town. It was all selfishly motivated, and lacking of any sort of sympathy. In a sense, this gave me a sort of wish to give a sense of sympathy out— just so that I might be able to change the sphere in the face of the hungry streets, rabid to make sure that all upstanding people were abolished, I simply couldn’t do this. It was kept out of my reach, and out of my good comfort. My only option was to steadily decline from my control over the scenario, and tumble into a host of problems, which were all competing to eat me whole.

It was back into the leathery seat of my car, and down the water-pelted, oily road. Once again, I felt that I was taking a journey that I could not come back from. Once again, this gave me a warm sense of relief, and enlightenment. I knew that I was on my way out, and over into freedom.

As I did so, though, there was one sense that didn’t quite escape me. Even in the midst of having gotten the clues that I wanted, and having talked down to the petulant woman with the ricocheting joy that had found its way into me, I couldn’t ignore this one feeling that had begun to reside in my chest.

It was the feeling of the ever-wanted free-fall— the feeling that always came when I knew that I was on the peak of the mountaintop of mystery, and preparing to dive down into its cascading waterfall of beauty. I felt hat I was at the extremity of risks, and that everything might collapse and erode at any moment. There was no real comfort that I had within myself— nothing that grabbed me at the phone, and made me feel like I was grounded.

Instead, I was free. The only thing that could feel were my arms, flailing against the winds of mystery, and clues—I liked that.

Though, the crash was coming. It always came. Everything that peaks always seems to find a way to dip All that it really depended

*

The cooling light of the lamp above me kissed my forehead with its warm rays. It was probably the only warmth that was available, on the drooling street that I’d parked in. At this point, night had finally decided to dawn upon me and the town, so that it might’ve been able to feast upon the place—and, it was doing a strong job of it. There were few places that I could look where I didn’t feel like it was being ravaged by a whole slew of things that simply didn’t care one bit about what they were supposed to. It was as if the city had turned upside down, and decided to care about the most trivial of things. On my way under the empty lampposts, I’d watched as people in the streets fought and battled each other— asking for money, demanding that they gave up their cash, fighting over their rights, and spitting into he face of one another.

That’s what it all truly was, though— people spitting into the faces of one another. It wasn’t as if there was any sort of intelligence or consciences thought behind it. Rather, everybody had succumbed to a sort of boiling pot of rage, which had decided to consume them all. They were gone, and lost to the oblivion that came with the fighting that they all started.

Thankfully, I was alone. I was under the lamppost, looking at all of the evidence that had been provided to me. I was in a spot where I was secluded from allow the pain, strife and anger.

Just one idle being. All apart from the rest. One thing— nothing else.

I stared at the jumble of letter and words, written onto the piece of paper that Officer Paul had given me. No doubt, he’d already given a different sort of letter to the police. Besides— I had the feeling that this new piece of evidence, as well as the other piece of evidence, were just things that he’d given me, so that I’d be distracted as he began to enact some real crimes. HE’s already done such to the other victims. I was lucky that I had made sure to phone Lieutenant Jackson, before I went on all of these mission— I informed him that I’d found Mr. Donald’s dead body under his mansion, and then had left it as that. There was the feeling that I was being stalked, and that nothing that I did could be given an y sort of leisurely attention. At one point, when driving over to the lamppost that I ended up parking at, I’d rolled down my car’s windows in order to let some air in— and, a rock flung straight at my neck, nearly hitting me into the forehead. I’m not certain if this had been by coincidence or not, but in that moment I sincerely felt as if there were somebody gunning for me— somebody making sure that nothing I did could be sacred, and that none of my efforts could truly prevail over anything else that had taken dominion. It was simply too wild and hard to comprehend, or accomplish— certainly not something that somebody of my lowly skill level could ever circumvent.

“I’m just being overly skeptical of everything,” I told myself, as I looked down add the mess of letters. “There’s no reason for me to worry.”

Still, I did worry. My heartrate rose. I felt that this rising was as only preparing me for a fall.

The minutes drained by, dripping away like water might drip from a leaky faucet. To me, it came across as a sort of devastating event. I was trying to make sense of everything, but nothing did make sense. It was all so confusing. Moreover, I couldn’t quite understand what the monkey into my pocked represented.

I pulled the monkey out of my pocket, once I’d thought on it, and began to study it. Something that I hadn’t realized until now was just how manufactured the monkey really looked– it was just a toy, lacking any of the usual paint. It must’ve been pretty old, for all of the paint to have been scraped off.

“It’s all on Miss Prestel…” I found myself thinking. It must connect to her, in some way. She’d the only one of these rich people who haven’t been pillaged yet, and she’s the only one who has a similar obsession with monkeys. It’s the only thing that really makes sense to me…”

I paused, though. What I still couldn’t explain was why everybody who seemed to cross the shadowy figure was being attacked, or just how the butler might’ve connected into this.

“The butler must’ve been kidnapped…” I said. “And, the only person who seems to have been at all of these crime scenes, with an uncanny timing, was Officer Paul. That’s the only real explanation for any of those happenings.”

I knew that the pieces were starting to connect, but there were still a few things that I couldn’t make sense out of.

“Why would the shadowy figure be all linked into this? Why is he affecting the rich people, just as much as he terrorizes the poor? There must be something going on that I’m just lacking... And, I’m going to find out, no matter what it takes.”

The problem was, I couldn’t figure anything out. It all still seemed to be so covered. The person behind it all had made sure to keep everything under a blanket, and I wasn’t able to see anything that might’ve been under it.

My thoughts kept trailing around— but nothing made sense. There were only two things I had that I could really connect to anything— the items that I’d taken from Margaret Rosemary’s room. One of the things I had was a photograph— it was another one, from Jonah’s print shop. I couldn’t quite understand where it had come from, or why I was continuing to find photos from his place. But, all that I really knew was that the photo was from another factory-like setting. Another thing that I had found were several snotty handkerchief’s on Miss Rosemary’s floor. While it was easy for me to attribute it to multiple different sources, the main thing that I attributed it to was the fact that she was connected to the same people that had been terrorizing Jonah’s friend, along with the other people who were sick.

“It must just be the rain…” I told myself. “That has to be what it is. It’s the only thing that could explain it.”

Though, I was getting the aching feeling that it simply couldn’t explain it. There were too many things that were pointing otherwise, and too many ways in which it could all have been attributed to something else. The only way that it could’ve been explained was through it having been linked. I was now just reduced to a place where I needed to figure out exactly how it was linked.

I looked back to the monkey statue. As I store at it, I knew that it was connected to Miss Prestel in some way. I was simply stuck racking my brains, about how it might’ve been connected. None of it was making any sense. Then, I began to remember something…

Miss Prestel ran an entire factory— It was all beginning to tie into itself. I had never bothered to ask what her factory might’ve produced, or how it had anything to do with anything. Though, what I did know was that it all wasn’t making any sense, and that it seemed doomed to falling apart if I didn’t get to it in time. She was producing all of these monkey toys in her factories. That was why the monkey doll I was holding looked as if it were fresh out of one, and why she was constantly obsessed with making sure that she too was rich from her factory. I simply hated the idea that it might’ve been something that she could bear without me. It was too hard for me to comprehend that the woman might’ve had everything in line, all along— that she wasn’t quite as crazy as she’d made herself out to be.

“That, or the robber is robbing her from multiple fronts…” I thought. “Maybe it isn’t so much that he’s the one who did this as it is that he’s the one who incited all of this.”

IT as hard for me to say what might’ve been going on. On one hand, I wanted to believe that This monkey factory was as somehow connected with everything. On the other hand, I simply couldn’t see how it could’ve.

“Well…” I said to myself. “I guess that there’s only one way that I can really find out. “Now, there’s just the question of where I should go to… Jonah’s photo shop, or the factory…”

I paused, and looked down at the phot that had been taking. The longer that I stared at it, the more that I realized it looked just like a factory setting. In the back, there was the production line. Further, down, there was all of the creative parts and screws that were preparing to be connected into one. The whole place was one big system of disorienting mess. None of it was quite as much of a confusing mess as I’d originally thought it to be.

My memories suddenly traced back to the letter that the mystery criminal had given to me— all of the words, “manufacture”, “produce”, “create”, and “build”, had been in the letter… All of them had been saying that the answers were right under my nose. The letter had been taunting me— giving me the knowledge right in my face, and I hadn’t even caught onto it.

Tonight, the entire factory was about to be robbed— and, I hadn’t bothered to do anything about it.

“Well, now I feel really stupid.” I said, tossing all of the evidence to the side, and hitting the gas on my car at full speed. There was nothing at this point that was keeping me out of trouble. I was now magnetized to the trail that had been set out for me, and determined to make sure that I found the answers.

There were still a few things lingering in my mind— why the obsession with the underground areas, where the people had been kidnapped, and why all the focus on the poverty areas…. It all was simply lacking of any sense. I was tempted to call up Lieutenant Jackson, to warn him about my suspected heist. Though, I also knew that I was still jumping from a point where there was nothing that I could clearly make any sense out of it. I needed to push further, so that I could make sure that I had all of the answers— I wouldn’t be taken seriously, any other way. Everything was still just a hunch, at this point. It was a strong hunch, but still a hunch.

I zipped through the streets, and down the road, all the way to the address of Miss Prestel’s factory. As I pulled up and found a place to park, I suddenly realized just how odd it all really was. After all of my searching, I was already back to where it had all began— at Miss Prestel’s property. And, after all of my wondering, all that it would’ve taken was for me to search all of her premises— there wasn’t all that much for me to do, other than make sure that I’d done my job, and searched the factory out— made sure that nobody was planning to bring an y other heists there. And yet, I’d still managed to fall myself in such a simple task, completely ignoring the necessary things that I need to accomplish. In a way, this was tragic. Yet, it was also so beautiful to think about—in an irony of ironies, I was at the end of the stretch, finally finding out that it all trailed back to where it had started.

I had always like irony. This was perhaps the greatest case of it.

I walked up to the factory’s main doors, and, of course, found that it was locked. I thought about pulling out a pin, and trying to pick the lock. Though, the doors were made of a pure steel and I knew that it had far better security than anything that I could simply circumvent with a lock pick. I knew that I would have to expand my methods if I could ever hope to get to a point where I would no longer need to utilize them. A point where this would all be packaged up in a bow.

Seeing that there was no way in for me, I began banging on the metal door.

“Is anybody in there?” I yelled. “I’m part of the Chicago Police Department! I’m here to investigate the premises.”

I was already beginning to feel regret or not having ordered the whole police force to come down here. Though, there was also the chance that Paul was the criminal— in which case, he would join me with the rest of the police, and I’d have ended up looking like a fool.

“After banging on the door for quite some time, I finally subsided into the notion that there was no true way for me to expel my authority onto the place, in order to get what I wanted. It was simply too frail of an attempt, and I was too inept at carrying it out. The best bet I had was making sure that I exhausted all ways into the building, and looked for every way in.

“So, I followed this intuition, and began to search every corner of the building. The place was coated in a milky smoke, and I felt as it begin to dominate the atmosphere. It had coated the entire lot, leaving it in a disarray of grays and blacks of ash. It was probably the most saddening sight that I’d seen in quite some time— there weren’t that many people who held the same look. But then, there was nothing that I could really do about it. I had no true options. I was stuck— and, this position of being stuck was something that I was forced to submit to.

“Well, at least there’s nothing that I can be afraid of,” I thought to myself. “After all… Whoever is here, if they’re here, are hiding. Tso, I have that much to comfort me.”

It wasn’t comforting though. I’d come to this building in order to protect the people with it, and prevent a robbery. But, if there was ever a place in the city that looked like a hub of destruction, and erosion, this building was most certainly it. When I looked at it, I had a hard time believing that it could’ve ever harbored any workers, or that any beautiful items might’ve come out of it. The bricks were torn up by wear and age. The metal surrounding it was completely rusted. The cement bas of it was cracked, and dry. The windows were just about as grimy as those that I’d seen in Jonah’s shop. All around, it just smelled of bleach, and the worst kinds of cleaning supplies— all of the things that killed, but left somebody feeling sick. In fact, I found myself beginning to feel sick just by the scent of it all. It crumbled down upon me, as if it had been a hailstorm. The scent was something so strong, that I’m still surprised that Miss Prestel had been willing to run a business that seemed so inhumane.

“Maybe the butler of hers wasn’t the only bad thing within her mansion…” I thought.

After walking around, the building for long enough, I’d found several entrances— but, I’d also found them all to be locked. Al of the security had been thoroughly placed there, so that there was no chance of sacrificing anything, or making anything confusing or hard to navigate. In a way, the entire building was so straightforward, that it became hard for me to believe that it might’ve been a subject of a heist. Though, I eventually came to an artifact that helped me see exactly how the heist might’ve been pulled off— or, even how it might’ve been being pulled off. On the ground, there were several manholes, all of which were no doubt providing sewage and waste disposal to the smog-filled structure. After looked at their rusted components for long enough, it became all too easy for me to realize exactly what was going on. What really convinced me, however, was when I bent down to one manhole in particular, and found that a large dent has been mad into its rust. It was clearly fresh— and, it was clearly caused by a crowbar.

“Well, well,” I said, with a smile. “All of that work and planning… and, it all goes to waste right when you build yourself and escape… It looks like I have a way in now, and a way to catch them…”

I was being overly optimistic, to be sure. Though, I can’t help but say that I was proud of this feeling, back when I was in the middle of it all. There was something so appealing to feeling as if you had everything understood, and that the other person had poorly designed everything. Unfortunately, that was also where I made my biggest mistake. Nobody ever designs anything so that they can fail— almost always, these sorts of things were designed so that they might succeed. I there was ever a time when I should’ve realized that, it was now. The person that I was up against never slipped up.

And, did slip up all the time. Even as I pried the manhole off from a crowbar in my car, and climbed down the thin ladder, I found myself beginning to slip. I felt as if I were free-falling into the sewer, and finding myself in a place where gravity no longer had ahold— where the care was finally going to be solved, and all of the mystery would begging to leak out. Though, that was easily my biggest mistake the thought that I could free-fall, without ever having to hit the bottom, was something that I fundamentally had a hard time comprehending, or accepting. IT was something that I was going to have to face, whether I accepted it or not.

Down under the sewers, I found myself in the same predicament that I’d been when I was under Mr. Donald’s house. This shadowy figure was a fan of dank, dark areas, that stank of sewage and was festering with an abundance of breeding rats. I love the scenarios where I can navigate through these sorts of things, and show the criminals who really has everything understood. Almost always, those are the most satisfying and regarding. To my disgrace, you can’t do that sort of thing when you’re coated in toilet water, and when you smell like excre9iment. It just doesn’t pack the same punch to it, as much as I’d like the care to be otherwise.

Though, there was something else to the darkness that kept my spirit of typical haughtiness from coming out, and rearing its ugly head. It was the fact that I felt so naked amongst it all. Anybody could’ve been watching me, and measuring my every step. I’d come to learn that the shadow might’ve been a whole group of people. The more that I’d looked at what the shadow was capable of doing, the more that I suspected such. Normally, this was something that comforted me. It allowed me to wave away the concept that the shadow was something ethereal, which could easily put me to the ground. To my dismay, it now put me in a situation where I could’ve been trapped on all three sides— where I had no way out.

All that I had to comfort me was my incredibly luck in having been able to find the exposed pipe, and go down into it. I could already tell that I was under the factory building, and nearing a way into it. I could tell just by the way the sound of my own feet’s echo sounded. It left a comforting splash, which reverberated for a lot longer than it normally did— steadily becoming more and more muffled. This was a signifier that there was something else that I was nearing, where I’d be able to get out of the current tunnel. I could even see a faint glow ahead of me, waving its flag of peace and rest. I could sense the smell of finally being able to quite from this place and return to the bleach-filled chalky mixture that had been the factory. It would’ve been far better than what I was currently stuck in. In fact, I would say that it would even have been a miracle, compared to what I was having to endure.

The darkness was something that I had come to enjoy, and it was no different amongst the sewage depths. That was the one thing that really left me as feeling a bit under control. While the shadow might’ve been able to get its away by manipulating the darkness, I’d noticed that it had never fully worked amongst the darkness. A shadow always needs light. Without light, a shadow is nothing. And so, that was the one upper-hand that I really had in the sewage pipes. I’d begun to learns just how to act in the darkness. I had a sport of ruling thumb, which allowed me to keep my positon of superior might.

Perhaps I’d gotten too cocky, but it was the one thing that gave me solace— the one thing that allowed me a peace of mind, when I no longer had any reason to have peace. The night was upon me, and my willpower was waning faster than I would’ve liked it to. My sense of direction was also going. If I failed to get out of this place, and ended up getting stuck where I didn’t need to go, then I’d also be stuck. There was no real option that I had, and no way out that wasn’t already determined. I was somewhat cornered, if the crook a had been counting on me to follow after them, and be cornered.

At all of these thoughts, I felt paranoid, excited, remorseful, afraid, and far more emotions. I didn’t know how to feel or what to think. I was overwhelmed, in every respect. To a degree, that left me utterly limp— I couldn’t express myself in any way, so I didn’t. It was something that left me feeling like a blank slate— as if my entire mind had been bleached, and left to die. In a sense, it really had. I can’t say that “I was satisfied with the direction that everything took, or exactly how it took it. If I did, then I’d be an utter liar.

What I like about what I do is that I do it well. Though, the problem with what I do is that, even though I do it well, doing it well doesn’t mean that I can really do that much. In every attempt to get a lot done, I find just how little I’m really capable of doing. It’s something that’s both humbling, and disconcerting. Typically, people like to feel as if they’re in control, and as if everything is far smaller than them.

The tunnel, in a sense, was a sort of way to allow me to reconsider myself, and recount all that had happened. I was reeking my brains for who just might’ve been the criminal, and what all of this might’ve ultimately been leading up to. I actually didn’t a have a clear answer for any of these questions. There were so many possibilities. While I’d wanted to believe that it was Paul., I realized that there were too many people that could be suspect. The whole thing had been designed so that I didn’t really have answer.

“My parents had always told me that this career would never profit me anything…” I thought to myself.

I rarely ever liked to think on it, but there was a lot that my parents had warned me about before I ever became an officer— telling me not to become one, and urging me to find another career path. I typically liked to think that I had been right, and that they had been wrong. Over the years, it had become such a joy to be able to think something like that. Though, it was never really all that easy.

It was the sort of thing that I’d always had a tough time overcoming. My parents were long dead— their grave had been marked several decades ago They’d told me that this career wasn’t worthwhile, and that the risks that surrounded it were far too numerous to be worth it. Though, I’d ignored them. I’d stayed in my job. It was just– sometimes, I couldn’t help but feel that I’d made them pay for it, in some way. The way that I had them become attacked, without ever being able to save them, was something that I still looked back on in guilt. I was partially responsible for the fact that there were still crimes in this city. As long as I was an officer, it was my duty to enforce the law

“Once again, I have to look back and face the true nature of the job that I hold...” I thought to myself. “Once again, I must admit this fact… AS much as I love my job, my job is ultimately to put myself out of a job. That’s the only way that my job will ever be fully complete. And yet— I’ll never be able to do that. No matter how hard “I try, I’ll never even come close to scratching the surface of that ideal.”

Some of the things that flow through my mind are irrelevant. Others are hindrances. What I’ve found is that, when they combine, they can have a force that leaves me entirely paralyzed. Though, somehow, I’m still able to break out of this paralyzed form, at times. I still find ways to overcome the universe’s seeming wish to get rid of me— to make me come down to my knees, and beg it for mercy. I’ve never come to a point where I no longer have the answers, until now. I mean— I’ve come to those points in the past, but never so severe as they are now. At this point, I’m forced to fully acknowledge just how weak I am. Unlike usual, isn’t as if I have somewhere to turn, where I can hide and pretend that there’s nothing left to stop me. I’m, in a way, being stuffed into a cubby hole where I have to confront things that I’d rather not confront. These days, I’m beginning to start feeling as if my job here is irrelevant– as if m y time in this place is steadily declining to its end, and that there’s nothing that I can truly do to avoid being packed into the back of such a dark and dire circumstance.

