The man lay on a cot, one foot dangling to the bare concrete floor, wishing that he had taken a friend’s offer to move into the Sierras of Northern California. Maybe then he wouldn’t be in this jail cell waiting for said friend to come bail him out. She wasn’t going to get here until tomorrow afternoon, at least 14 hours from now. Which was fine, because he wasn’t going to be arraigned until eleven o’clock anyway. It was going to be a long night.

The slamming of the door separating the cells from the rest of the police station broke his reverie.

"Alright, son, let’s go. You’ve got visitors." The guard opened his cell door and escorted him to an interrogation room. The prisoner stared at himself in the one way glass, amazed and scared at the face looking back at him. Especially the eyes, normal now, but earlier they had been glowing with a soft, unnatural light. Too many things to think about. I have to focus. He turned to face the door as it opened.

"Alan Castille?" The woman addressing him wore a conservative charcoal gray suit that hid any hint of femininity behind its clean, straight lines. Black Gargoyles hid her eyes, and the only hint that she was a woman was her face. Blonde hair framed high cheekbones and full, almost pouting lips. She might have been beautiful under everything. The man who came in behind her was dressed the same way, sunglasses and all. They were a matched set.

"Yes, I’m Alan."

"Mr. Castille, I am Special Agent Jackson. I’m here to talk to you about what happened tonight." Alan wondered what color her eyes were under her glasses.

"Why? What’s so special about a guy tweaking out at work that the Feds are interested? You guys are Feds, aren’t you?"

Jackson sat down in the chair opposite him. "Who we are with isn’t as important as the things that you did tonight. What with all these malcontented workers going on shooting rampages, is it any wonder that the government is interested? First I’ve heard of an actor doing it, though."

"What?" Alan’s blood was beginning to boil. "I never threatened anybody! Okay, so I got a little out of hand and maybe I was a little rough on my way out when people got in my way, but I’m not unstable!"

"Really," she replied, "it sounds to me that if you’re not unstable yet you will be soon. Convince me." Alan heaved a sigh, trying to exhale his anger along with his breath. It worked but only a little. "It was my only scene in the play. I was breaking up with the leading lady after learning that she was having an affair with the main character. After I finished shouting, I was supposed fall on my knees and ask her why. But before I could, I heard her say, ‘God, he sucks. He should have been an extra.’ It made me fumble because she said it so loudly. I was sure that the audience heard her. When I couldn’t remember my line she called me an idiot newbie, and I heard the stage manager say, ‘Oh no, he’s got stage fright.’ I started to panic and then everybody, everybody was criticizing me and telling each other how bad I was and I got so embarrassed that I ran off the stage. And then the stage manager grabbed me and I just wanted to get away but he wouldn’t let go. And everybody was saying to let the asshole go before he wrecks the show completely. I hit him and knocked some equipment over after I ran away when he let go. When I got out the emergency exit, I ran into the police car and they handcuffed me and put me in the car while the producer explained what happened and that I had bloodied the stage manager’s nose and then they brought me here." He could feel it all come back, the anger, the embarrassment, the humiliation, everything.

"Then what?"

Alan shook his head, trying to bury his emotions before they came bubbling back to the surface again. "Then the cops who arrested me brought me here to book me on charges of assault and endangerment. As I was being booked, another officer made me take off my sunglasses for the picture and said he would put it with the rest of my personals later. Then they put me in a cell, and then you came to visit."

Jackson leaned forward. "You were wearing sunglasses the whole time?"

"Yeah, part of the costume."

"Did anyone notice anything unusual about you when you took your sunglasses off?"

"No," Alan replied, "no one said anything to me."

"Did you notice anything unusual about yourself during your man…incident?" The conversation was beginning to move into territory Alan didn’t want to explore yet.

"No, other than the fact that I haven’t been that mad in a long, long time."

"Well, Alan, I think you’re lying about that last part, but that doesn’t matter. We’ll have the truth from you soon enough. Why don’t we get out of here and move to someplace a little more comfortable?" Alan was about to say that no, he didn’t want to leave until he found out what they wanted from him, but then he figured it couldn’t be any worse than a jail cell so he started to follow the man out the door. He felt oddly disconnected from his body, and the feeling was getting stronger. Outside the room another man in a gray suit was waiting.

"We’re almost done here, sir. The area should be clean in another 10 minutes."

"Good. Thank you, David. Please bring the van around to the front." Jackson turned back to Alan and said, "Why don’t you let your mind rest for a little while? It’s the only way you’re going to get some sleep tonight. Just relax and let me guide you to the van and then you can sleep all the way home."

"Yeah, not a bad idea." Alan’s head felt thick with fog, like he was falling asleep while walking. Random thoughts began floating through his head. Two of them were "Jackson doesn’t wear makeup" and "those suits look like uniforms".

"Right on both counts," Jackson said.

Funny, Alan thought. I didn’t think I was speaking out loud.

The last words Alan heard were, You weren’t.