| "Whisper" | ||
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June 13, 2008 Midtown Manhattan, New York City 3 AM forward It's times like these, when you're standing in a dark ally, somewhere in the middle of Manhattan, over a dead body, while his crazed girlfriend holds a gun to your head, that your life really comes into perspective. I mean, here you are, in the center of the biggest city in the world, with no bullets left in your gun and no back up on the way, wondering what she's going to do next, afraid for your life in two entirely different contexts. It's only natural that you should remember back to the sixth grade when Betsy Jones kissed you and you promptly threw up on her shoes, right? Or maybe not, maybe you should really be concentrating on not pissing off the girl standing in front of you. Or maybe you should wonder if she won't notice if you reach for your extra clip. Or maybe you should concentrate on the individual coming up behind her with weapons. Maybe you would, but you're not me. Me, I'm a New York City detective. One of the best in my division. And I'm thinking I need to get some control of the situation and exert some authority. Just as I'm about to open my mouth and tell her she has the right to remain silent, she says something. She whispers it really. "Look what you did." It all starts with that whisper. Sometimes that's all it takes. Look what you did. That's what she says and her eyes are so wide and for a moment they are filled with so much pain. It takes me by surprise, to be honest with you. Takes me completely and utterly by surprise. I mean, what would you do now, huh? I do what any normal person would do - I deny it. Not in so many words, not in any words actually. I just blink at her. That kind of blink you know makes you look like a complete idiot but you're so dumbfounded you can't help it? That's the blink. And then I shake my head. Denial. I know damn well I pulled the trigger. Know damn well I killed him. But the look on her face...god. It's so sad that I can't help but feel a little bit sorry for her. The moment changes my life. Changes it completely and irreversibly. It gives her just enough time to regroup herself and shake away whatever shock might be left. Now the other is here and I know I'm in deep shit. "On your knees," the newcomer shouts at me. On my knees? I'm a fucking detective! But I check my mouth when I get a look at their weapons and like a whipped dog get down to my knees to see what they will do. They check the dead body over though I really don't know why. I'm a good shot and I can see the gaping holes in his chest just as well as they can. But they check him over anyway. They aren't happy and they turn their pissed off faces on me. "Who the hell are you?" I ask, which seems reasonable since I have no idea. "Shut up," the one who shouted at me before says. I promptly close my mouth as the newcomer comes behind me and grabs my wrists. She ties them neatly with the cool plastic ties all the cops use nowadays and I wonder if they're cops themselves. "I'm a detective with the New York City Police Department. This is a federal..." She doesn't say anything, just pushes me forward and once again, I promptly shut up. They maneuver the dead body on the newcomer and the one who whispered to me pulls me to my feet. She's actually pretty strong for her size. So we start walking down the alley, two girls, a dead body and me. And suddenly, Betsy Jones comes back to mind... Return |
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