Sometimes, I really think that I’m just a bad person for all of my inept wishes to break out of where I am— to think beyond where culture would have me think. Normally, I allow myself to be placed within these restricting barriers, refusing to ever give myself leeway. There’s a steady comfort that comes when you refuse to think of some of the most potent questions that life poses. It’s always nice for one to think that they have all the answers, and that here are no real questions left for you to solve. Though, at the same time, you’re also often put into a position where you have to quiz yourself on just how much any of this really matters. Without any of the questions that are so large, we wouldn’t even be here… The meaning of life, for example, is the biggest driving force of our culture. At least— that’s what we like to think, until we really begin to question ourselves upon what the meaning of life is.

It’s always all so hard to suppose what is really going on. Keeping it all hidden, and under wraps., truly leads us to a position where we’re all going nowhere— we careen onto the edge of it all, thinking that we’re about to make it to the front of it all. When we choose to ignore such questions, we begin to pay for it.

Although, pursuing them is just as toxic. After all— it can be rather corrosive for one to realize that everything is but a big question mark, hovering over their entire world. It can be though to realize that nothing you can do will be able to stop the questions that constantly haunt our dreams and sous. We often like to think that everything can be solved through money, personal gain, or some subtle difference shoved into the material world. We often like to consider just how grand we are, and how much of a difference we’re impacting onto the lives of others. We’re only allowing ourselves to make fools of ourselves– we’re never truly changing our ways. We’re never truly reaching that point where a difference can be made. We always simply like to convince ourselves that things are about to change, and that we’re changing them. When it comes to actually following through on such a thing, we start to shy away.

All of these thoughts plagued my mind. They still do. As I looked into the sewers, all that I could see was the disappointment of my parents, and the subtracting elements of my success. I’d initially thought myself to be such a strong character, of an impervious moral fiber. That was something that was essentially wrong. There are few things in our world that can really be reigned over. Out of all of those things, the greatest of them is the maze of the mind. We don’t quite understand what we think, why we think it, or from whence we are thinking of it. It simply is— there isn’t a true answer to such a question. There never really is, as much as we like to pretend otherwise amongst ourselves. WE’re all just children, playing a personal game of pretend. The things that make us into who we are aren’t things at all— just figments of our imagination, which we raise up only to have cast down. It’s all just abounding ignorance, which we’ve allowed ourselves to entertain— which we’ve allowed to have infect our minds, and interact with the very core of who we are.

That’s another thing which we’ll never be able to fully comprehend, nor fully dismantle— who we are. Out of all of life’s greatest questions, who we are is the biggest amongst them. There’s not much to us that is truly definitive. There aren’t many things that can be investigated, and understood. However, out of those things, the ones that we do understand are the things that we should hold dear to ourselves. I was looking into the very place from which the water drained out of— the place where we would get rid of the things that we recognized as dirty, and tried to pretend never existed. However, I was just starting to see how much of a difference really came about when one started to let those things live on, and grow. They weren’t things that should’ve been disposed of. Rather, the only way in which they were truly ever thriving is when they were embraced. That’s the only way that the mind can ever thrive— when every filament of it is accepted, and none of it is allowed to be ignored. When one starts to ignore the crooked pathways that their minds hold, they become more crooked. You can’t straighten out that of which has been bent out of shape. Once everything is destroyed, and deliberately damaged, it’s not as if it can be repaired. Everything that can be repaired requires something else to be destroyed in the process. Whether it be the screw, or a nail, or a person’s energy, or even something as simple as a person’s time, every mess must be cleaned by making a new mess. There was no true way of avoiding such a phenomenon. The only option was the embracing of it.

At this point, I could already see the new ladder, up into the mysterious darkness that awaited me, shining straight in front of me. Its entirety shined with such a pale and smooth texture, that it made my eyes burn from the exquisiteness of it. It was all in my head, of course— I was inside a rusted and dying tunnel, of which looked like it hadn’t been maintenance since its conception. If there was ever a time when I’d allowed my head to become run by a disarray of delusion and nonsensical ramblings, when I shouldn’t have, it was most certainly now. Though, I can’t pretend like there was no sort of charm to what I’d allowed myself to become subject to. There’s a sort of charm, and nostalgia, that comes when somebody begins to go mad— begins to let all of their impulses pump through their bones, and guide their every movement. Most would say that I’m wrong in this. Though, when looking upon the fact that I was already nearing the limit to my travels, and that there were few other places that I could head to, there were also few other options that I could come to that didn’t result in me spiraling into ta nonsensical rampage. I was stuck in my mind, and the sewage plant was making me more acutely aware of this. There was something about the place that was incredibly disorienting— it had put me into a positon where all of my thoughts had become mapped out by an utter randomness. At this point, I felt that there was no other option but for me to submit to that randomness— the escape ahead of me seemed all too glorious for me to even attempt to take. The environment around me began to seem all too fitting for me to dwell upon. I’d been taken captive by the sewer’s hand, and I had few options available to me— very few. If there was ever a time when an escape might’ve mattered, it was definitely now.

In a sense, I had to deny myself of every element in my mind. It was all pushing me to go deeper into the tunnel, and to completely avoid the ladder—telling me to stay away from everything that made me into who I was. I couldn’t go after the place that I was supposed to go to, anymore. I was supposed to neglect the very thing that had brought me down into the tunnels, and become the very thing that I despised— a slothful, unquestioning blob, which lay down to no end. I had always expected myself to eventually come to the point where I was helpless, bedridden, and without any sort of hope to guide me by. It wasn’t as if I had expected my career to go on forever, much less, my life. Though, there was something so disappointing to the notion that this should be my fate— especially upon the brink of my greatest answer to my greatest mystery. I couldn’t understand quite how I had been put into the position where I was battling myself in the first place, but this was the sole element that kept me from falling susceptible to my great base desires. This was the sole thing that prevented me from tumbling into a vat of insanity, from which I had no true chance of getting out of. Is this something that I should’ve saw coming? I don’t know. I haven’t been sure quite what to expect when I decided to go down into the sewers, to pursue the person who was guilty of these crimes. Though, I did know one thing— there was nothing at this point that I was willing to do to give up, anymore. I was going to get through this maze, if it was the last thing that I did. I was convinced that this was what I had to do

It was a tiring exercise, and the uncertainty of its cause made it only more tiring. Though, I finally managed to struggle free of the cage in my mind, and eventually climb my way, up out of the place where I was at. Nothing that I did before this moment felt like it really mattered so much as it did now. Suddenly, I realized that I was no longer just fighting in order to keep myself aimed towards a focusing projection to the answer of my case, but also to the answer of my life— I was forcing myself to break free of the temptations to give up, in spite of how strong those temptations really were. It was as if they no longer had a hold over me.

My hands grasped against the smooth, pearly rungs of the ladder, before I was finally brought back to a reality where I saw the rungs as the rusted pieces of scrap metal that they were. I carried myself higher and higher, with my lumbering body using all of its strength to make sure that I made my way back out. at this point, my ideal concerns on the fate of myself had dripped away, and I was entirely entranced and entrenched by the true face of everything— the sewer’s muggy and muddled textures came back for my senses to squander upon, and the squalor of it all finally returned to a state from which I couldn’t deny it. I reached the top of the ladder, where the porthole was— it blocked me from getting passed it, as if it were against my mission— as if it didn’t want come to succeed, and that all of its efforts were being aimed toward the idea of having me fail. Though, I pushed against it anyway— I pushed against it, as well as the mental barriers that still threatened to pull me back down into the last abyss of the mind. Normally, I’m used to having myself give up at moments like these— at least, I’m used to feeling like there’s no way out, and that it is all the end. Strangely, that line o thought wasn’t so prominent this time around. Rather, I felt that it was all gone, and that there was nothing that could make it return to me.

The porthole thrust upward, with it moving from its position with a grinding screech, which made my ears bled to the point that I felt as if there were miniature rivers inside of them. I still pushed it upwards, until the seal was finally pulled of, and I was exposed to the relieving light above— my eyes filled with its dazzling light, and I immediately felt as if it had all finally climaxed to a point where I no longer had anything to be concerned about. There was no longer a single obstacle that could stand in my way— in this moment, I finally felt as if I ‘d reached the answer to might cause invincibility.

It was also at this point that the most reasoned and reactional borders of my mind began to return to me, and I realized just how much of a daze that I’d really been in, up until now. There was something in the sewers that had seemed to sap me of all of my strength and control, leaving me weak and dull-witted. I suddenly became aware of just how much of a miracle it was that I had come out unscathed and unaffected— it was as if the environmental forces, which had been rallying against me, didn’t have as single bit of malice to them— it was as if, by some stroke of luck, some other force had come down and intervened with the events that had been taking place. It was both a wonderful and alleviating thought.

With great care, I made sure to bend over and calmly place the porthole back where I had taken it from— I had the feeling that somebody might’ve been coming after me soon, if anybody was in here— and, I didn’t want to make myself fall into any more trouble than that of which was necessary.

“Go away!”

I couldn’t tell who had said this, at first. All that I knew, in the first moment when I had heard this plea of anger and bitterness, was that the person was one that I didn’t want to cross. The words were spewed with such a vitriol that I thought I might never be able to find something that could be likened to it. In all honesty, and brashness, the voice was something that made me want to go back into the sewer from whence I’d come. Granted, I was still in a slightly delusional state at this point.

“Well, I guess that this wasn’t well-worth it after all,” I muttered to myself. “All of that careful stealthiest, and I’ve already been found out.”

“You came here once!” they continued. I saw a light beam streak across the wall that was opposite to me— there was a guard in this factory. And, it sounded to me like I’d severed the end of a thin rope of patience that they held.

“You promised me that, if you came here and ambushed the place, you would leave for good! Why are you back here? What do you have planned?”

I looked around the room I was in. It was a factory setting, decked out with a mess of conveyor belts, shelves, tools, and a robust warehouse structure. I could smell the scent of sawdust kicking up into my nostrils, and the stink of the sewers below me was now so far off, that I could hardly even notice them.

“I’m Sergeant Kyler, of the police force!” I said. “I’m not a criminal, if that’s what you’re wondering. I came here on police business, so as to make sure that his place is secure— I suspect that it might be the target of a new crime spree. In fact, this was what I think the recent crime spree, which has been being displayed in all of the papers, was ultimately leading up to…”

I was tempted to hide behind one of the shelves, but I let the guard turn the corner, and find, me. Once I saw them, they looked like something short of a ghost. Their body was quivering, the energy in their movements withered, and their eyes was marked by a tacit lacking of tenacity.

“That’s not possible…” the guard said, looking at me in shock. “I haven’t even bothered to call… how did you know? Oh please… don’t tell me that it was that thing… It wasn’t me who robbed this place! I swear!”

“Calm down now— it’s not like this is the end of the world. The only reason that I’m shear is because I’ve been following the trial here. There’s something going on in this factory tonight— all of the clues are pointing to it. And— what thing are you talking about?”

The guards’ eyes swam around in desperation, and their breath sped up as if it were the revving motor of a car engine.

“You don’t want to know… They’re not the sort of thing that you ever want to know… trust me. It was a monster! A monster!”

I would’ve begun pressing more questions on them, but I soon realized that their terror was legitimate— there was something in their eyes that testified to something being incredibly wrong. I could even feel it in the air. The shadowy criminal had been here, and they’d wreaked havoc.

“Just tell me what happened?” I asked. “I already know what you’re talking about….”

“They swooped down from the rafters— they came in here through the pothole that you did. Then, they jumped on top of me— I don’t understand how it happened… it doesn’t make any sense… But, they managed to land straight on top of me, without even hearing themselves… And then— and then…”

Their voice had been stuttering throughout their entire speech, and their words were flying out of their mouth a mile a minute. Though, this moment, they stopped. Tit was as if some invisible hand had clasped around their mouth and giving them warning not to speak. I watched as their eyes glazed over— and suddenly, their muscles tensed. They no longer looked quite right, and I could see that it was no longer just their fear.

“Are you still there?” I asked, trying to get through to them. They didn’t say a word though. Even I they did, it didn’t make any sense. They seemed to be trapped within themselves, closed off from anything else. I could still see a hint of them in their eyes, struggling to break free– but, it slowly dissipated… And then, it was gone, and they were on the floor. Limp. Motionless.

“What happened?” I said, still desperate to know. Though, I knew that I had no chance at knowing anymore. Any of my answers were once again gone from me.

“What happened,” I whispered to myself, one more. I now looked around the room, and whipped my flashlight about. I f I was being watched, I had to know— I was no longer willing to let myself be covered in a mess of questions. My fury had risen, and my patience, had been done away with. In this moment, when the man had dropped to the ground, I could finally see the severity to everything that was going on. And, I could no longer feel anything close to the amount of peace of mind that I had wanted to have.

“Clearly, you haven’t played your cards right…” I heard a new voice say— it was glowering onto me, and hanging from above. I couldn’t tell where it had come from, but there was no mistaking who it was.

“You’ve done enough,” I said. “You’ve played your game, and left me with more brain benders then I ever thought could’ve been conjured. I’m sick of it all, now. I just want you to end this charade, and tell me what’s going on. Is this all really worth it? Do you think that any of this is really going to be helpful to you, in the end? You’re just rummaging around, but never getting anywhere. It’s not going to help you, and it certainly isn’t helping society...”

“I don’t care for society… Society is the sort of thing that needs to be uprooted. You know this. You’ve tasted society, firsthand. You’ve also tasted what I have to offer. Clearly, the two are very different. Anarchy is the only way that you can properly people to make change, and shake them up by the roots.”

“Sometimes, we don’t have to take a violent approach to do that… Besides. You and me both can agree that your tactics don’t have any clear logic to them. You decide to rob a bunch of people, and steal all of their possessions, only to try and end it all? Why bother with all of them, if your ultimate goal is here? Why rob so little? Why make it so that you barely have any gain.”

“Various reasons. It’s not as if I can rob from them, and then use the money that I robbed. People would catch on to my sudden increase in wealth. We all know that you can’t make that sort of jump, without being caught. Besides— I mostly do this for what it will impact, more than what I can actually directly gain. I’m sure that you guessed that, just by the gravitas of my overall persona… Please don’t act like you’re not catching on. This was all very much done for the thrill of it... but, I don’t think that you’re asking me the right questions. I have a lot more to the plot that I’ve constructed than mere robberies, and acts of terrorizing the public. You know that. You know much more than most.”

The room around me was filled with a new atmosphere about it. The mere hearing of the voice of this man was something that had put me in a mood where I could no longer feel the fullness of anything. Something always followed him, and subtracted from the senses— something dulled my mind, and made me feel as if I were struggling to even keep slivers of it. There was also a sort of intimidation that he bore, and tried to strike down on me. Whenever I was under it, and forced to endure it, I felt that there was no way that I could survive it. It was very easy for me to fall into the feeling that everything was becoming exhausting, and dull. I was never going to get where I needed to go, and I knew it. I was doomed, so long as I was stuck under this man’s gaze.

“So, this is honestly how you feel that this should go down?” I asked. “With me fighting you, and you standing above me as if you’re some superior being? We can do something far more effective than this. I seem to have equaled you, in some sense. You slipped up, and I found ways in which to catch you. Isn’t that enough to earn your trust. What are you really doing here? Why bother trying to go hear, and terrorize this guard— but not steal anything?”

I already knew the answers. It was hanging in the air— something that I was but ignoring. The only reason that I asked was because I wanted to pull back the answer for as long as I could. I was already inching away from where I was standing, and studying around for where a phone might be. At this point, I was certain that the police needed to be here, and not even the feeling of terror poking at m y heart wasn’t enough to keep me resisting it. This very well might’ve been my only shot— the only way to get this done. I was determined to take it, no matter what.

“You ask a very complicated question,” said the shadow. “But, you and I should both know just how complicated tit is… And fact, I think that you know far better than me. Think about it. This entire place is subject to a perverse nature, and a grotesque design. It isn’t as if there’s anything smart, or creative, to it. There’s also the way in which you’ve seemed to have looked into a place where there’s no clear way out. That’s something so typical of you— even you would admit that— but, now I’m actually going to have you face that fact, head on. Be honest with yourself. After all of the evidence that I’ve given you, is it really hard to know what’s going on? Are you really having that much of a struggle to figure it out? I’d prefer for you to be a strong person, and a strong mind, at the same time. I know that you want to make a difference. But, I also know that you want to know the truth… know the truth, or don’t. I don’t care. But, I do care about what you do. I do care about you— in my own way, of course. I’ve given you the clues. Now figure out the answer for yourself, or face the punishment that comes with it. That’s all that I can ask of you, and all that you should expect out of this.”

I had no idea what to think about his overlong speech. I knew that this was what he wanted me to believe. I knew that he wanted to think that he was such a genius, and that everything he did was planned out with a precise perfection. Though, I also knew that he wasn’t quite somebody that I could fully trust. I simply saw a sort of ugliness in him— something that escaped all reason, and all control that I personally had. At least— a him. It might’ve been a she. That was one of many things that I couldn’t tell about this person. They were something else entirely, for me. There was no way in which I could predict their decisions, or their thoughts. The only thing that I could understand were their clues, and even then, their clues were very sparse and few. Maybe I was just being paranoid and fearful, but I thought that he as one of the most terrifying foes that I faced. In fact, he was the only true foe that I’d ever faced.

All of his clues seemed to indicate that he was planning on trapping me in this place. Or— at the very least— making sure that he finally ended me, tonight. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of this one, or if I could get out of this one, Though, I was sure on one thing. My police force was going to be called over here, no matter what, and I wasn’t going to let anything stop me from doing that.

“So, is this really how you want this to end?” I asked, backing away, towards a telephone that I’d spotted. There was such an entanglement of tools and cement structures to this place, that I was concerned that I might run into a pillar. I didn’t even quite trust myself as I backed away, because I knew there was a chance that the shadowy figure might swoop down behind me, and make me pay for what I’d done. However, there was sweep of courage that flew through my chest. It was something that I couldn’t quite deny— something that left me with a swelling sense of pride, and strength. I had to back up, after feeling that. At that point, I knew that it was a duty that I had— both to myself, and also to the people around me.

“I’m sure that you think yourself to be such a genius…” the shadow said. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you saw yourself as something more than that. You aren’t a being who is very strong with his deduction skills, nor are you strong on reasoning. Instead, you fall flat in both arenas. I’d love to have the pleasure of asking you why. U t then, I have the keen feeling that you’ll fall apart very soon here.”

“I’m not overly interested in the concept of failure,” I said. “But sure— let’s imagine that I am… So what? What is in it for you? Why are you so obsessed?”

“Because, it’s about time that you try to make a difference in the meaningless course of your life. Something that you don’t understand, nor have ever understood, is that I’m the sole thing that has brought you meaning. I’m the only reason that you can still use logic to get yourself out of here. You are my servant, in a way. I brought you here, with all of my clues. I planned this, despite you thinking that you were the one who out-smarted me. I knew that to you would be here, and I knew that I could toy with you. You’re the sort of person who will never be able to get through any of this, without eventually getting caught by me. That’s the only thing that I don’t think you’ve ever realize.dd. You’re a person that’s doomed to get caught, and to get sent away. Everything that you’ve done is in service to my plans. And, you will fail from it….”

“Can’t I succeed?”

I had already grasped the phone— it’s surface was one that gave a gush of warm blood through my body, and allowed me to take a deep breath. The clicks of its knobs, as I turned them about, gave me even more f this overflowing river of relief. The police station steadily came closer to me, with each turn of the phone’s wheel. I could practically feel it coming to me, when it suddenly all stopped— it was forced to stop, because I was forced to stop. Behind, me the greatest fear of mine was standing. I couldn’t bear to look at it, but I couldn’t bear to move either. I was stuck in the position of a lack of position. I didn’t know what to say, what to think, or what to do…

I made the last turn, to the last number, and I placed the phone at my ear. I knew that the shadow could see me as I did this, but that didn’t matter.

“So, I see that you’ve finally given up on the easy way, have you?” the shadow asked. “Such a shame… I had such high hopes for you… I really thought that you might be able to express your full potential, rather than take the cowardly way out. I suppose that I was wrong…”

“You were wrong on quite a lot of things,” I said, waiting for the phone to pick up. For some reason, it wasn’t. My face was starting to become coated by a reddened brush of embarrassment. In an instant, all of my peace of mind had started to melt away.

“I see that you’re still trying to get through it all… but, you’re never going to get through to them…” said the shadow.

I wasn’t getting through them. I had been so slow, and I instantly realized why the phone wouldn’t work. In my rushing, I hadn’t even bothered to notice— but, the phone had been cut straight off of its wire.

“Well, I suppose that You should have thought things out a lot more,” said the shadow. “but, then again, I already knew about all that. You’re nothing short of an idiot. We’re all that way, in this city… but, I’ve caught on that you’re amongst the most prominent of them all.”

“I don’t know why that comes as such a shock to you. After all, didn’t you already know that I was an idiot?”

“I knew that you weren’t the sort of person who was very good in their strategy. I knew that you wouldn’t be able to pick up on everything that I’ve given you. Even now, you don’t know quite who I am, but, I guessed that you would at least be able to catch on to something so simple as severed telephone wire. Please, don’t insult me by acting like I haven’t thought through all of these things. I’ve looked at every possible route of your escape. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are one or two that I never accounted for— but then, you’d never account for them, either. You’re stuck in here, with me, and the only thing that you can do is watch.”

Not for the first time this week, I became aware of my broken arm. It was such a blockade to my full potential, and I know that I was about to pay for it.

A hard punch to the stomach. Than the side. Finally, I was hit in the head, and down on the floor.

“Such a pretty ending…” the shadow said. “I don’t know how you were able to get away from it all, with all of your other enemies… but, I’m glad that this is how it all ends up. You’re broken apart, and laying on the ground. I’ve put you through everything that I could come up with, and let you suffer the most terrible of pains. I’ve made you feel what it’s like to truly meet a threatening wit— not one of those piddle bits of jokes that you managed to scrounge up, after all of these years. I’s nice to see you finally break down... but then, it’s also a very sad ending for you. After all, you went down after three punches, and didn’t have a punch to give me in return.”

I wanted to give them what they were asking for, but they were right... They were right in all of it, as much as they wanted to rub it in my face. I didn’t have a way out of it all, and my plans really had fallen short.

The shadowy figure came closer, and began to stoop over me. I could feel its coal heart emanate from within itself— its oily gaze left a markedly disgusting waft of fumes in the air. Its fingers clasped mine, with it practically overturning them— with it biting down, and into my soul. I immediately thought that there was no other thing that I’d ever seen or experienced, so dark and foreboding as the figure that stood before me. In an instant, I realized that there was something to it that I simply couldn’t compare, or conjure up in my own mind. I stared into where I had finally found its eyes. Though, I found that the pair of black pearls were more than just eyes— they were also an entrance gate into a hellish world, of which I could hardly understand.

“Friedrich Nietzsche was right…” I said. I had tried to hold my words back, but they managed to go out in a puff of breath. In the same jarring punch that the shadow had given me, he’d also given me a twinge of a different sort of pain— a sort of pain where I could no longer control myself in. Instead, it was as if he’d dived into my mind— as if he was controlling me.

“About what?” asked the shadow. More of its powdery fog blew into my face. I could feel it control eye again— but I resisted it.

“Come on now,” the shadow repeated— this time with its voice holding a toxic weight of malice in it. “I haven’t dragged your ragged body this far, only for you to give in.”

I didn’t finish my sentence— I didn’t give in. I couldn’t. In an instant, I’d realized that this was what it had wanted. It had all been a ploy, from the start— a way to get me to confront him, face to face. I refused.

“If this is the face off it wants, then it will get it,” I thought to myself.

After a smattering of the telephone system to my head, and a downpour of pain and broken plastics, my tone had immediately shifted.

The face-off was over, as far as I was concerned.

“Tell me!” the shadow yelled, while still keeping its voice in tune enough, so that I couldn’t fully identify it.

The moon was like silk above me—its light was the only thing left to guide myself by. Somehow, the shadow had short-circuited all of the light in the building, in the midst of our fight. It was as if it were trying to impersonate the darkness of the factory— as if it thought that, in this way, it could somehow overcome me.

“I didn’t come all of this way, for you not to follow through on my game,” the shadow said, inflecting its voice in such a way that it now sounded sweet. In the meantime, it was clutching oft my sides– jabbing its claws as far inward as it could.

“Your heart is on its last stretch— we both know this, Sergeant Kyler. I can feel your pulse pumping through your bones with such a weakness… Don’t act like you couldn’t hide it from me, after all of this time… Now, I’m just curious— how much more are you willing to test your heart? All you have to do is state a few simple words— it will be over after that.”

“Fine,” I wheezed. “When you stare into the darkness— the darkness stares back into you.”

The shadow didn’t make a word, or utter a sound. However, I saw its smile bleed through the darkness— the moon’s light made sure to shine through, and reflect off of its teeth. In this subtle, short moment, the riotous grin shone out like a cold blade. I even felt it cut through my mind like one. The Cheshire cat wasn’t even anything that might’ve been able to compare.

“I always knew that you’d eventually attest to that fact— at some point…”

“How nice of you.” I said. “You must know me a lot better than I thought you would.”

“Our history goes a bit further back than this warehouse— I’m sure that you know that.”

“It goes back a lot further…” I said.

“Perhaps our dichotomies clashed, long before now. But, not us. Not in the way that you think. I’ll admit, however, that you definitely have me pinned down in some respects… You— the very essence of age, death, and the waning of all … Order… But, my dichotomy is clearly superior. The very essence of energy, recklessness, and life… Chaos. We’re about as opposite as can be. You’d think that are polarities would be repellant to each other. Instead, we act like magnets. I’m the flame, and you’re the dying moth— all burnt to a crisp, and out of your past flutter. Though, like all polar opposites, we still each need to have a pole upon which we can connect. The pole that exists between both of our dichotomies is a sense of reason. We both know how to rationalize things— tell ourselves a pretty story, and make some sense out of it. If we couldn’t reason, then you wouldn’t be here— instead, I would’ve made sure to turn you into a drooling puddle, in order to pay you back for your missteps.”

“Just get to the point,” I said, with a choke. I had been reduced to the floor now, leaning on the pillar where the telephone had been. The moonlight shone upon me like a spotlight, making me how with sweat. And, the shadow had leaned close, so as to put his hand around my throat— so as to keep me in my place. It had a heat to it that turned me into a ball of sweat and tears. Though, there was nothing that I could do to fight back against it.

“Tsk, tsk… I would’ve thought that you would’ve learned a sense of patience, after all of the carnival games that I put you through… Please— let a person finish their speech before trying to interrupt. Then again, you’re only proving my point— the hypocrisy in your cause. You see, I came here to show you that the superior dichotomy, between order and chaos, is chaos. You might think that you’re the one who possesses the stance where everything might flow off of. But, you’re nothing more than a desperate joke, in that respect.”

“It would be nice if you came out of there, and showed your face,” I said.

To be honest, I wouldn’t have been able to see their face if I’d tried. After all of the beating that had gone through, my head was throbbing tremendously, and my eyesight had been reduced to a blurry smear.

“I have—you just haven’t figured it out yet, because you’re truly that ignorant to everything that’s going on around you… Not that I should be surprised. In all honestly, I’d be more surprised if you still had your wits about you, after everything that I’d just put you through…”

He’d hit my head so hard that I couldn’t see clearly. Everything truly had gone fuzzy. In a way, I felt like there was no way out of the place that I was in. I

‘d been beaten to submission, to the point where nearly every part of my body felt numb.

“I definitely wasn’t built for this,” I thought. “You know, it sure would’ve been nice if this place had had more than one guard…”

The sound of metal, scraping against a soft surface, breezed through the air. It had a rotten undertone to its decibels— if there was a way in which a sound could smell moldy, that was it. In nearly every way, I couldn’t trust it. I simply felt out of place, amongst it all. It was the sort of sound that leaves you on your knees— the sort of sound that makes your spirits sag into your gut, and then makes you wish that you actually had some guts.

“Well— I see that you’re not comfortable with that sound,” the shadow said, with far too much relish. “I’ll make sure to take a note of that— I’m sure that you think it to be very cook, and soothing… Don’t you?”

“Just get it over with, if you really want to keep this up…”

The shadow let out a sound, that was mixed with the honking of a horn, and a laugh. “I see… you really think that there’s a bone in my body that might be willing to give you some mercy. Don’t you? I’m afraid that’s just not how it works. I’m going to make you feel pain in every part of your body. Each mark that I lay down on you will represent the people that your failed to help, and all of the victims of mine that suffered, under your watch. There were so many people that I captured… So many people that you could’ve saved, but never did. They were all right under your nose, if only you could’ve been more alert. I always made sure that I left something behind for you, and your friends. I always made sure that there was at least one way for you to make it through. Sadly, you were just too stupid. Even after everything that ‘d laid out, your mind was still twisted up by my brain twisters…”

“What can I say? You’re just too smart for me…”

The cold, gun metal was already rubbing against my ankle. I could feel the slit that its razor short edge made into my skin, and the thin grin that was being hidden under my blurred vision.

“This is fun…. Too much fun…” said the shadow. “I threaten you, and go through my whole spiel… And then, you cower back away, trying your hardest to find some sort of solid footing. I wish that this could just go on forever. It’s things like these that were just too beautiful to ever let end. In fact, I just don’t want it to end. You don’t deserve anything, except to be here, at my feet… Cowering…”

“Alright, I get it,” I said, still trying to maintain a wry sense of humor. I couldn’t though. Even as I tried to stay on my feet, all that came out was a grunt, and a groan.

“What’s wrong? You don’t have any fight left in you?” asked the shadowy figure.

A swift kick to what was left of my stomach. I felt as my head throbbed, and my whole body lost its stability. Though, tit still came near a devastating end— I could feel it beginning to careen into an unwanted madness.

My whole body felt sick. Devastated. I would’ve tried to pull myself up, but I simply couldn’t. There was nothing that I could confidently do. I was near-doomed. There were only a few hopes that I had left— but, none of them were ones that I could find a significant confidence in. It would’ve taken some sort of miracle to get out of here.

Another bash to the head. Then another. I could hear somebody singing now That is, I could hear them singing, up until I realized that it was actually the sound of the ringing in my ears. I was utterly disoriented, and I knew that the shadow must’ve been using something much stronger than a fist to knock me down. Nobody ever goes down easy, just in a few punches.

“Are you beaten down yet?” the shadow asked. “I’m just wondering… After all of this, are you willing to submit to my point? Are you finally willing to admit that everything you’ve ever done as an officer is useless, and that you never had a point her, to begin with?”

“If you think that chaos is the answer, then you have it way off. The only way that we can ever get up is by trying again— and again. To unite as a people. If you notice, that’s the only way that anybody was ever able to get a job, during the big crash. We needed people who were willing to help each other out”

“Some help… Do you realize just how much of a mess that his all created? I bet that you don’t I bet that you don’t even realize just how pitiful you really are, in comparison with everything else that’s going on around you. You’re just a joke, sergeant. You might think that you’re somebody who has made a difference in this city, but I’d like you to overlook all that you’ve done. Then, I’d like you to finally give it all up…”

“What do you think that you’re going to accomplish, in all of this?” I asked. This night— it’s going to end soon. And, I’m going to be sitting here, true to my word. I don’t care how many times that you hit me. I don’t care what you do. I’m not going to stop standing for what I stand for.”

There was another one of the shadow’s chortles, followed by another hard blow to the head.

“I’m pretty tempted to throw you back down into the sewers that you just dragged yourself out of.”

This time, it was my turn to chuckle. My lips were raw and puffy, and my eyes were covered by two welting bruises— but, I still managed a smile.

“IT was pretty tough to drag myself out of there… Care to know how it feels to have to try and drag me back in there? I’m going to make sure that it’s the hardest fight that you’ve ever had.”

“Maybe with you… But, you punch like a toddler. And, at this point, you’re burst open as if you were nothing more than pure cattle.”

“I don’t know why you hate me…” I said. “At this point, I really hate you. I know that you want to hear those words, as well as what’s coming next… And, what’s coming next is something that I’ve never said this to anybody… This is coming from a guy who’s met a lot of bad people, in my time here. Especially amidst all of the people that you’ve thrown at me. Well, here it is—.”

There was a swift blow to my ears, but I didn’t let that stop me.

“I wish that you would just drop dead.”

“Be careful what you wish for… Both you and I know that you seem to get the revers e of everything that you want. But— such is the fruit of hypocrisy.”

The voice enunciated its words, in such a way, that I almost thought it had begun to try and sing a melody.

“And, what are you trying to get at, in all of this?” I sacked. “Do you even have a reason? Or, do you just want to watch me suffer?”

“A little bit of everything…. I don’t know entirely what I want out of this. Then again, nobody knows what they want entirely, ever. And yet, I also want you to tell me everything that you know, and to expose your darkest secrets to me. There’s also the part of me that just wants to see you writhe and scream… A part of me that wants to see you submit. Most of all, though, there’s the part of me that wants you to know just what you’ve done. You might think yourself to be the hero in this city working amongst a group of heroes… But, you’re not. You’re far from it. Do you know all of the people who died in this place? How about this month? Now… How about how they all died? Do you know how, my friend? Do you know who killed a lot of them?”

“You…” I seethed. “What are you getting out of this!?”

The shadow chuckled, with its voice sounding just as terrible as the knife had, when it was scraping across the ground.

“I’ve only killed one person, so far…” the shadow said.” I mean— I’ve brought people through the ringer. Some people might’ve gone out, because their hearts couldn’t take it, and such. I’m not going to pretend that I’m clean, or anything like that. We both know where thinking like that might lead… The only person who I killed, Sergeant, was you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to kill you… Isn’t it obvious? Oh, never mind… Of course it isn’t obvious. How could I expect it to be, when you’re the person who I’m talking to? You’re a complete idiot, who can never seem to catch a hint… No, you’re just somebody who’s a puppet. A real joke! It’s time that I showed you what it means to actually have the stage all to yourself, and everything under control.

“Yes, please… Show me… Why don’t you stop criticizing me, and actually explain what’s going on!”

“Oh, I will. In fact, I am, right at this moment. You’re just too much of a daft person to figure things out yet. You’re so slow… Tonight is the night that you die.”

“I’m not going to pretend that I’m going to make it out of here… I’m not so arrogant as you might be, to think that I have this all reigned in. Though, I just want to ask… Why do you keep beating around the bush?”

The knife was jabbed deeper into my skin.

“Man, is that fun,” said the shadow. “I wish that I could’ve done that, all day long… It’s times like these that make me wonder why I even bothered to wait so long. You’re so fresh and succulent. You’re not like the others— OI can actually do as much damage as I wasn’t to you…”

“Everything is fun to you,” I said, with a grimace. “Sadly, I just don’t share that opinion… I think that you’re insane.

“Ah— now you’re calling me names. A perfect sign that you’re finally desperate, and that I’ve won this game. I’m used to that sort of thing. But, not in a million years would I have thought that it would happen to you…”

“Maybe there are things that you just can’t predict about me. besides— you’ve beat me down to the ground. It’s not like I’m the same person, anymore. After everything that I’ve done, I simply can’t be the same person. It’s like trying to call a dog a cat. At this point, nearly everything that makes me into who I am has been stripped from me…”

“Ah… but that’s just the thing. It’s once everything that makes you into who you are is stripped from you that you truly become a real person. In that, there’s nowhere that you can hide the most unappealing aspects of yourself… We always become who we are when there’s nothing else to interfere with us— nothing…. Not even ourselves.”

“Is that how you became who you are… Somebody stuck you in a place of seclusion, and now you’re a madman?”

“Well, before I get to explaining— and, honestly, a guy like you doesn’t deserve and explanation—insanity truly is a relative topic. To me, you’re insane… Mainly because you think that I’m insane, but there’s more to it too… There’s always more, and there’s always something that I can complain about you…. Anyhow, you want to know my true story. So her it is. I became who I and because of people like you…. You knight, in shining armor, pretending that you can just swoop down and save the day. You act like everything you do is so meaningful, and that, in the end of it all, the city will be changed by you. But, you’re wrong. If you were gone, all of your problems would remain the same. You’re all so slow, and so inefficient…. The best that you can do is make the criminal element of this city became more provoked. You provoke anger in people, not subservience.”

“I don’t look for subservience. I look for a society, in which we don’t have to deal with people killing each other off. Can you really tell me that’s so bad?”

“Yes. Terrible. And, that’s my main problem with you all. Out of any other group in this city, you cops have killed more than your fair share— about half… This is what order leads you to. In the end, you have to enforce it upon people, whether the like it or not. You might think that you’re working on something grand… but, you’re not.”

“I rarely ever shoot people, unless brute force is needed,” I said. A heavy chunk of brute force was thrown down on my legs— no doubt out of this person’s off-putting sense of justice. “This place needs to be protected, somehow. You can call what I do inefficient. And I’ll agree with you, in some respects. but, If I wasn’t doing it, somebody else would be doing it. And, if I was stuck here, not thinking about what I was supposed to be doing, then this whole city would start to collapse. We have so many things going wrong in this town, and none of them are things that can easily be manipulated. I appreciate everything that my fellow officers have done for this town, even if some of it is more deadly than it should be.”

“I see… You think that you should be the judge, jury, and executioner… by your own strict laws, you’re a hyponitrite. You should be jailed. You shouldn’t be an officer. None of you people should. You’re all the highest class of criminal. Not because of the crimes you committed, but because you’d be willing to lie before the court, and say that you’re innocent… And then, you would get rewarded for it. You could keep your tidy job. And then, it all comes together for you.”

I could feel my body beginning to compromise on me. It always had been, and I knew that this point was on the horizon this entire time. Though, I hadn’t thought that would come like this, with such anticlimax. In fact, I began to feel a potent sense of regret for the fact that I hadn’t been able to get an y further.

“Please— tell me that you’re not completely crazy. Tell me that this is all going to end, right after I give you what you want. I don’t know if you have hostages, about please— free them. Free me. End this. And never come back to my city.”

“I’m sticking around in this city, for as long as I want to. This whole place is in shreds, and I want you to be able to recognize it.”

“What you’re doing to fix this city isn’t any better. How is your non-solution still a solution in your eyes?”

“Pollution is a solution… Haven’t you seen how soluble it is, once in the water? In all seriousness, I think that the reason I can’t give up on this is the same reason that you’ll never give up on your stance…. I think that I’m right. You think that you’re right to, but without reason. Your position holds noting to it, except an embraced destruction. I say that we take things to a place where they made much more sense— back before they did make any sense. I wasn’t this city to be overrun by chaos, and battles in the streets. I’m sick of it all… I don’t want this city to be yours anymore. I want the final uproar to take place.”

“I’m not going to let you do that.”

“Who said that you would? Now, I know what you must be thinking…. You must think that my answer is wrong. But, it isn’t it can never be. You see, in my answer, there are so many different ways that people can survive. And, they’re not limited by the conventions that you’ve set forth. I am going to make it so that anybody and everybody can do anything that they want. I’m holding this city ransom, soon enough. And, you’re going to be one of the few people who will see it coming… Such a shame that you won’t be able to warn anybody about it. Anyway, the reason that my positon makes more sense than yours is because my position is actually honest about the world that we live in. We’re all covered pink, and stuck coloring everything white. A bleach white… Nothing should ever be that color though. Because, whit e is the one color that is without color. You police are the worst poison on this earth, because you pretend that you’re keeping us who we are— whole, and free. You plan on retaining civilization’s innocence, or some nonsense quit like that. But, you’re wrong. We both know it. You guys create chaos, in the name of order. That’s my main conclusion, amidst all of this… Order is the true from of chaos. Because, in order you must be in denial about reality. And, every time that you’re in denial about reality, you suddenly become subject to the fact that you’re going to fall apart. Please… I beg of you to give up your dangerous practices.”

“You haven’t given me much of a choice here…” I said. “But, you’re totally wrong. I’m going to make sure that you know that…”

“Oh, I know that alright…. I know a lot more than you do.”

“Good, then go to a game-show, and leave me alone. Maybe it’s just me, but I think that this place is a madhouse, now…”

“finally you’re seeing the truth. Every pace is a madhouse. And, the only way out of a madhouse comes when you go deeper into the madhouse…”

“How about you never go into it at all, then?”

“You don’t have that option…”

“I’m beginning to see a pattern with you. You act like there’s no option for us, all of the time— that we can’t be held accountable for the actions that we do, because the system is broken. But, the mistake that you make is that I think we’re in a far bigger mess than that. I don’t think that we can just wander around, and expect to get answers. I think that answers come to us, over time. and then, we need to choose what we do with them. Our lives aren’t quite so much a maddening maze as it is a trail, full of its own twists and turns.”

“I’d say that it’s a painting, of the most grotesque and perplexing for. I see it in one way, but you interpret it in another. The thing is, I also realize something else about that painting… Somebody else painted it. I wouldn’t be stuck trying to interpret it, if that weren’t the case. And so, my actions are reliant on somebody else’s. When does it come to a point where somebody is helping me do what I do— when I’m not entirely accountable—and nothing is ever so clean cut as we’d all like it to be, even if it seems like it’s very clean cut. That’s where all of this disorder comes in…”

“You’re obsessed with disorder, but I don’t think you realize just how abstract it all is, and how abstract it always has been. You were never supposed to take anything so seriously as what you’re doing… Once you inspect something far enough, it nearly always begins to stop making sense, and starting to fall into complexities. It’s simply what happens, when you don’t pay a close enough attention. That’s why I don’t think you should be wasting your time on me, anymore— nor anybody, for that matter. You’re never going to convince anybody that you’re right. All that you’re going to do is drive yourself made”

“I’ve already driven myself mad. The job now is to make sure that I can drive everybody else that way.”

My legs were hit by their hammer, several times.

“Do you feel the pain now?” they asked. Now, do you finally understand? Nothing makes sense… Nothing ever could have made sense... That’s the mistake that we all make. We think that things can be named one thing, or another. And yet, it’s nearly always all of the above. It’s because there’s no true way that anything can be done. Everything in this world is hanging off a thread, and I’m just the first person who was willing to point that out to all of us… I’m not insane, while you might like to think that I am. If I was insane, then I wouldn’t be able to answer that question. You see, it isn’t so much that insanity is who I am as it is that insanity is something that I adopted… I adopted the thing after I realize d just how much of a parasite that society was… back when I realized just how sloppy it was built.”

“Why don’t you just end me now, hen? If you really don’t care about me, at least do that much— not for me, but for yourself. I don’t belong here, correct? I’m just an officer… Why don’t you kill me? Why don’t you kill anybody?”

“Simple…” said the shadow. “unlike you, I don’t kill. I can’t ever let myself do that— it’s my one rule. Why? Because, you cops don’t have any rules. You just pretend that you do, before you begin to fall into the place where you have to ignore them. You probably see me as a glaring contradiction. And, I am, in many ways. But, It’s only so that I mirror you. It’s only so that you might be able to see yourself for once.”

I would’ve laughed in his face, if the situation hadn’t been so dire, and if my lungs didn’t feel so compressed.

“You honestly think that you’re that much better than me?” I asked. “You hardly have any idea of what you’re doing, let alone any sense of morality… I appreciate that you have an appreciation for morality— that you’re not some insane tyrant, looking to thrust a dark blazer on me. But, we both know that you’re backwards in all of your philosophies.”

“

MY one philosophy is to make sure that people no longer hurt. I’m trying to get them to achiever that by forcing them to look for morality within themselves– to hold the universe accountable for their actions, rather than a primitive group of enforcers. The time that we’re in is full of all sorts of travesties… Do you honestly think that you’ve really pulled yourself out of it all?”

“Does it really matter, in the end?” I asked. “Either way, you’re a madman, making me bleed from the inside, out. You’re trying to make me suffer. If you really think that this is the way to go, then you honestly have no idea as to what you’re supposed to be doing… Just give up your true plans to me, and be done with it.”My true plan was to make you melt, top the ground. That was what this was all about!”

I let out a wheeze, with the intention of it having been a sigh. There was no getting through to the other side of this person. They were hopeless, even in my great attempts to give them hope.

“I’m done already… Give me your best hit. I’d like to see just how much pain you’re truly capable of dishing out. I doubt it’s all that much. With all your strength, and all of your glowering, you’re just another pitiful husk…”

The person stopped after that. Their breathing, the clanging of their hammer, the way that they towered over me— everything stopped. It all steadily subsided, disappearing into the dark as if it were all part of some lucid dream, that I was only just beginning to catch on to. I felt a mixture of fear and courage. I had said something that had pushed the shadow too far— I knew it. But then— the shadowy figure was so unpredictable, that this only elicited so much assurance.

“I’m glad that you’re finally seeing my true colors… A shame that you were so slow in recognizing it….” The shadow said, attempting to muster some witty retort. It fell flat, and both I and him recognized it. There was simply something in the air— too fresh and new for it to be dismissed. Even as he tried to pretend that I hadn’t bested him, parts of both of us had to admit that I had.

“If you really want me to wrap this up, then I will,” the shadow finally said. I listened as their hammer’s mallet lifted off the ground, leaving behind the unsettling scrape of metal on concrete. The heavy breathing returned— I could suddenly feel his anger start to flow from off of him. And then, by some miraculous intervention, it all stopped. In the skylight that was above us, the glass made a cracking sound.

I looked at it— there was a massive crack down the line. Then, all of it shattered, with an incredible wail. I covered my ears, and turned my eyes downward. Bits of gas fell into my hair. And onto my clothes, as it brought itself and the night rain down onto our floor.

“For once, there’s nothing more that I could want then rain…” I thought to myself.

There truly wasn’t. Immediately after all of this, I heard the shadowy figure thump backward, onto the ground.

“No!” it said, with a harsh shriek, filled with the same high pitch that a well-tightened harp string might let out.

“What’s go9ng on?” I asked, straining my vocal chords, so as to be able to speak. After everything I’d been through, my whole body twinge with bruises, and pain— the amount of it all was near innumerable. In fact, it made me feel almost as if I was helpless to act— not only to act in my favor, but to act at all. It was like the whole world ahead decided to unite, so as to turn against me.

“It’s me— Detective Crusoe!”

There was no denying that it was.

“Run Kyler!” he said. “I made sure to unlock the doors. We’ll rendezvous outside of this building. In the meantime, I’ll hold back this insane person.”

I didn’t hesitate to listen. With my legs flailing to and from, I ran with the best of my ability. I’d determined that, if I had any hope at making it out of here and to the place where success awaited me, I was going to have to run for my life. I found that the whole warehouse seemed to sway towards me, threaten me, and attempt to halt me. I jumped over everything that it could offer against me, and more. There were few things that were ever able to phase me and the warehouse had proven that to the best of its ability. It simply couldn’t leave me in terror, no matter how hard it tried to.

Eventually made it out of the factory doors with a heavy push, and into the streets. What I found, however, was that it had taken far longer than it should’ve/ After the beating that the shadowy figure had laid upon me, I had a hard time moving at all— let alone running. In fact, I knew at this moment that I was in desperate need of another hospital visit… Not that I had any option but to continue.

Even in all of my pain, it couldn’t even match what might come if I were to stray from the course that Crusoe had provided me.

I ran up to my car, to make sure that everything was in place. And then, I stopped it all.

“Hello,” said Detective Crusoe.

I turned around, and found that he was standing into the darkness of the parking lot, just behind m.

“You have a lot more things planned out than I could’ve ever accounted for…” I said. “What the heck are you doing here? Why are you such a mess? How did you find me? Most importantly, how did you get here so fast?”

“How did you get here so slow?” Crusoe asked. “I can’t answer all of those questions at once, but I have the crook tied up— we just need to call the police force, and then he should be arrested. In the meantime, I should probably have you brought to the hospital.”

“How about no?” I asked. “We simply can’t go to the hospital. It doesn’t feel like a reasonable option to m. Think about it… WE have perhaps the greatest criminal tied up in a building, and you want me to leave– just like that? I’m hot on the trail, Crusoe. I plan on heading to Miss Prestel’s house to figure out some of the last things that are going on. I’m not giving up tonight until I have everything that I need. I don’t think that you understand, but this is all very important to me, and I only have a few hours left, before daylight. The only service to me from going into that factory was that the criminal is now captured…”

“Do you want me to just go to Miss Prestel’s house?” asked Crusoe.

“No!” I said. “There are too many things that are going down tonight— I just know it— and I’m not willing to have it all fall to the wayside just because of some early fears. If we want to get things under control, then we need to take the reins of what’s going on, and not let anything else get in our way.”

The rain was pouring down hard. Even as I looked up to the sky, I could see it pelting fast. My vision was still blurred, and my hearing still slurred— but, I had the feeling that I’d be able to make it through the night.

“I don’t think that you’ll be able to sustain such an endeavor, with all of the injuries that you have…” said Crusoe. “You really need to stop, and stake a break.”

“I have too much going on right now to drop it all just because I need a break. I appreciate your concerns, and definitely hope that it will all come together with ease… But, I also need to chase after this crook. I don’t think that you understand, but I’m in the middle of something that I just don’t feel that I can wait of. I need to know the answers, and I’m not willing to let you take them. You’ll be better at make sure that the shadowy figure doesn’t escape than me…”

“Alright then…”

Crusoe had a reluctance in his voice. I could hear his tongue steadily roll to the back of his mouth, as he held a few words down.

“It’s just… I’m not sure if you’ll be able to…”

“Just focus on yourself,” I said. “Nothing else matters tonight… If anything ese did, then we would’ve been out of here in a jiffy. Now, I do have one question left for you— how on earth did you fin d me here?”

“Long story…” said Crusoe. “I tracked down Amelia Mulligan, and she told me where you were. Then, I tracked down the place where you said that you might be going, and I made an assumption from there… You clearly didn’t take all of the evidence from the crime scene that you were to. You need to work on that— you can’t be sloppy.”

“It’s been a long night, ok Crusoe? It’s not like I have the time to be tidy in my work… Anyway, thanks for saving me, again. I’m not sure what I can say…”

“Thank you?”

“Yeah— thank you. Make sure that Lieutenant Jackson is here to hear about this.”

I put my car out of park, and then began to drive ff. Crusoe remained oddly silent throughout the whole of this, and even continued his silence by the end of it.

“I will,” said Crusoe, finally. “I will.”

*

Maybe it was just me, and all of my new suspicions, but Miss Prestel’s house looked more sinister than usual, as I pulled up to it. A bolt of lightning streaked across its silhouette several times, and the rain clung to it like paperclips clung to a magnet. There are just some things that will never make sense to me, and this is most certainly one of them. It was how an old lady, innocent and unsuspecting as herself, might’ve been able to pull something over my eyes— all of our eyes.

I couldn’t help but feel that I was being overly unsuspicious of her, and even too controlling. But, at the same time, I had nothing else that I could use to assure me that there was some other explanation. This was my only lead. And so, I gladly took it, even in the face of the fact that it made little e to no sense to me.

I proceeded to walk through her slick driveway, and commit all of the same habitual patterns that I’d become used to… knocking on her door, having the butler answer, walking into her parlor, and waiting for her to come down. This time, there was a tension that was in the air, though. After seeing me, all battered and bruised, I could tell that the Butler had nothing but regret for answering the door. I also knew that there was something that he was hiding— the way that he turned his eyes away from me, and try to direct his focus somewhere else, was simply too revealing.

In the parlor, I found that the flowery scent was lacking, and that the bright colors of the room had all faded away amidst the grayish tint of the rain outside. For a moment, I actually wished that it was all still the same as how I’d originally thought it to be. There was something comforting about being able to think that it would all be easy to overcome– that all of the circumstances surrounding me were simple ones. However, I was now no longer convinced by any of this. In fact, I’d begun to feel like it was all designed in a way so that it might distract me from the fullness of what was going on. I no longer felt like Miss Prestel’s house was a place that I could trust— nor anywhere else.

Eventually a pair of footsteps came down into the parlor. The butler opened the door to the place, and finally shut it with a soft click once Miss Prestel entered. At that point, I was left staring face to face, in to Miss Prestel’s wrinkled eyes. I used to feel a sort of sympathy for her haggardly physique. Though, I now suspected that I should’ve taken it as a warning, rather than something I should’ve felt sorry for.

“I see that you’ve been rather busy,” I said, glaring at Miss Prestel’s new jewelry.

“no… This is just a few old trinkets that I collected.”

I gave a smirk, while still trying to maintain my intimidating composure. “Yes… I guess that everything in this place is old, and full of the same tricks that you’ve always been using.”

Miss Prestel put her hand on her heart, aghast.

“What do you mean?” She asked, in an attempt to sound shocked. “Are you suggesting that me, and my mansion, are all old? I’ll have you know that I’m the most up-to-date aristocrat in Chicago.”

“Not so much that, as I am suggesting that you and your house aren’t so honest of a group…”

I leaned back in the plush chair, and soaked in all of the shock that she let out, from underneath her wrinkled skin.

“I think that you’re being extremely cruel, in saying that!” she said.

“Yes… Well, I have a hard time sharing that feeling when your house is full of all sorts of oddities. You see, I think that you might not be the person who you’re pretending to be. I found out about your company— I always thought that it must’ve been a rather innocent endeavor of yours. Though, after studying your factory, and the work conditions in them., I realized that you’re not the innocent dunderhead that you parade yourself to be.”

“Me? An innocent dunderhead? I’m greatly offended! You can’t just come into my house and call me that! Wait… What’s a dunderhead?”

I didn’t bother to answer. At this point, I could see through her veil.

“Your factory seems to have the lowest possible amount of money invested in it. Tonight, I found the shadowy figure attempting a robbery inside of it. But, it turned out that they were using it as a base of operations… They actually had the guts to try using it as a trap against me… Do you actually think that a normal person might’ve been crazy enough to try pulling a stunt like that? Do you still think he’s innocent, after everything that I’ve told you? Or, do you choose to remain ignorant, and playing off of the concept that you’re too stupid to understand me…”

Miss Prestel shook her head, and le t out a breath. At first, I thought it might’ve been out of nervousness. Then, I thought it might’ve been out of disappointment. Anger maybe. I couldn’t tell with her. It was simply too hard to read the map of wrinkles that were spread across her face, and her flamboyant mannerisms weren’t helping matters.

“I see that you must think me to be some cruel crime ring-leader…” Miss Prestel said. “With all of my wealth and all that… but, I can’t see why you think that I might’ve been guilty of any of the things that you’re criticizing of, nor understand what sort of evidence that you might have against me. I’m afraid that you’re simply too brash of a person for me to entertain, or offer my time to… Honestly— I don’t think that I’m willing to give you tea, anymore. Not after what you’ve done…”

She paused, and stared at all of my injuries.

“Are you quite sure that you’re alright, dearie? After all of the things that you look like you’ve been through, are you sure that you’re not suffering from some sort of head trauma. Perhaps resting here might ease your pain…”

“I’ll rest after you give me some answers…” I said. “I was in the sewage of your factory, and all that I can say is that it left me with hallucinations. Not only that, but I do have something suspicious on you…”

“And what is that?” Asked Miss Prestel. “If you think that I’m somehow linked to the shadowy figure, you’re mistaken.”

“That’s just it,” I said. “You’re the only person that the shadowy figure never seemed to terrorize, to kidnap. You’re the only person who seemed to have been robbed… And, you’re the only person robbed by the shadowy figure that didn’t seem to have any connections with Mr. Donald’s company, like the rest of the kidnapped individuals did. Here’s my main problem, however… I Had a scuffle with the shadowy figure, and her just so happened to drop a sheet of paper while fighting me. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but it was a document that had been stolen from your house— one of the only things that had been stolen from your house— and, this document just so happens to link you to Mr. Donald…”

“That’s not any dirt on me…”

“But it is. The document says that you’ve been taking care of the toxic waste that MR. Donald’s factories emit, for a tidy sum. You were also in the process of making another business deal with him. What’s even odder is that these documents are combined with one where Mr. Donald sent you a letter, informing you that he wasn’t interested in working with you anymore— namely because he found out what you were doing with your toxic waste.”

“I guess that he was one stupid man,” Miss Prestel said. “To be honest, I can’t quite understand why he thought that I was doing something nefarious with toxic waste…”

“He said that he’d found out how you were dumping it into the sewers….”

I paused, to look straight into Miss Prestel’s eyes. There was a fear within them. It was too obvious that she was having some sort of internal conflict, and that she was on the verge of a breakdown. Her previously delusionary façade had faded away, and I was now looking at what she truly was— a conniving vermin, who had just been cornered.

“It looks like your days of robbing the tombs of the jungle, and abusing monkeys, really aren’t over… you’re still at it, and as bad as ever.”

“I might mistreat monkeys, but it’s not nearly as bad as you’re making it out to be! Miss Prestel said, in a fury. “I love monkeys! I’d never harm them on purpose!”

“I’m sure that you always say that… But, are you really being honest with yourself? After everything that I’ve seen about what you’ve done, I think it’s very apparent that you’re not being honest— not with me, and most certainly not with yourself. at least I know the truth, and am willing to say it. You, on the other hand? Part of me wonders if you’re even willing to say what you’ve done… I think that you might be forever trapped in a position where you have no idea what’s going on…”

I stopped. I heard a creak form outside of the parlor door, and was instantly forewarned that Her butler, Mr. Gretchen, was outside— listening to us, as we spoke. I had a hard time being able to cope with this fact, and even a harder time ignoring it. Though, there was truly no denying what was going on, or that it was a big problem

“The longer that he listens, the more that he’ll know…” I thought. “He might break the fragile moment of interrogation that I currently have, ad call the police. Or worse, he might warn Miss Prestel’s friends that I know about what’s going on.”

I couldn’t think on any of this though. I was stuck trying to figure out what was currently going on, and that was all that I had to focus on.

“I think that you and I each keenly understand everything that’s going on, and just how dangerous it really is…” I said. “I mean— you’re probably in denial about a lot of it, and unwilling to acknowledge it. Similarly, I’m partially resistant to the admission of all of my sins. However, there’s the fact of the matter, and it’s that people are hurt— kidnapped. And, the person who you have them trapped with is mad. Look at what that person did to me. Look at what you did to me. If it weren’t for the fact that I had help from Detective Crusoe, I would’ve been doomed. If you care about this city at all, you have to explain what’s going on to me.”

There was a crack of lightning, and a roar of thunder. The lights went out of the room for a minute, and I listened as the rain bean to ferociously pound against the walls of the house. I almost welt as if the droplets of rain might be able to break through he walls, and begin to pelt onto us. In fact, I could’ve even sworn that I heard droplets of water splashing onto the ebony floor that was beneath my feet.

There was another bolt of lightning, and the whole room was lit up with a bluish tint. It was particularly unappealing g when I caught sight of Miss Prestel’s bloodshot eyes, and her bony face. She almost appeared to be a malformed goblin. If it hadn’t been for the lights flickering back on, I might’ve been convinced of that.

The lights did flicker back on though, and the room returned to its former clarity. It was then that I caught a second glimpse of Miss Prestel’s face, and saw that her eyes were bloodshot from swelling tears, and that her face was streaking from her crying. The splashing of droplet s on the floor had been from her as well.

“I’m sorry…” she said. “It’s all my fault. Everything. All of it… My company has been on the verge of bankruptcy for years now. I’m the sort of person who likes to haggle with money. Even when things aren’t going in my favor, I look for loopholes. I thought that waste disposal might be my answer, but I clearly was wrong… I’m sorry for keeping these things a secret from you… I know that this probably will be the end of my business, but that still doesn’t make up for everything that’s been done…”

“You’ve kidnapped several people... And Mr. Donald is dead, because of you.”

Miss Prestel stopped short. For a moment, I thought that I might’ve scared her to death, in the most literal sense of the phrase. However, her breath returned, and I saw that she’d simply been stricken by a frenzy of disgusted shock.

“They weren’t supposed to kill anybody…” she whispered. “that’s not how it was supposed to go.”

“Who?” I asked. “What? Please, just make this clear to me already.”

“I hired somebody to kidnap all of these people, so that they might not squeal. I didn’t want anybody t be able to talk about what I was doing, or give things away. Once MR. Donald found out, I knew that I had to cover my tracks. My ultimate goal was to kidnap Mr. Donald, but to make it look like an incident from a random crime-spree… My goal was never to kill him. It was always just to mute him…”

I stared at Miss Prestel with a mixed look of disappointment and rage. I couldn’t quite tell how I was supposed to feel about what she’d done. Clearly, it was amongst the most wretched thing is that she could’ve done. In all of my years of experience, I’d never had anybody go to this extreme…. But then, I’d never had to solve a case like this, entirely by myself, before.

“Who did you hire?” I asked.

“The shadow…” she said. “It was all just a plan so that I could keep people quiet about the chemicals that I was dumping into the sewers… My intention was never to do what I ended up doing— hurting people. I just wanted to hide what I was doing. It was that innocent. I don’t understand how it could’ve devolved so easily….”

“Maybe it’s because you instated something that can never be looked at in a good light. Do you honestly think that trying to kidnap people could be perceived as a good idea? DO you honestly think that you might’ve been able to get away with it? I know that it might be tempting to say yes. In fact, yes might actually be your answer. But, it simply isn’t the right answer. I’m not sure if you’ve caught on yet, but kidnapping people is a crime.

“Now, who is the shadow? Explain it to me.

“I don’t know… I just don’t know…” Miss Prestel said. “I hired the shadow after having my butler go and try to find people who met my specifications. I needed somebody who could help me do what I needed to, and I was pretty confident that he’d be able to find them. However, I wasn’t certain as to how he would be able to find help— I should’ve asked him, but he never told me. I’m guessing that he went into the city’s underworld, for help.

“That’s when the shadow came to me. On the same night that he told me about finding help. I basically explained myself, and what I wanted done, to the shadow. Then, it explained itself. It was as simple as that. I n fact, it might’ve been simpler… but, things fell apart so easily. They always seem to. I’m not sure how I could’ve thought otherwise…”

“I see,” I said, trying to act understanding. Instead, I was extremely revolted. Miss Prestel seemed to talk about kidnapping people, and, ultimately, having some people be killed, as if she were describing to me a recipe from her favorite cookbook.

“It all spiraled down, from there, as I’ve already informed you. Not long after that, the shadow was asking for supplies. I needed some sort of resource to create smoke bombs with. It thought that my disposed chemicals were a good source for that. While I was worried that it all might be traced back to me, eventually, I still said yes. I should’ve declined. I always look back on that day, with this thought lingering in my mind. Though, it was still a series of accidents, all the same. I doubt that they planned things to go the way they did any more than I did…”

“I don’t share that doubt, and I feel that the shadow doesn’t either. Anyway, were the chemicals by any chance, derivative’s from cleaning supplies?”

“Yes,” said Miss Prestel. “I tried using the cheapest way of disposing things, in order to get it done.”

“And, all of the people that you kidnapped— the poor and the rich— were they working for you?““Not the rich. But the poor? Yes… Somebody had to dump the chemicals, at the end of the day. They, of course, were a perfect fit.”

Everything was beginning to collide for me…. The sickness of the workers, the shadow’s obsession with working underground, the way in which the whole place was being hidden from me, how the picture had been taken in an alleyway, over a gutter.… It all was starting to make sense.

“I think that I have an idea of what happened then. What still confused me, however, is your connection with the hospital.”

“What hospital?” asked Miss Prestel. Her hands shook, from side to side, and her eyes darted all around the room. She could’ve been replaced by a squirrel, and look no different.

“The hospital. The one that closed down, several decades ago? I received a picture form Detective Crusoe, linking it all to you… Was it really from you, or was there more going on?”

“It wasn’t me…” said Miss Prestel. Though, she looked into my eyes, and saw that I was unconvinced. Then, her head shrunk back, and I watched as she began floundering for things to explain herself with.

“I did it all, back a long time ago,” she explained. “The chemicals that I used for it were far too much, even back then— factories were a very fresh and new thing. I’m sure that you know that… But, What I’m sure that you don’t know is just how much I was looking for disposal. Eventually, I had to dispose it all into the sewers, where there was nothing for me to do. You already know this. But, what you don’t know is who found out.”

“You’ve been doing this for years?” I asked, with shock.”

“For as long as I can remember,” she answered, promptly. “You can’t possibly expect me to do this on my own, and somehow avoid the costly prices of running the factory.”

“I have a hard time believing that this is the only way that you cut corners, then.”

“It isn’t. But, I’d prefer to not have to explain myself to somebody like you. You’re no better than most of the people that I’ve met— why do you deserve an answer?”

“I’m the sergeant o the police force…”

“Right— right. Well, I’ll keep giving you what you want, then. You see, the hospital owner found out, and was going to tell everybody. HE wanted to expose me for who I was. So, I did the only thing that any reasonable person would do— I found his building, dumped chemicals in it, and then made other places where I could dump chemicals. It was a rather easy thing for me to do, once I had it all figured out. Anyway, I also figured out ways to infiltrate the hospital, and get the chemicals into his patients’ hands. You wouldn’t believe how much people were willing to do for a spare penny, back then… Anyhow, once that all blew over, his hospital was in ruins. You wouldn’t have wanted to be him, on that day. HE had everything that he ever loved taken away from him, and quite possibly more. Some days I feel a sort of guilt for what I did. Sometimes I even feel like I might apologize, if the man were still alive. Though, there are some things that simply can’t be apologized. For. Instead, you just have to face the facts, and grow up…”

“I see… And, you did the same thing to his son?”

“Of course. You can’t just leave competition like that alive, I’m not insane, even if I might seem like it at times. After all of that, I wasn’t willing to have all of my hard work exposed, and destroye.dd. So yes– I made sure to do another round of exposing his patients to chemicals, and called it good.”

I nodded. Suddenly, I realized what had happened to Eddy Mulligan, along with everybody who had crossed Miss Prestel’s path. It had all been on her— always been on her. And, I could hardly believe it once I began to realize.

“You know, sometimes I thought that the shadow was the only villain here,” I said. “But, I now realize that t the true villains are often the ones who pretend that somebody else is the villain… After all of this, I’m going to have to say that you’re under arrest.”

I stopped to look at my watch— it was five in the morning.

“It’s going to take me another hour to get this all done,” I thought to myself, worriedly.

UI wanted to arrest the butler too, but I already had my suspicions that he would’ve ran away before ever risking the chance to become a jailbird. I was going to have to deal with the one suspect that I’d caught— a strong piece of evidence for what that happened, but still somebody who would probably refuse to talk unless I supplied further evidence.”

“I’m glad that you told me all this, but it’s time that I had to take you in to jail,” I said. “Good luck on anything that I do, and make sure to tell me exactly what’s going on here…”

At this point, I didn’t care about what she must’ve been thinking, or how cruel her thoughts might’ve been. I could already see the anger in her face, and her shrinking wish to speak to me. As I had her turn around, and put handcuffs around her wrist, I felt her slight resistance against me. It was very slight— something that I easily could’ve missed, if I’d been ignorant to it. But it was there, all the same.

“I hope that this will mark the end of this spree,” I said. “Now, let me list you off your rights… But first, I have one last question to ask you— do you have any idea as to what the identity of the main criminal behind all of this is?”“No,” said Miss Prestel.

There was a gleam in her eye, which said otherwise. She had more going on behind her head than sh was willing to reveal. However, I knew that I didn’t have a chance at getting her to stop with her parade of these crimes— she’d been willing to do all of the wretched things that she’d done, and never bothered to try confessing. At this point, I doubted that she’d be willing to confess again.

“You have the right to remain silent.” I began.

*

It had been a long hour of paperwork, and explaining myself. Lieutenant Jackson was strangely absent from the department, but Officer Paul had taken the reins— and he was about as cruel and brash towards me as ever. For a while, he didn’t believe a word that I said, but he eventually had to admit it, once everything else was explained. There was one thing that I asked him that did happen to put me off balance, however— the fact that he hadn’t heard about what had happened with me at the factory.” Crusoe never told you about what happened?” I asked, surprised.

He told me no. Nobody had ever been called, as far as he knew. It was at this point that I knew that I had to leave. AS soon as the work with Miss Prestel was over, I left the building— with the promise that I would return.

The sun was starting to rise in the horizon at this point. It was six. Even though I couldn’t glance at my watch, in fear of wasting time, I had no doubt about it. I could already feel the dew of the morning beginning to take seat, as well as the chimes that might come from the early church-bells.

Despite the fact that I was doing my duty, and making sure that what needed to be done was done. I couldn’t help but feel a mixture of guilt in my gut. At this point, I was supposed to be dressed up for Eddy Mulligan’s funeral, and preparing to join the funeral procession. Instead, I was flying through the streets, to solve some sort of crime. I shouldn’t have been on duty. I should’ve, instead, been on my true duty— that of which was reserved for my friend.

I was able to justify this irksome fear by telling myself that I was in the middle of helping Eddy— I was trying to find out what had happened to him. This was oddly comforting, even if I partially thought that it was undeserved. Eddy truly was somebody who deserved my to be standing at his funeral, at his side. We’d been such great friends, when we were younger. Even as our paths split up, we were still great friends. There was truly something disturbing in having to recognize my folly. In fact, I came to a point where I wished that I was no longer alive, and that I could simply give up everything that had happened to me— give up my passions, so that I might not have to choose between these two contradictory dilemmas. I had both a loyalty that was due to my friends’ memory, and my friends’ conclusion. I couldn’t tell which I was supposed to be more loyal to. Despite knowing that I had more than one friend waiting for me at Eddy’s funeral, I couldn’t help but feel that I’d be abandoning them all if I didn’t finish my case.

“Such is the mess that comes with detective work…” I thought to myself.

This was probably the single thing that pulled me through my uncertainties, and internal calamities. I knew that there was nothing that could comfort me— and so, I came to the point where I realized that I would simply have to become comfortable with that fact. It wasn’t something that was easy for me to have to realize, nor was it something that I wanted to have to recognize— but, it was fact. And, the ignorance of fact did not equal innocence.

Despite the phrase that ignorance is bliss, I find that I simply can’t put any stock into that comment… Ignorance is simply the guise of bliss. In ignorance, you think that there’s such a thing as bliss… IT’s only until you gain knowledge that you realize, in knowing that there’s no such thing as bliss, your true bliss is found— a comfort in knowing that there is no bliss. We’re all to guide and steer the ship of our lives, to where we see fit. I now see that, no matter what choice I had made on that morning, it would’ve been the right one. Not because both choices were equally good, but because both choices were merely choices. It was in knowing that, in accepting what I felt was best— ultimately, accepting myself— I would be making the right choice.

I listened as my tires squealed in agony, when I slammed my foot on the brakes. I’d finally reached the location of the factory that I’d abandoned, by Crusoe— as well as any trace of him— was gone. It was as if he’d never been at the factory in the first place.

I ran up to the factory, and found that the doors were locked. Everything had been restored to its previous quality, so as to make it seem like nothing had happened through the night. There was only one thing that I could find, which signified that my memory wasn’t lying to me— the hat of the guard, who the shadow had nearly struck dead. It was on the ground, in the middle of the parking lot. It was as if it were mocking me— showing me that everything that I remembered had happened, but still refusing to give me what I needed— evidence.

“You won’t get away with this…” I whispered under my breath.

It only took me a moment to figure out what had happened. Crusoe had been bested, and the shadow had taken away all evidence of the night’s events. It was as close to clean as it could’ve been.

Dejected, and regretful, I walked back to my squad car. The barren factory was a sight that only teared at the most fragile aspects of myself. There was no possible way that I would find any relief, when starting at it.

“I guess that I should’ve been preparing for that funeral after all,” I whispered. “Sorry Eddy…”

AS I unlocked the door of my car, and prepared to walk into it, I saw a number spray-painted onto the ground. It was subtle, and very easy to miss—but it was there. The same series of numbers that had been in the picture that Crusoe had given to me, after all of this time…

“Why?” I wondered. “After all of this, that’s what the shadow decided to leave me with?”

MY car-engine was already running, and I had been preparing to dry out— but, I couldn’t help but stop all of that, in order to explain to myself the sigh that I was seeing. It was all too clear to me that there was some mistake. Something was wrong— I simply needed to figure out why the numbers were on the ground. To me, it almost seemed like a magic word, that could be used to unlock everything that was tormenting me.

“I should’ve known that it would all come down to something like this…” I said to myself. “It’s all so simple. Everything was pointing in this direction… how could I have missed it?”

Even when I tried rationalizing it to myself, I couldn’t… There was no way that I could’ve rationalized something like this away. It was all simply too diverse and complicated of a subject.

The numbers were correspondent with a letter— that much, I could tell. But, I couldn’t understand why, or how.

“Wait…” I said to myself. “I think I got it.”

I don’t normally talk to myself— I mean., I suppose that I do. Though, I only ever do it when I feel that my mind is running a mile a minute, and when I think that the pressure of everything is at a peak. In this moment, that’s exactly how I felt. There was nothing that I could really compare my sensation of elation to. It was an experience that was so unique and so unlike anything that had every been described to me, that I had to go and do exactly as my mind directed me to. There was no hesitation, or second thoughts— it was all a sweep of action, and whim.

I pulled the scrabble of a paper from out of my car’s passenger seat, and then began using the numbers and letters on the ground to decode it. Not long after, I had it all down— and then, I felt a jolt of shock and terror, at realizing that everything that I was doing had been planned out from the very beginning.

The page read,

“Glad that you finally got things all figured out. I never thought that you’d be swift enough to come up with an explanation on your own, so here it is… I’m going to give you exactly what you want.

This is the location of some hostages that I’ve taken:

I suppose that it’s high time that you learn the identity of Detective Crusoe. I figured it out quite some time ago, but I’m glad that I can finally come to the point where you can learn it too. It’s time that we both share the things that we forever like to hide—both from the world, and even, partially, from ourselves. I just hope that you’ve figured this all out, in time. You have until 6:30 AM, this Monday, before I try striking down one of the two hostages that I’ve decided to take for myself… It might sound cruel of me, but. I’m somewhat trusting in your abilities— it shouldn’t be too hard for you to figure me out. And, hopefully you won’t have any regrets. I know that I won’t.

After reading the letter, and then pulling out my map of Chicago in order to correspond with the provided coordinates, I realized that there was one thing that was extremely wrong with it all… The coordinates corresponded with two separate parts of Chicago, and I couldn’t tell which one it was.

“Nice… Now I have to play this puzzle, too? Why can’t you just be open about everything, if you’re willing to give me some coordinates?!”

There was no way that I could truly come up with a satisfying answer, so I instead tried to use all of the brainpower that I had remaining, after my exhausting stretch of a night in order to determine which area the coordinates were referring to— the northwest quadrant, or the southeast… I eventually found that there was no way that I would be able to tell, on time— the time on the clock was at fifteen minutes to six thirty… Even if I had enough time to get to the place where I needed to go, I was still going to have to deal with the hurdle of getting there on time. In truth, there was no clear directive that I could pay attention to.

“That’s it… This guy isn’t getting mercy,” I said to myself with a venomous huff, after spinning through the circle of possibilities. “Even if some of this might be true, I’m still never going to find the answers that I’m looking for…”

I gave a sudden pause.

“I do have one thing…” I whispered to myself. “it’s not anything that might matter, but it’s still something…”

I grabbed the hat from off of my seat, and looked at it… it was a picture of the sun, falling into the west. I’d always seen it as the logo o Miss Prestel’s company— but, clearly there was much more going on, behind the shadow’s mind.

“Northwest…” I said, as I panted to myself. I need to go into the northwest quadrant… All I know is that, if this doesn’t work, this person is going to have my wrath. They’re not going to get away, after this game that they’re pulling…”

As much as I tried to assure myself of this. I simply couldn’t maintain the confidence that I wanted to have. I felt het, no matter where I went, the shadow would be on top of me—trying to dissect my mind. I f I found them, and it wasn’t a trap, it would still be something that was designed to skew my mental faculties.

In thinking this, I felt my heart begin to pound, and my forehead transition between a cold sweat, and a fiery headache. Even as my foot gleaned over, as hard as it could on the gas, I still had the disconcerting feeling that I wouldn’t be able to get to where I wanted in time. MY wishes of self-preservation were so strong, that I tried my best to go as fast as I could, without going too fast, down the water-filled streets. It was as if I was driving into a river, by the way that my tires splashed against the water, and by the amount that they splashed up. However, that wasn’t something that I could focus on.

There was nothing that I could focus on. Everything was blurry. Racing. Streaking. Creaking. My bones were groaning; my mouth was moaning. My jaw slackened, and my eyesight blackened. I tried to beat the street, and make my mind and destination meet. Though instead, it was the street that had me beat.

Raw.

Damp.

Clamped.

Jaw.

Stamped.

Swamped.

Stomped.

Maw.

I couldn’t breath— my throat was clogged. My entire mind was racing so fast that it had forgotten to make me breathe. My chest hurt. Sounds began to sound like a fizzling fuzz. There was nothing to cling to, except the fact that there was nothing to cling to. Even as my car raced down the street, I still felt like it might go out on me, at any moment.

My heart might go out on me, at any moment.

Whether it be that the rain simply decided to have mercy on me, or if my will was far stronger than I thought, I managed to make it to the coordinates that I’d been heading towards. I was in the slums of the city— no doubt just as bad as any other downtown area. Though, I still knew that there were things that I had to keep accordance to, and maintain my loyalty to. Despite being upset by the turn of events, there was something that still offered me a cup of relief.

I found that I was sitting in front of a clothing shop— I hadn’t spent my time in front of this shop in all of my life. Though, now that I looked at it, it seemed familiar to me. It wasn’t until I caught what was in the window that the answers came to me— there were Crusoe’s clothes in the window. They were gawking at me, and I couldn’t help but gawk at it. It was the very las thing that I’d expected to see.

The pavement by the door was just as slick and damp with rain as any doorstep. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel as if I were slipping on it as I walked upon it– it seemed to grab at my ankles and try to pull me downward. I opened up the shop, to the musty but dry empty shop that was exposed to me. There was a slight concern that I’d come to the wrong building— however, this was all that I had to go by, and so I went by it. The outside of the place still called back to me— almost as if it were warning me not to go any further. As if to say that I was on the brink of serious danger. However, I didn’t listen to its cries. I instead ignored them. It was all that I could do, to keep my sanity— it was all that I knew how to do.

I pulled on a light switch, and walked further through the flickering guiding light of the shop. There were stacks of boxes, and racks of abandoned clothes. The whole place looked as if it had been untended for months, and was simply waiting for the jo b to be finished– for it all to be cleared out. I partially wished that I might’ve been able to join it, but there were few things that I could truly do. It was all just a cataclysm of questions that were going on in my heard. While I wished for things to be clear, I knew that they never could be.

The carpet on the ground was colored a stark green, and the windows seemed to catcall at me— I didn’t know what to make of any of it, necessarily, but I couldn’t help but feel sick while looking at it wall. Then, I heard a clicking sound. At first, I reasoned that it must’ve been the sounds of my shoes on the soft carpet, or some ornament outside, making a clicking noise in the rain. There was no evidence of any such thing, and I steadily became aware that the click was getting louder— more prominent. Closer in proximity, to the point where I felt that it had invaded my person al space

My hands began to fumble around the place, and my legs turned to blocks of wood. Gazing everywhere, I couldn’t find where it had come from. Eventually, the gazing just devolved into a bloodshot searching of a madman—always looking everywhere for answers, but never coming any closer to finding them.

It was at the back of the room— behind the empty clerk counter. I could see the door at the back. It was quite obviously a passageway into the back of the room. I’m not sure why, but I was still so resistant to going near it. I knew that the time was nearing six thirty, and that the hostage was in danger. However, my urge for self-preservation was too great for me to simply cast aside, as if it were nothing.

“It’s nothing,” I told myself. “Nothing.”

Though, the ticking became louder. Finally, I couldn’t stop myself, and I came to the door. My hands gripped the knob with an iron strength, and tried its hardest to make it turn. The fruits of such became lessening in return, until I found that the door simply wouldn’t budge.

“It certainly would’ve served me well to have learned how to pick a lock...” I thought to myself. I was already rummaging through the clerk’s desk to see if there was a screw driver anywhere. I desperately wanted to unscrew the knob, but was getting the steady feeling that I might not be able to.

“Ha… So desperate. And yet, so valiant at the same time.”

There was no mistaking the voice.

“Why are you doing this! Just let the hostage go!”

I stopped, and then let out another shout. It came out weaker this time— my whole body felt that it was about to collapse this time. Though, I still had to say what needed to be said

“This isn’t you, Crusoe!”

“Oh… but it is me… I can’t believe that it’s taken you up until now to figure it out. But, yes— I, Crusoe, have been behind it all. I know that this isn’t quite the message that you were hoping for– that you really wanted to be able to see something better, and stronger. However, that’s just not the way of the world. You made a mistake when you thought that I was innocent.”

I couldn’t believe it. Everything went numb. My thoughts Ran still. And, the room around me, even in its mundane and simple design, immediately became imposing— overbearing. Threatening, in the highest sense.

“You can’t possible do that… It’s simply not right. It doesn’t even make any sense! I saw you that one night. You were in my room, with the shadow.”

“That was a mirror that I placed in your room. You never caught that, because I made sure to keep the room dark… But, I was fighting the mirror image of myself, the whole time.”

My gut turned to a fine powder, and my reasoning skills were nullified. There were few things that I could say. I’d been hoodwinked, and I hadn’t even known it.

“Tell me who’s behind that door!” I yelled. “You’ve done enough damage.”

“Not enough… Not yet. Don’t you have any patience these days, Kyler? I remember how you used to be so swift at coming up with the answers, and getting things pinned before anybody else could catch you. Now? You’re just scrambling for what should’ve been done years ago… You could’ve found out my identity a hundred times over. But, you never did…. Why? Were you just too terrified to know who was behind it all? You didn’t want to see the wizard, behind the curtain?”

“I didn’t want to have to see a man. I didn’t want to know who you were…”

“Well then, I guess you won’t ever have to know who I am I’ve been hiding behind this, all this time. And, I have no reason to reveal myself to you, any time soon.”

“Fine then… Don’t tell me… but, who are you holding hostage? Why?”

“I have Job, Jonah, Eddy Mulligan, and the Lieutenant himself… One of them is me, of course. But, hat’s for you to figure out. In the meantime, I have dynamite lining the whole room, courtesy of Miss Prestel and her vast resources. I’m going to light it up, and bring this whole palace down with me… With you.”

“And, you’re just going to give it up, just like that? Never going to reveal the answer to your mystery?”

“No… No, no, no. That’s not how it works. I ‘m Zeus, and you’re Perseus. You roll the stone eternally up the mountain, never fully completing your task— and I sit there, forever beyond your wrath. I need e to seal this all up, eventually. Our history mandates it. You dumped me, once the prohibition ended… We were a great team, you know. And then, you turned on me. Why? Don’t you think that you could’ve lasted longer? Don’t you think that our friendship never had to end?”

“You ratted me out, and called me a bootlegger. You turned on me, and were a criminal! You were convicted for the murders of several individuals! I always wanted to believe that you were an innocent man, and that you never had the intent to harm… But, I’m not a fool, Crusoe. I always suspected that you weren’t right in the head. Now, why are you doing this?”

“To show you how I think, and what I feel about all of this— to help you understand.”

The haughtiness had left Crusoe’s voice, and all that was left was a void.

“You hurt countless individuals… What are you trying to show me? How are you supposed to show me it?”

“I never hurt anybody who wasn’t deserving of it. It always irks me when you try to twist my actions.”

“You worked for Miss Prestel, and kidnapped countless individuals…”

“Her butler came begging to me for help, after talking to some underground people… because of you, I had been rejected from my profession, and line of work. All of my respect had waned, and there was nobody who could take me seriously anymore. It was all because of you, and the twist of the universe’s sense of justice. I never deserved what had happened to me… I was simply a paid vigilante, doing what could make me money.”

I looked back down to the floor.

“Green is the color of envy; you know…” I said. “Your true colors are showing.”

“And here I was, always thinking that the green on your face was merely out of your disgust towards me. While I know that you must have a strong sense of detestability towards me. After all, I am the very sort of person that you vowed to bring justice to, back when you became an officer. Though, I just can’t help but feel that there’s more between us that must be made clear. I need to teach you the things that I’ve learned. I need you to be able to see what I see…”

“All you see is red…”

“I might have seemed like the sort of person who’s purely driven by vengeance, anger, hatred, or pure insanity. But, I’m none of those things. You think that I’m the villain, but you don’t understand the fact that I’m much more than that. I’m the hero— as much as I find them to be overrated— and you’re the villain. You’re the insane one, out of us two. That’s the very thing that I wasn’t to show to you…”

“I’m not insane. I’m only calling things as they appear.”

“And, that’s the very essence of insanity. To not be able to question your own view of things– to question what is truth, and what is a lie— is insanity. You don’t think yourself to be insane, and curdle at the very thought that you might be. I, meanwhile, couldn’t care less in either direction. I’m confident in knowing that I’ve rationed everything. You see, you’re the opposing side of me— on the extreme end of justice. I’m on the other end.”

My head began to ache, and I had to stop myself from talking with him. There were too many words flying around, And I couldn’t keep up with them wall.

“Justice is a construct of society, and can only come through their set of rules…but, the issue is that society never considers that they might be wrong,” said Crusoe. “Even the unruliest of people can be more productive than the most loyal of sheep. That’s what I’m trying to display. I can still exhibit more logic than any of the people who claim to bare sophistication.”

“Stop right there…” I said. “how could you be the detective Crusoe, and the shadow at the same time. You’re complete opposites!”

“We are…” said Crusoe, strangely. “who said that I was consistent? Some night s I call myself Crusoe. Other nights, I don’t speak, or call myself anything at all. Some nights, I tie myself to a chair, just so that I might not escape— escape and make the city suffer under myself. I suppose that I’m a case of Mr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde… It’s just, I can’t tell which of the two that I am more, or which of the two that is preferable. Sometimes— such as on tonight— I question whether or not there’s even a difference between the two sides of me.”

“You have two identities? After all this time, that’s what’s been going on?”

“Not quite, I’m afraid— though, you’re very close to target. I’m actually partially insane, I’m sure. But, I’m not so bad as you make me to to be. Some nights I’m one person, some nights I’m another. That’s all that there really is to it.”

“That’s it! Tell me which person you are? Who are you!? I’ve had enough of this!”

“I’m sure that you have, but I certainly haven’t… Have you heard about the latest thought experiment by Erwin Schrödinger? No? It’s been dubbed, ‘Schrödinger’s Cat’— a fitting name, if I do say so myself. In fact, I wish that I had come up with it…”

“Speaking of cats, I’m not interested in playing cat and mouse. Speak up, or I’m busting in there.”

The man paused— started laughing. I had come to the point where I recognized that Crusoe had always been masking his voice, after all. He must’ve been a genius, of grand proportions, for me to have not known who he was all this time. However, it was still hard for me to have to figure out what was going on.

“Schrödinger’s Cat essentially describes the idea of quantum theory— I’m sure that you’ve never heard of it, since you don’t walk amongst the intellectual sphere like I do. I’m not alive nor dead in this room… I’m not Jonah, or Eddy, Or Job, or even Jackson. I’m not anybody, until you open the door up, and find out. I’m not letting you find out, I’m afraid… That’s up to you. A choice that is at its end.”

“just let me in, so that I can face you. Or, are you too much of a coward? That must be it…”

“Not so much a coward, as I am unwilling to be distracted from my endeavors. It doesn’t take a mathematician to realize that there are only twee people talking in this room. Why? Because I gagged the others. That’s the thing, which you haven’t caught onto… I’ve been letting you be the only true observer amidst all of the things that I’ve done…”

Sweat was beading down my forehead, and my face had turned red and puffy.

“I’m tired of this. Where are the kidnapped people? I don’t just want the location of these two.”

“These three, you mean. You forgot the fact that, I too, am kidnapped in this room. By the way— the dynamite in here will be lit the moment that you try breaking down this door. I’m not going to let you even try to interfere. If you’re going to get some answers out of me, you better do them the proper way…”

“Fine then. Where are all of the people that you kidnapped?”

“In various places of the sewers… Tied down, and forced to stare at my writings. I placed the writings on the wall… The writing is on the wall…”

I looked around at the room’s wall, but quickly caught that he’d been bluffing.

“Just a distraction…” I muttered to myself.

Then, louder, I said, “Can you give me the exact location?”

“I don’t remember. And, even if I did, it would spoil the surprise for me to tell you. I’m afraid that you’re just going to find the answers on your own, fair and square… I’ve been hiding clues this entire time, trying to make sure that you figured out what was going on. You’ve been so hard to figure it out, and bad at doing your research. But, you’ve done your job. So, I suppose that I might as well give you a bit of credit for that…”

“How were you able to give me the clues that you did? And, why did you frame somebody— or two somebodies, for that matter?”

“It was all for the purpose of misdirection… At least you now know who I’m not, now that I’ve exposed everybody who I’ve kidnapped. I must say, I’m quite impressed by your ability to be perceptive about these things, but your still not quite as fast as you could be… Honestly, if you were interested in finding out the answers, you would’ve already found them by now. Let’s both be very brash with each other. You are being ignorant, and you just don’t want to face it.

“But the pictures… Why did you give them to me?”

“I stole them from Miss Rosemary, and figured that you could use some guidance. Miss Rosemary was part of my ploy all along, working for me and such. She had you pegged. That’s why you and her will need to be entered into the hospital as soon as you can. The perfume in her room had never been simply perfume, but toxic chemicals as well… Hopefully you’ll find her.”

“You’ve taken a step too far. Don’t you care about what you’re doing? It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”

“The permanent solution is coming, no matter who it is… Maybe it’ll come in the form of one person, or another… Btu, everything is eventually going to fall into disorder. It already has begun to. I think that I respect your will beyond anybody else’s. I know that it might not mean much, coming from somebody who is clearly your enemy… But, I truly mean to be on the same side her. Eventually, everything is going to fall apart. I think that we might as well do it sooner, than later, and figure out how to cope amongst it all. Meanwhile, your solution is to try to keep the broken system running as long as you can… You can’t keep your finger in the dike forever, Kyler. Eventually, it’s going to kill you.”

“I don’t understand you, and I think that you really need help… How much of everything was planned out? Why did you take Miss Prestel’s work, instead of somebody else’s? How long has this been going on?”

At this point, I didn’t care about how everything was going. I’d pretty much become content with what my fate might be. It didn’t look to me that there was any way out of here, other than through the route that was currently being offered up.

“You can go out in a whisper, or in a bang. Why not make the choice, while you still have it? If you can control your ending, why not do so? Why let the universe choose for you? You act as if you can’t understand me… And, maybe you can’t. Maybe I’m not the sort of person who can easily be understood. Yet, I’d like to bet that you can understand me, and that my logic stands true. The only way that you can make a difference is by doing the very thing that people are telling you not to do…

“Anyhow… As for your questions. I’ve planned out most of this. Granted, Miss Prestel was an addendum that I was only waiting for. For the past several years, ever since you’ve dumped me from our partnership, I’ve been solving cases for other people. Sometimes, I also commit crimes— murders, heists, and such… But, that requires a far tidier sum than what most people are willing to hand out. My goal was to leave some breadcrumbs, so that you might know what I was trying to accomplish here. Every sculptor must have somebody to admire his sculptures. Or else, he becomes his sculpture— idle, and limp. My trail of chaos has crippled both Miss Prestel’s and Mr. Donald’s empire, as well as the police force. Tonight, you will die with Lieutenant Jackson… And, that will be the end of it all.

“Miss Prestel simply happened to be that one person who matched what I needed… Somebody who was rich, and willing to get me to do something dirty. I was obsessed with being able to bring terror onto this city, and she was obsessed with cleaning up a trail of devastating knowledge.”

“I don’t understand… You wanted to show how much of a mess we are?”

“I wanted to show how much of a mess we create. We spend our days making messes, and pretending that we don’t. We’ll arrest a person who stole some cash, but not the lying cheat that he stole cash from. At the end of the day, society embraces the darkness, but likes to say that it’s embracing purity. Don’t you understand, now? Can’t you see the insanity? Or, are you still going to try to believe that the insanity is in me?”

I wanted to believe that it was all him, very badly… Though, he had a point, that couldn’t be denied. In the dark room, from where I was standing, the e flickering light above me basically represented my own worldview. I thought that the light was a study guide, but its guidance had always been dim. Now that I was in this monster’s presence, I could see that my light was flickering. And, perhaps I had never needed it at all. Perhaps it had always been just as much of a waste as it had been of use.

“I don’t agree with you, in the slightest,” I said. I was lying, and I think that the mystery-figure knew it. However, I no longer cared. “Me and you— we used to be serving out the same sense of justice. We used to agree upon the law, and what it was meant to do. What happened?”

“The law changed… It turned against me. Then, the world turned against me. It wasn’t until then that I realized that the world had always been turned against me. What I don’t understand, Kyler, is you. After all of these years, why haven’t you turned away from the world? What has kept you oh so pure?”

“Not breaking my code.”

“Personally, I don’t buy that for a second. Nobody has that kind of willpower. You’re a liar, and that’s how you’ve made it through. At night, when you’re sleeping, that’s what it takes to make the dreams come back— that’s what pacifies you, through all of the darkness and corruption. You’ve become the corruption.”

“Well, according to you, the only portion is corruption. Would you prefer for us to strive after the dreams, or to let ourselves decay in the same way that you have? Keeping my finger in the dike might end up killing me. But, taking it out will end up killing everybody.”

Crusoe began to laugh. It was more of a strangled laugh— not at all anything that was pleasing to the ear. Though, it was a laugh all the same, and one that I was forced to endure.

“I guess that it all comes back to the cat…” he said. “At the end of the day, what we should do is neither good nor bad. All that matters are doing them, and seeing the results that might come out of it. It matters little which path we take. All that I want you to see is that there’s no difference, either way.”

“There’s a difference. I’m not sure if you can catch this, but there’s a stark difference between your nihilistic approach on things, and the reality of the situation…”

“Well if it is the claim that existentialism is different from nihilism…”

“Isn’t. And, please tell me that you could come up with something cleverer than that to put in your monologue.”

“I meant what I said— I’d appreciate it if you stopped treating me like an intellectual infant. The seconds are ticking down to zero, Kyler, and the minutes are nearly exhausted. Are you really going to end that all, byy grammar policing me? Then again, I suppose that I shouldn’t be all too ill of heart towards this… I guess that you, wasting your time away policing me, was the only fitting way that this ever could’ve ended. Such a poetic justice— wouldn’t you say?”

“An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. Poetic justice doesn’t have anything poetic about it.”

“Oh, the irony! You declare that the eye for an eye policy is wrong. And yet, you don’t take into consideration the fact that you follow the same fallacy. Tell me— how can you ride the bus to the vile hypocrite Ville, and still see yourself as the Hercules of this city? Despite it being tempting to mistake this place for Athens, it’s merely ashen… Mm… So delicious, I must say. You call me the sinner, and declare me worthy to stand behind your finest prison bars. And yet, you still think that punishment for punishment is a bad policy? Tell me— how can you say that my views are mutated, mucus-splaying, and deserving of muting and mutilating, but still hold your views on a pedestal of mosaic proportions? I’ve called you on you bluff— your rituals aren’t so buff. Stuff me in a corner, and throw me in a sack… but, you’re never ever going to turn me back. The clock already seals your doom, upon my doom. At each moment, a new thread is sewn between you and I. Our fates are in preparation to collide. Are you prepared to die the greatest failure of our age? Or, will you finally open up to my logic?”

“What kind of question is that? I’m not entirely certain in myself. In fact, I’m as unsure of myself as I can be. But, It’s not as if I think that I must cast aside all human decency because of that. Where do you think that this is ever going to get you headed? Isn’t the question of our purpose the greatest reason for us to be here… Perhaps I’ll never know who I am. but that’s ok. In, perhaps the only sense of poetic justice that I don’t utterly despise, I see a sort of grand irony in the twisting design of things. I’ll always be wondering until I am, until I am nothing.”

“That’s because you are nothing.”

“Or, maybe it’s because I’m something more. Why not come out of there, and see that with me... We don’t need to fall into this humdrum muddle, straining and groaning to get above each other. We can collide our strengths, and try helping each other.”

Crusoe’s laugh emanated from the door with such a volume, that I felt the door begin to vibrate. It came to the point where he began to wheeze, and my whole body started to tingle in apprehension.

“Sorry Kyler, but I’d prefer not to. Truly, a great offer… But, yet another offer that I’ll have to decline.

I gave a smirk.

“This is just how it’s going to be, isn’t it?” I asked. “You won’t conform, and neither will I?”

“I always knew that you wouldn’t conform, Kyler… At least, not with admission. That’s why the dynamite is set to go off, indiscriminately. No matter what happened, I knew that you would say no to my proposal. A very devastating fact, but one that I had to face. I’m sure that you can understand something like that.”

“Afraid that I can’t. At least, not in the way that you make it out to be. Personally, I think that you’re amongst the most revolting people that I’ve come across.”

“As do I. But, I can’t pretend that I don’t find a charm in the people that I hate. That’s why I always try to keep my victims alive…”

“Probably would’ve been better if they never were made into your victims at all.”

“But then, they wouldn’t be mine. I know that this might sound somewhat arrogant— but, I feel that, in order to make a mark in this world, I must mark as many things as I can. I must say as many things as I can. I must do as many things as I can. Now that it has all climaxed at this point, I feel as if I’ve made the most out of my life. I’ve finally made the message that I could never get anybody else to take…”

“Did you ever consider the fact that maybe— just maybe— nobody would take your message because it was wrong?””No… More along the lines that nobody would take it because it was ahead of its time. Perhaps you might not like to hear things like this, but I don’t agree with what the mass populous says— or, what most anybody says, for that matter. Because, most anybody is always wrong. The people that we stuff in high places are those who agree with our incorrect judgments... We’re made stagnant, because of it all. From what I can tell, the person who has nothing good to say will be allowed to speak, while the person with eh effective and moving words will be muted. The reason for this is that, in our darkest days, we landed our ear to the former— and, the former side took it into their hands to make sure that they made our other ear deaf.”

“I guess you have a point. After everything you’ve done, the only way that you were ever able to make a difference is by forcing everybody to listen to you.”

“Just because there are few ways in which people can listen to me, it doesn’t mean that I’m breaking the very code that I’m trying to build up for myself. Personally, I believe that you’re too harsh of a critic… I’m trying to change the state of things by enacting a form of thought that most try to deny…”

“And what form of thought are you enacting? Because, all that I see is the embracing of brainwashing…”

I heard Crusoe stop, and give out a defeated huff. This was followed by the sound of his comrades doing their best, muffled attempts at screaming, and the sound of fizzling dynamite.

“Such a tragedy…” said Crusoe. “Btu, this is the way that I had to go out…”

“Stop blathering on in insanity already, and tell me how to get this door open!” I said, banging my hardest on the door. “You’ve got too much to live for! Let those innocent people go, at the very least!”

“I’m sorry Kyler… But, I have so much more to die for. And, so do these people who are with me.”

“If you have an ounce of decency…”

“I have an ounce of decency. What I’ve found, though, is that everybody else lacks it.”

“Why are you so obsessed with this? Stop tying everybody down!”

“Tie down a person against their consent, and it’s called kidnapping… Tie down somebody, with their consent, and it’s called a contract. The whole scheme of life requires compromise, Kyler… Your very breath is something that is drawn against your will. Why are you so against the fact that there might be something beyond your control? Either way, there are such things… Compromise is necessary if the balances of justice can ever hope to be managed. This is my compromise. Taste the fireworks, while they’re still going off, Kyler.”

My heart was beating a hundred times a minute, and I felt as my vision began to turn a solid gray. I looked for a way in, or a way out— but both escape me, and I felt as my entire grip on things pulled away from me. I felt like a cloud— my form was steadily ripped apart by the wind. I now had little hope.

There seemed to truly be nothing that would change this man’s mind. For a long moment, I felt utterly doomed. It all seemed like my work was being ripped to shreds— as well as these people’s work. What made it worse was that I held such a hatred for Crusoe, and what he was doing— yet, the very fact that he refused to shed his mask made it so that the identities of everybody ese was cheapened. I wanted to feel sympathy for all of them— but, I knew that one of them was a cold-blooded psychopath.

But then, I also knew that they were all people— we were all people. No matter what happened, I now knew that this was something that I needed to cling to. The very fact that there was still humanity in the room instilled a new life tint he room. It wasn’t enough to renew my lost strength, but it was enough to pull me out of utter disparity, and allow me some returned control of my motor skills.

I thrusted my body against the metal door of the room.

“I don’t know if any of you can hear me!” I shouted. “but don’t panic! I’m going to find a way to get you guys out of there! I’m going to find a way to help you out of that rough spot!”

Despite all of this assurance that I tried to give them, I felt hat it wasn’t enough— that it could never be enough. Even as I pressed my head up against the door, I felt forever separated from the people inside of there, who were being held against their will.

“Everything will be alright!” I said.

“No, Kyler,” said Crusoe, once again shooting out his rays of spite. “You have it all wrong... After all of this teaching, I would’ve hoped that you would’ve learned the very thing that I was trying to get across… In the end, the scales of the cosmos cares little for what the results of our endeavors are. Dead or alive, happy or depressed, it’s all inconsequential. I’m afraid that you’re very late on figuring that out. If only you could see the truth…”

“If only you could.”

“I’m sure that you hat e facing the truth of matters, Kyler. We all do. But, this moment is to serve a purpose. No matter how hard you try sometimes, thing s will fail you. You will fail you. And, that’s why we can never hope to perfect things on our own. You were always your greatest enemy. Even now, you still are. I hope that, in these last moments, you see all of that. I hope you realize just how hopeless you really are, and that you were on the wrong side all along. Maybe, right before your consciousness fades, you’ll come to agree with me.”

“I could never agree with you. If I did, I would no longer be who I am.”

I heard Crusoe sniffle, after that. Almost as if he were in tears.

“I know that, Kyler,” he said, still sounding like he was on the verge of sobbing. “That’s why I’m so bent on convincing you. Because, I knew that, if I could convince you it would be the one way that I could truly kill you.”

After this, his words shifted from depressed too harsh and grating. It was almost as if something entirely different had begun to possess his being.

“But, of course, you just wanted to sap the plans from right out of my clutches. You could never conform to me— you always had to fight me, didn’t you Kyler? Fighting was always something in your blood…”

I wouldn’t say that fighting was so much in my blood as the wish to stop the fighting was… If anybody here is a fighter, it’s you. You always could throw the meanest right hook.”

Crusoe let out a chuckle.

“Yes— I suppose that you won’t be doing that again.”

“Hey, we’re both going to be blown into smithereens in a minute here. I don’t think that my ability to punch was going to survive, either way.”

“It was all inevitable, wasn’t it? Everything that we went through, I mean. There was no other way that I could really conceive this having gone down. I always wanted you to break, and admit defeat. However, it seems that I had to force us into a stalemate. With all of my raw intellect and brilliance, there were few ways in which I could get you to do what I wanted. At the end of the day, this was a fun game… But, that’s all it ever was.”

The time ticked on from behind his door. I could already smell the waxy smoke that must’ve been coming off of the dynamite, and I could hear the coming screams. This truly was the end of it all. I could feel it in my bones. My whole body was already beginning to quake in the pure scale of the ramifications of it all.

“I always wished that this would all come to an end,” I said. “At least, I partially wished that… There was this part of me that had wanted to say that it was the end of all things… Of course, I now know that no such thing was ever going to happen in the way that I had intended. I always dreamed of solving some unsolvable case, and then lapsing into retirement. Instead, I get to die knowing that I’ll never solve that case…”

“The case of my identity?” asked Crusoe.

“No. The case of what it might mean to be alive…”

I couldn’t tell what Crusoe was thinking, on the other side of that door. However, I feel like his voice had suddenly mimicked the tone of my own. There was a sort of mellowness to it. I could barely hear it on the other side of the door. Though, when I did, I felt as if I werefloating on a coud. There was something about it tha t truly made me feel alive.

“I think that I have the answer to your question…” he said, with his voice now melancholy. “The meaning in life is that there is no meaning in life… Everything we are is just fragments of what has come before us.”

I paused for a moment. MY mouth was dry from the potency of everything that was going on. I felt like I was swimming amongst the storms of the ocean. A drop of water from the ceiling felt like an entire wave. In that moment, I was hyper-aware of evertything. I simply had the adverse feeling that doom had finally clamped its jaws down.

“Perhaps that’s supposed to be an ugly thing, Crusoe… Perhaps the fact that there’s no meaning makes you feel obtrusive towards our attempts to find meaning. But, I can’t help but find our attempt to find meaning to be a quaint beauty. And, perhaps there’s an answer that we haven’t quite found yet… Don’t you think?”

“I’m afraid that I don’t think that. You know full well what I truly think of things. The very notion that there’s a meaning beyond the material seems to be the epitome of superficial.”

“Fine then. But, meaningless or not, we’re losing the only life that we have. For me, that’s both painful and stunningly precious. This is the very end of everything that we’ve ever known, and quite likely will know.”

“We never knew anything, Kyler… That’s just one of your many mistakes. In this world, we’re about as clueless as we ever could be. This situation is the perfect allegory for that. You stand behind the door, unaware of the truth that lies behind it… Perhaps there is no truth, and it’s all lies that are behind it. You don’t know. You’ll never know. That’s what it means to be human, in my eyes.”

“For once, I don’t care about what you think of things. I can’t see the dynamite on the other side of this wall, but I know that it’s going to go off at any moment. I know that I know it, simply because I know it. And, that’s good enough for me. Maybe it’s too hard for your mind to wrap around— but, it’s something that we’re all required to think on, ultimately.

“As we die together, do you think that you’ll be willing to call yourself my friend. Perhaps these are our last moments, and perhaps this is all due to you. Yet, I still care about you, Crusoe. After all of our years, working together as comrades, I can’t help but feel as if we both matter very deeply to one another. Why don’t we toss our bickering aside, for just his once?”

“I’m afraid that I simply can’t do that, Kyler. You and I are good friends, in a perfect world. Though, with all things considered, you are my sworn enemy. You’re the only true person that could understand me. Yet, that’s something that I now realized I despise. The truth of the matter is, I don’t want anybody to ever be able to understand me, as much as I do. When somebody finally understand me, they never seem to understand me. It’s all very complicated, but I’m sure that you understand. You always understood. And, you always hated me for it, when you did. All I ever wanted was somebody who could see me, and come to terms with what I was… Unfortunately, such is but a dream— a dream that I sat on, but I sadly know I’ll never fully get to experience. I have to thank you for everything you’ve done Kyler— but, I’m done. It’s all done. Goodbye.”

At first, I didn’t know what to make out of him saying goodbye— as far as I could tell, the time was still going down. But, then I realized just how much of my life was really at stake, and that I was sitting in front of the place where a bomb was about to go off. I did the only thing that I reasonably could do— ran away.

I now feel like a coward for having done this. Within the room, there were plenty of people who needed my help. In a way, I felt like I was abandoning all of them. Though, I was being driven by and instinct that wasn’t entirely under my control. In a sense, it really wasn’t under my control.

Diving out of the building, I shouted one last word to Crusoe.

“Goodbye!”

After that, the whole place went up in flames. I’ve heard the sounds of gunshots, and seen the worst of what the criminal element is willing to dish out… But, never to this extent. For once, I truly felt as if I were under the influence of one of the most abominable beings on earth. The whole sky filled up with ash and smoke, forming into a revolting swirl of water and dust. My eyes began to sting from it all, and my ears rung like oversized bells. Debris fell atop me, leaving me with numerous bruises and welts. I tried running from the sight, but was forced to crawl on the ground. The explosion had left me so disoriented that I felt that I was losing complete control. It was already shocking enough that I couldn’t crawl with my other arm. I tried to keep on going, but finally found that I couldn’t. My chest began to flutter uncontrollably, and I felt everything steadily slip away from me. Suddenly, I had a true taste of what death is.

While life might be the absence of purpose, death is the absence of everything. I can’t say much else about it. However, I can say one thing, about the last thing that I saw, before slipping away. It was the room that I’d just come out of, engrossed in flames. It might sound odd for me to say this, but I felt slightly comforted by the sight of it. Though, this was only for a moment.

“Schrödinger’s cat,” I remembered thinking. “What’s within the burning room is neither alive nor dead— not until I go to it.”

This comfort only lasted me for moments. And then, that was it. The very end of it all.

*

I sit in front of Eddy Mulligan’s grave as I write this… Though, I no longer know what to think to feel when sitting at it. Should I cry? Should I mourn? Should I feel anything at all? I used to think that the answer was yes to all of these questions. I used to think that, when I got here, I would have all manner of disparity— I would regret the death of a friend. Now, I’m not so sure. Now, things have become so indistinguishable from one raindrop to another. I question the very fabric that my worldview was once made up of… I wonder if I have a reason to be doing what I’m doing, anymore. In a way, I feel that I might not have a point to any of this, and that I really did lose to Crusoe. After everything he did, I now have so many scars… I wish that I’d never bothered to go to him. I wish that he’d never seen me— that we’d never met. After looking back into the passage of time, all that I feel is regret.

After going unconscious amidst the explosion, the police came, and saved me. Apparently they were phoned by people in the vicinity. If Crusoe hadn’t picked such a flamboyant way to try to kill me, I might’ve died… Though, that was perhaps his downfall. His leaving of clues, and trying to show me his understanding of things, has always been something that got in his way.

I was wheeled to the hospital, and kept there for several days. In the meantime, the police did a search in the rubble. They only found two bodies— that of Job, and Jonah. I still feel disgusted that those two were brought into this— they never had any reason to be brought into this gunfight, as far as I’m aware.

The two bodies that they couldn’t find were that of Eddy Mulligan and Lieutenant Jackson. Somehow, their bodies both evaded the sight of the Police. That, or they were never there to begin with. That, or they somehow escaped…

The latter of those options is the one that I want to believe in the most. But, it’s also the option that I believe in the least. Either way, I have the feeling that Lieutenant Jackson and Mulligan are both prime suspects for who Crusoe had been. This is what disgusts me… One of my friends, and allies, had been Crusoe all along. Even worse, it seems to me that Eddy had always been the likelier candidate of the two… It’s simply the only explanation that I can come to, for it all.

That’s where I feel that it all comes down the chute.

Today, the weather is very nice. It’s full of sparkling greens, glistening yellows, and rays of light beams that are reflecting upon the ground. However, I simply can’t seem to find any enjoyment in it all. Sitting in the graveyard, I find that something about it all saps me dry. I simply can’t find the same reprieve amongst the good weather as I used to be able to. There’s something to it… A sort of grungy undertone, which makes its way into my mind and body. It fills my spirit, and makes me feel as if the whole world is beginning to change on me. Suppose that it might be in my head, but I get the feeling that it’s a bit more than just that. It’s as if the tides of the entire world is changing on me, and I’m trying to figure out where they’re going. I’m in the eye of a storm, waiting for it all to fully bring its wrath upon me. I fear that it might end up creating something that I’ll never be able to account for, and that it will all lead me to aa place of utter regret.

Perhaps I let things get to my head too much. It’s very easy to do that when there are too many things to be thinking on. In the world, when I look at the chestnut brown trees, the royally purple clouds, and the rolling golds of the sunrise, I wonder why I ever have a reason to fear.

I can’t help it, though. Whenever I look into the sun, I feel that I’m looking into the eyes of Crusoe, and once again seeing his dark gaze boring into my soul. The more that I reminisce on our past experiences with one another, I wonder if it’s nearly as grand as I like to romanticize it as having been. It seems to me that Crusoe definitely doesn’t feel that it’s like that, and I don’t feel that way personally. Maybe I’m just being ridiculous in thinking that, though. Perhaps I’m just being a destructive and corrosive force to my memory. Perhaps the memories that I retain are just as great as I remembered.

Perhaps something happened to Crusoe amidst the passage of time since we last met.

Perhaps the claws of the world had gripped around him, and pulled him down to a place from which he was never able to escape.

Perhaps.

Perhaps….

Something that still disturbs me is what the police found when going to the crime scene. While I was still in the hospital, they managed to find something else amongst the two bodies…. Crusoe’s coat. Covered in ash, dust, and blood. Apparently, there was a lot of that dust covering it. Dust and ash. There was something else there too—a map of all the places where he’d placed all of his kidnap victims. I can’t help but feel disgusted by this. H had taken the very people that I loved, and acted his torture on them. After that, he had the guts to tell everybody where they were—to show off his abilities, as if they were something to be proud of. They’re never something to be proud of, as far as I can tell. I can forgive the man of the things that he did to me, and I can allow myself to see a person that was somewhat good. But, I can still never forgive him for the murders that he committed.

The paper of the map that he left behind wasn’t even clear to the officers, when they first found it. I had to have them come to me with the paper, just so that they might have somebody who could decode it all for them… A disturbing task, I must say. There were ten places that I found where they were all being held captive, and it was an alleviating thing to have found them. Though, I couldn’t help but still feel a bit of regret in it all… A bit of regret, paired up with a bit of relief. What can I say? Crusoe has strained the very fabric of my being, and I honestly don’t know how to cope with any of the effects of what he’s done to me. It seems that everything he’s done is somewhat harsh and cruel. Though, it also seems that he was trying to be constructive, in his own strange way. That’s why I have a hard time harboring any guilt against him. It’s an odd mixture, and one that I resent. Bu, it’s also one that I’ve come to be accepting of.

The people were saved, of course—at least, most of them. There were a few that never did recover from what happened, and I blame Crusoe for that. They were all sick to their bones, and starving. They’d been left in some of the most inhumane conditions that I can conjure—tied up, maimed, amidst a place where there was nobody to talk to, and nowhere to go. It had been like that for two weeks, for some of them—rarely even any time to sleep. Torture.

Torture by a man who meant to do just as much productive acts as he did destructive—in a way, he never meant to be the monster that he was. I partially feel that I might be dutiful to the feeling of regret towards him—a sort of feeling of forgiveness. I don’t want to desecrate on them man’s grave, but I don’t know that I ever can.

There was something else of the paper that the police showed me, which I never mentioned to anybody. It was a message, from Crusoe. That is, if one word can ever be perceived as a message

Infinite.

How I loathe Crusoe…. Somehow, he knew that there was a chance that I might live, and that he might die, so he’d made sure to leave me message for that. I’d account for it. And yet, he never revealed his identity for my triumph. He never did reward me… Knowingly, he tried to keep us trapped in the infinite cycle anyway, despite the great success that I managed to make. Something about that is evil to me, overcoming my mind, and making me feel as if I have lost my barring. I despise myself, to the highest extent, for not having taken Crusoe to prison the moment that I had the chance. There were so many times that I could’ve stopped him… So many ways that I could’ve made him go away. I should’ve too. He was always a vigilante, and always against the rules of my life. The rules of the things that I represented.

Perhaps Crusoe was right in that one respect—I have been a hypocrite. I was willing to keep him around, after all, despite him going against the very law that I represented. It’s just—I never thought that the monster of my life was going to reside in something so seemingly innocent as Crusoe was. I had always trusteed that he would be a decent person, and I never thought that it would be as terrible as it actually turned out to be.

Maybe it’s time that I reveal some of the things that I’ve been keeping secret all of this time… I haven’t been able to write them down, due to all of the pain that accompanied these secrets. Though, I feel like I can do it now. At this point, I’ve experienced some of the darkest things, and my mind has been pushed to the highest of their boundaries, and all of the frontiers have been met. I don’t fear death, any longer--- not in the extreme way that I once did. I don’t fear embarrassment. I’ve already experienced quite a bit. Most of all, I don’t fear my very nature any longer. I know that this might sound like nonsense… Btu, when Crusoe ended up questioning everything that I was, I think that I came out of it knowing what I was. It’s not as if I can write down what I am. It’s not really something that I can explain. Though, I know what I am. I don’t need evidence for that. For once, I feel like I’ve found an answer to a mystery without having to find a trail of clues beforehand. I’m fine with who I am, after all of my years in my life. I think that I haven’t actually found who IO am, until now.

When I first met Crusoe, I was still largely a rookie, in the formative years of my career. All around me, things were beginning to change, and become more chaotic—congress instituted the prohibition, out of their stupid idea that banning alcohol might end crime… Instead, they created Capone. Though, at least I can be comforted by the fact that it led me to easily the most engaging partnership of my career. People can say what they will about Crusoe, and I’ll heartily agree. Though, he was something else—a force to be reckoned with. It didn’t matter who you were, he’d be able to find out what you were doing, and I you were a criminal or not. His investigation skills escaped the frontier of the law, but were still the most effective that I’ve come across. I don’t think that I was ever on a case with him where he couldn’t find the answer. There was no mystery that he was incapable of solving, and no question that he couldn’t answer.

Except one question, I suppose… The meaning of life. That was something that apparently escaped him, to the very end of his life. I’ve found meaning—it’s in finding meaning in what I do. Though, he clearly was never able to figure that out. Quite tragic, really… The man who set me off on my career, and taught me what it meant to be a detective, was never able to find the answer to something that I was able to find an answer to. In the one place where he needed to think circularly, he couldn’t think circularly. Instead, he decided to utilize the circular thinking to give himself death—instead, he told himself that never letting me find out his identity, and keeping me in a perpetual cycle of questions, might be something that could give me the answer.

I feel terrible that I’m currently looking back on Crusoe, with more regret than I have for Lieutenant Jackson, Jonah, or Eddy. Though, Crusoe was simply something else… I haven’t ever met a man quite like him when I first met him, nor since. Nor ever. I will never meet anybody that can compete with Crusoe in his raw deductive skills. He’s simply an intellect that can never be matched, even in the attempts that I’ll constantly strive towards.

There was something else hat Crusoe could never find the answer to, I guess… At least, not for a while. This was something that ailed him for several years. We came across a murder-spree, of which had no explanation. At first, it seemed to me that there was no answer, and that they were all unrelated incidents although, they kept on happening—all of them targeting people who seemed to have relations with speakeasies. This discomforted me for several years, but I simply couldn’t find anything on the poor victims.. And, Crusoe couldn’t either.

Time passed. Same goes for the prohibition. It apparently lapsed after Congress realized that they made a mistake—not a shock, but definitely something that I never thought that they’d admit to. The last thing Congress seemed to like exposing was how idiotic they really were.

Anyway, Crusoe remained my friend and ally, but he was also steadily becoming irrelevant, and old hat. There was little demand for a man who wasn’t willing to even reveal his name. Crusoe was simply a weight that the police department didn’t want to take. I don’t blame the department either. Crusoe began to become more violent, more infuriated, and increasingly rude. He never gave an explanation for his acts, and was steadily becoming more vicious upon questioning. I wanted to believe that this was merely a coincidence, and that it had no link to the prohibition of the prohibition. However, it did… It did.

While most of the police department was glad that they were no longer swamped with the endless war against alcohol, Crusoe didn’t seem to care. In fact, the truth of the matter was that he seemed very distraught about it all. He never exolicity expressed it. Instead, he tried to keep his upset opinions to himself, and away from the ears of everybody else. It was sometimes exposed though—he

‘d bring it out ofn the criminals that we tried capturing, bringing on more and more brutal froms of interrogation.,. His methods stadily were harshe,r, and his face started to be marked bya veilied scowl. I could never see much more than Crusoe’s brow, though, whenever I did, I could tell the expression on his face. At this point, it was amrkedx by nothing but anger.

I felt nothing but anger to Crusoe, in turn. There wasn’t much else that I really could’ve felt towards him. This was my career—ecerything that he did was, by extension--- something that I had doen.

In a way, that concept still haunts me.

As my partner, he was obligated to follow some of my standsards, and I jhis. Thouhg, I saw him increasingly become more and more agressibve. It was as if there was no way for him to stop.

Evetnually, I came to terms with Crusoe’s madnesss, and his hunger for violence. There was nothingn else that I really could’ve done. That ios—I cme to terms with it in the very beast waty that I could. I did this by leaving Crusoe entirely, and halting to work withhim on cases. I worked with him ever y once in a while—I never wanted him to figure out just how much I didn’t trust him, and just how upset I weally was with him. Though, I still let on enough, an dsoon I found that even he was become violnent towards me

He once threatened to throw me off a building, whren I interfered with one of his interrogations. h/e meant it, too—I’d actually seen him drag a perseson up to the roof of a building before, just aso that he could get some answers. IThis was about the time tha ItI began to seriosulkly do some reasearchg on him. He was starting to get to the point wher he didn’t even want me to do research on my own, and that was when I knew that he was in the wrong.

I had actually saved him from the polic. Most of the vigilantes tha thte police force had been hiring out were corrupt, stingy, and incompretent. Nto Crusoe. I vied for him so tha thte police wouldn’t attempt to halt him—or worse---arrest him. Curusoe didn’t seem to care. Now that I look back on hit all, he never seemed to care. He was the sort of person who always acted as if everybody owed him--- as idf he had some sort of upper hadn. I’m not going to lie—in some ways, Crusoe did. The very fact that I let him walk all over me is a testament to that. Thouhgh, I still can’t help but feel anger whenever I think about all of the things that I did for him that he never bothered to try and repay me for. Did he ever think about the work that I did? Did he really think that all of the cases he solved was good enough for a friendship? Did he ver really care about a friendship? Or, had I unknowingly walked into a partnership that was far more toxic thatn I realized?

These days, I think that I know thae answer. Though, I don’t like the answer, and I sometimes wish that this answer would bend to my will. It’s a funny thing that I now think like that. Years back, I probably woud’ve been revolted by such a notion. I only ever wanted to know the truth in things. ITw asn’t until I became older that I realized tha thte truth of thinngs is sometimes too hard to bear. IT’s the lies that make up the greatest bit of life—the thought that the sun was put over our heads just for us. I don’t like to taint my perceptipn of things.Though, I’ve found that, in completely wiping away the tainting, I sometimes become more taineed thaan I was with the tainting.

Anyway, enough with the digressing… This journal page is becoming too long, and I honestly feel like I’ve given a substantial report of everything that has happened. Enough with the reminiscing, and onto the explainin g..

In doiong my research, I began to find all sorts of new murder cases. It seemed to be a resurgence tf the same series of murders tha tCurusoe and I had taken on together. Once again, all the victims were linked to a history with going to speakeasies, and working in the alcohol industry. What happened after that was something that I wish I’d never done-- I wish that ‘d never bothered to keep looking for answers.

At the same time, I also wish that I had looked for answers, because the refusal to find answers was always my downfall.

I found that Crusoe was just as bad a person as the people I chased down—if not, more so. He was the very nightmares that I lotathed, and the very essence of the rprimal fears that consumed me. He was the man behind the killing sprees.

Though, I went further down the rabbit hoele. He had apparently beena ootlegger all along. That was why Cruspoe had alays been so good at his interrogation skills, and figuring out where all of the speakeasies were. He’d been one of the very criminakls that I was hunting down. While I was glad that I was gaining inside information,, I was disgusted, once again, by the source of that information.

When I get down to it, Crusoe was always a disgusting creature. PErhapos not as bad as some criminals, but he was still a momnsterk, in the end. A friendly monster, and Ione that I will always misss… Though, there’s no pretending that he wasn’t one. There’s no saying that he was innocent.

That’s what I did for a while, howver, I rtold myself that these things weren’t true. For once, I’d gotten an answer aht I ddin’t lieke. I was eventuaolly dforced to apoin where I had to tell people—my willpower evetnualyl cracked, and my secretive nature leaked away. My conscience was simply too strong, and I couldn’t come up with any way to ge t rid of it.

After I’d informed the police department, Cruspoe’s empire crumbled, as if it had never been anything more than sand. The whoel piolice department began to go after ahim, and he was forced to flee. I was amongst the police department, though I never liked being amongst hthem. Not during the chase. I didn’t wan t to be the man who took Crusoe down, even when I knew that he was just as bad as everybody else.

Aftern it all went down, and it failed, I tired talking to Crusoe, and getting some asnswers,. He insisted that it wasn’t him..But, he also sanounced his retirement. He said that it was because we broke his trust, and tried chasing him down. That was something that couldnever sit right with me… That never sounded likesomethign that an innocent man would’ve said. ?Nwoadaya,s, I know tha tit was something tthat an innocent man ddin’t syay. It was something that a guilty man said. However, U wanted to be in denial dso much, that I was willing to pretend that reality wasn’t what it was.

I lived happy that way too…. Even if it was for but a while. It all eventually led to the mess that I’m in now, but I’m sti;; s;lightly happy with the decision that I’d made… In not having the answers, I was probably able to live a easier life. In lying to myweself—in saying that there wasn’t enough sufficient evidence--- I was able to live with much less delusion and superstition than hwat I have now. IS that a good thing? Is that a bad thiong?I can never knwp…. Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps time changes thiongs.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

Crusoe never changed. I never did weither. Even after all we’ve been through, I still follow in the footsteps of the same mistakes, and so did he. IT’s as if nothing can actually change people, and as if the worl is more stangnat=nt thatn I like it to be. I was never one to say that I believed in fate, or miracles… I still have to be rrproven on miracles. But, I now think that maybe—just maybe—fate relaly is real.

IF all people are stagnant, and never change, then we’re all inevtitably set to do the things that we do, and respond in the ways that we respond.

however, I suppose that my views on fate have been the sole thing that has changed about me… And, perhaps a little bit more.

The world is breathing through my body, right aout now. I feel exhausted, and stretched. aFter all that I’ve been through, I think that life has finally brought me to a place where I’ve experienced it all. I know it all no. Which, of course, is nothing. In knowing everything, I know nohing. That’s all that you really can kno. For once, I feel asatisifed in feeling that. Your gratest enemies can be yoru frreeatest friends, and your greatest friends can be your greatest enemies. That’s alright. That’s to be expected.

Crusle did a great many terrible things.. Jackson, Mullihgan—or osomebody else—I’ll always attest to that. Though, he also showed me new things, and help me raste a fresh perspective of life. Can a bad person actually do some good? Can decency come out o eveil? Most only darkness come out of the darkness? I’m not so sure… Despite it seeming that way, Aristotle also once said that the universe abhorred a vacuum. I know that he was wrong on that. Crusoe was a vacuum

So then, what else might I be wrong on? What else might the world be wrong on?

I don’t know. But, I’ve set a crimson rose dwon, aside Eddy and Jackson’s graves. Whichever of the two Crusoe is, he deserrves one. I might sound insane—but then, that’s normal. Crusoe wasaorce of good, even if he was a dagger of evil. The duality in him issimply osomethign that I cannot deny—will not deny. HE was soomethign else. He was something that I c0oiuldn’t quite understand. I’m happy witht hat. I always will be.

There is one last thing that ails me, though. I feel like this should be the end of it all. I know that this mgight be wrong of me. h/owever, I’ve run my course. I think thatI’ve finally accompliushed the feat thtat I’ve been working toward.s. This case was the very thing that I was hoping to get done, beore my career ended. And now, I think that retirement might be the life for me. It’s the only thing that I’m willing to do, right now. I began this journey on the verge of retirement, an dI might end it tat way.. “”I might actually give into the very thing that Crusoe starte.

Crusoe migh t not have killed me.A poapart of him.= gave me answers. A part of him gave me fulfillment.He was the thing that started me off. Though, thwrere’s also the fact that he ended it… H emight’ve failed to kill me, but he still killed me in the end. Is it right for me to think this way?? Is it mworng for me to be tired of beating along the trail of life, and tring to plod to the end of it, as fast as I can? I knowthat it’s previous, and that it only fccomes once… But, I still don’t know…

There are few things in this world that I cn say I’m fully satisfied in. For the most part, it’s very easy for my mental state to fall to ash and for my minf to trick me into a place of exhaustion. Perhaps it’s just me—But, I feel, sometimed=s, that the world I live in is far too dangerous a place, and that everything I ever hold dear is at stake. I never truly get a break from that. Aybe I never truly will.

Everybody on this earth is tied down, on a voyage that seems to be neverending. I hope that this isn’t the case though,, because the waters are so steep that I’d simply never want to have to deak with it forever… Some people say that I’m a genius. Others say that I’m an imbecile. Personally? I think that I’m just a person. Just like everybody else…

The wind lows on me heavily, and I feel it follow with my breath. If there’s won ething that I appreciate this morning, it’s the waeather. It seems to sweep me up in an embrace—capturigng me up, and offering to give me peace, and restoration. It leaves a markedly relaxed aura about my body, For a moment, my mind stills—even if for a moment—and I almost feel that I’m feeling the essence of Crusoe surrounding me. This was probably just out of my depsppperation for Crupsoe to return to eme….. wE all have our childish delusions in the midst of a loss, such as that of a good friend, . Even more so, we’ll feel them after the loss of a good enemy, due to the fears that reside in our chests. I think that I miust’ve felt both the chills down my spine, and the warmth in my heart, the moment that this wind past.

It was jus for a moment though. After that, Iremembered the reality of everything, and cast the concept of a magical, nymph-ish creature away, Evenntually, it simply didn;’t mae sense.

Right now, I feel the warmth of the sun encasing me, and he wind’s hints still lingering around me. There’s a chill in he air. After all of the slamminess of this month, it’s a relief to have such of a soothing breeze.

Hature’s’ cries surround me to, making me feel utterly one with the place surrounding me. All of the greens, blues, and hues melded together, to allow me a peace of mind that I thought to be entirely out of my grasp.

I think that it’s my time to gok, afeter feeling all of this. This is probably just my sleepiness talking, as well as my own personal weaknesses. It’s hard for me to believe that it might all be due to something else. However, I think that it’s slightly more than what I’m willing to admit… I think that nature is signaling to me that my time is up, and tha t I should join it.

I’m misty eyed right now… I hope that I’m just having a breakdown from everything thatI’ve gone through, and that this is simply away for me to vent. However, it might be more than that. There might be a lot more truth to the delusions tha tI’m perieving than I’m willing to admit.

Either way, it’s too late for me to say, either way. The day is just beginning, and I know, for a fact, how much of a struggle it’s going to be… Mayeb I won’t have to deal with all of the tuypical trials that I ‘m used to having to tr overcoming, and maybe I won’t have to deal with all of the things that are hard on me. ?however,I still have to deal with a whole lot of issues, and even more of my own personal battles.

Crusoe might be gone, but the battle is just beginning. My heart toroubles are testament to that…

Somebody has just walked into the graveyard—I can’t quite tell who it is, but I think that it’s—just maybe—Officer Paul. In fact, they’re beckoning fro me to come over to them, as I write this… I’m not sure if I should, butI’m definitely going to. All other courses of action seem illogical… Hopefully this turns out well, because I don’t feel that I can deal with quite much more aof all of this.

*

Well, it’s hours later. I suppose that I should recount on everything that has happened.

I walked up to the person who I saw, after putting my journal in my poclket. No srurprise, tit turnedout that it had been Officer Pual all along. I’m not even sure why I’m bothering to write that part down, since it was so obvious…

“How are you?” Offcier Pual asked, with a smile. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened… I know that you lost a lot of ftiends to that madman…”

“Yes… Yes I did,” I said, with remorse lining my every word. “I lost a lot of good friends. Especially a good patner… crusoe,. He might’ve been a madman, but he wasn’t the sort of madman who was entirely ad. He had a good side to him.”

Officer Paul’s contrary nature flickered back into her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean wht I said… I know tht it doesn;’t sound right when I say it out loud, but Crusoe wwas actually a very good person. Not when he was murdering people, of course… You’d have to be insane to think that. “But he helped me so many times. He was so helpful, and so caught up in the chase of criminals.”

“But, Kyler… You’ve tesetifeied that Crusoe had never solved any of those cases, and that he’d been a bootlegger all along. He’s just as bad as Capone, except Caone never pretended that he was a police officer—Capone never fought in the name of the law. Cruspe did/.And yet, you still forgive the liar? And yet, you still hate the honest person?”

“Crusoe never murdered when he didn’t tink it was going to make a point. He was a walking contradiction—sure—but, I thiinnkt that a part of him always fought for our cuase. I think that a part of him—while maybe not a substantial part—was reliant upon the cocept that he was a criminal. I don’t know anything for certain about Crusoe, but I prefer to believe in the better nature of him—primarily because I perefer to believe in the better nature of everubody…”

“That’s yhoour biggest downfall as an officer, Kyler. You’re just too nice of a person, and the things that you trie to fight against are far oo d\cruel, The crimiinals will never take your mecy. You know that. They’ll never appreciate a thing that you;’ve don.e. At this point, you’fere not really fighting for anybody who’s worth fighting for…”

“Who said that I was… Paul, I don’t think thtanyboody here is worth all that much. In fact, I think that we’re all equivelant. That’s why I’m willing to fight for the criminal, and the saint. Both people are people. Is that something that’s too hard to wrap your mind around? Is that so wrong to believe in?”

“It is, Kyler… Especially when it puts you in league with some of the worst people on earth. I want oyou to be ahppy, and I’m toired of the results of Crusoe’s antics just as muchas I’m sure that you ae. The city is falling apart from within now… WE juast had one of pour most d3ecorated officers admit that he’d been sifding with a sadistic vigialante, and we just found out that, all of the crimes that he’d solced t\with that vigilante were kmisleding in their results. Do y?

“Yes, and no, Pual. I’m not going to pretend that this was a good thing. I’m not going to say that this was worth it. In fact, I’ll even admit it—I made a mistake with Crusoe. Thogh, in the same breath, I’ll also attest that, being friends with Crusoe will also be letting Crusoe partaially get his way. In the end, we can’t be cruel to rrusoe in the same way that wewere cruel to other criminals, because Crusoe wasn’t other criminals…”

“Are you suggesting that we take ourviews outside of strictly the laws, and place them somewhere other? Ar you suggesting that we becompaul. If Crusoe had been—let’s se the very corrosive force that we strive to fight against…?”

“There’s so much corruption in this city. If Lieutaenant Jackson had been Crusoe, than iI now know that he had been evil all of that time.. He’d been invested in trying to take down his very own force, and that he never truly agreed with the policies that he claimed to fight for. Isn’t that something that is, at the cery sightest, nnerving? Wouldn’t that scare you? I’m not saying that Jackson was evil.. My susoicions are on Eddy Mulligan. But, Crusoe convinced me that the law isn’t the one thing we should judge a person’s character on. Perhaps we should also--.”

“I thinkt aht it ws the Lieutenant, to be honest. Perhaps we shoudk also judge it based upon what they’ve done. And, if what they’ve done is corrupt.I say that you’re in the rong to act as if they were a hero.””What? I asked, flabberghasted. “That’s nonsense!’

“That’s what I think… Are you honestly going to tell me that Leieutenant Jackson appeared to yo as Crusoe on all of the dates whnen he was in the same palce as Crusoe? I think that I’ve learned a great deal about Crusoe’s whereabouts. Moreover, I think that I’ve also learned a great deal about LEieutaenant’s skills… The same day =that they found the coat and such in Eddy’s house, it was when he was investgating. The very day that Crusoe escaped from the police force, Lieutenant Jackson had opted not to join in. The very dauy that you had a meeting with Crusoe, Jackson had sait hat he needed to leave early… It all sems to ocorrelate. It all sems to point the proposition that Lieutenant Jacson had a criminal mentality. Esfes. I think that There night’ve been two people asCrusoe. Maybe—just maybe—both Eddy and Jackson had been in it at the same time. I could be wrong about all this. In fact, I probably am. But, I’m morfe interested in looking towards the future than I am chasing ghsosts. Both of them are most likely dead—they were probably both close to the bombs durin the expllosing, tl the point where their bodies were scatteresd all over the place.”

“I’m not so convinced…” I asaid. “But, you’ve definitely made me reconsider everything. I suppose that’s what you’re best at.”

“And, you made me see just how ridiculous you are. Though, I suppose that’s what you’re best at, too…”

“Haha…very funny. You know, whow did you even find me here?”

“Deduction. I went to your house first. You weren;’t there, so I came here.”

“Bit of a waste of time, don’t you think?”

“Better than what you would’ve done…”

“Why did you bother comeong here,, an dgoing ot all of that toroubele, for?”

“I came to take the offer that you gave me. It tunrns out that I’m interested in becoming your partner, after all…”

I stared back towards the sunrise.

“Perhaos this isn’t all so bad as I thought it was…” I thought to myself. “Perhaps ther sun is just beginning to rise.. After everything thatI’ve been through, nmaybe it was just fro the fact that the sun was fone, and preparing to come back…”

Then I said, “You know, I have been using a partner… I haven’t had anybody to chat with, on these long drives.”

“I have to say the same,” Officer Paul said, with a grin. “Though, the real rteaoson that I want to team up with you is so that I mght be able to get things done… And, of course, show you how it’s odone.”

“Good luck with that…”

“I’ll take it.”

Officer Paul then turned, and walked off, with her figure steadily disappearing over the line of my sight. Her shadow steadily dipping out of my view. I still regret what I did next—nothing. I probably should’ve said something in response. At the very least, I could’ve provided a goodbye. However, I never did nay such thing. I simply couldn’t bring myself to do anything. It was all lost to me, and I could feel the winds of the wiorkd beginning to strip from me the very things that made me into who I as. I immediately flt like a differenet person in light of the fact that Officrer Paul was willing to team up with me.

I immediately looked back into the weather, breathing in all of its natural atmosphere. Then, I ket out a satisfied sigh. There was so much for me to do, and so little time for me to do it in. I could already feel it all beginning to drwaw me in… Beginning to turn me inside out. In the end, I was renewed, even in my feelings of frustration.

After this, I walked off myself, in the same place that Offier Paul had went. I’d resolved that I would continue to go where officer Paul had went. It was he right plae for me to go. It was what I needed to do. It was what I was going to do.

There was something precious about the exchange that I’d had. It wasn’t so much thart it was aw-inspirign, or life-changing as it was the fact that it was sacred—sacred, and soft. After it ll, I truly felt something that I hadn’t in a long time. A renewal in my gut. The tainting of everything that I’d suffered wiped away, and I begam to feel like myself again.

I knew that I wouldnn’t cease to feel like myself. For once, everything was as it should’ve been. For once, everything made sense.

Riught now, I sit in my dank aopartment. The world around me is still in ash, and the movements that Crusoe made against it are still in motion. I’m certain that many people will eventually tell me that I was wrong in everything that I did, and that I should’ve seen what was coming. I should’ve never taken Crusoe’s hand of friendship. Although, I now see that this simply isn’t so.. In life, we must all take chances, and hope thart it simply works out in our favor. It’s all that we can really hope for. Even though I know tha t the thing s I’ve done will never be remembered—even though I knew that he world is going to turn against me, and narl iinto my face, I still felt that it was going to also end up acting in my favor. Everything eventually works out, in the end. Even when it doesn’t., it does.

I don’t belive in fate. I don’t believe in magic. After the experience that I had with Crusoe, I even have questions about believing in humanity,. However, the universe gos on, with or without those things. Evertyting goes on. Everything remains to go in motion. The laws of the universe still stand.

I still stand.

AS long as there’s life to experience, I’’m going to experience it. My heart might threaten to give out on me, but I’m not limited by ewhat my heart tells me to do. There’s an entire world to experience. An entire mystery to reveal answers for.

I wanted to gave the answer. Though, I was wrong. The answer is that there is no answer. It’s Shrogdiner’s cat—neither here nor there, until you open the door.