Devilment

D e v i l m e n t

I awoke in a daze, my vision blurry and the room dimly lit. A single bulb hung from the roof above revealing the shadow of my own situation. The lingering smell of cheap cigarettes invaded my nostrils and itched in my throat. My hands were bound behind me to the chair I was seated on. What happened? I’d seen enough cop interrogation rooms to know where I was, but how did I get here? Enough of my vision had returned to make out an oddly shaped ear trumpet that was positioned in front of me with a tube leading into the ground. ‘Glad to see you are finally awake’ crackled a voice from the corner of the room. I could make out an old wooden speaker-box in the left hand corner of the room ‘Can I get you something? Coffee? Cigarette? Just speak into the trumpet.’ I felt naked, exposed but I needed answers, I knew what I had done but how much did they know? ‘I’ll say no to those but I’d say yes to a straight scotch.’ ‘Always the stiff drinker detective?’ ‘Well my mother used to say if you can’t do something right don’t even bother.’ ‘A woman wise beyond her years, your drink will be in a little later...But first I have some questions’

‘I have some of my own’ ‘I’m sure you do but please detective indulge my curiosity first. What can you tell me about a man named Pedro Alejandro Santos? Speaker-box was playing the standard cop routine drop some names to see if I slip up, well I aint that stupid. ‘Sounds like a Mexican soap opera star, I aint ever heard of Pedro Ole.` ‘Well that’s odd because he says he knows you, in fact he has quite a lot to say about you.’ What is this guy playing at? I thought that spic bastard was dead. I decided to play it cool after all it could still be a bluff, and I hoped to god it was. ‘Really’ I said ‘all good things I hope?’ ‘heh heh’ croaked the airy voice ‘He has...Mixed feelings about you detective. Why don’t we start on the relationship you and Mr. Santos had?’ I decided to play dodo just a little longer to see what the speaker-box knew. ‘I’ll take it from your silence that you want to find out exactly what we know’ said the box smugly. ‘Very well we shall continue to play these games but rest assured Mr. Mulray this wont help your acclimatisation.’ ‘Acclimatisation? To what?’ I asked ‘Please don’t interrupt detective. At 9:15pm on the 15th of January 2004 your wife Lorraine was killed by a passing car with the stolen license plate VOS 994, the driver swerved onto the sidewalk aiming at you and your wife as you where walking home from the Chacha club, it was you who noticed the car coming and selflessly pushed your wife out of the cars direction, but the car struck the gutter and its course altered and incidentally hit your wife. It wasn’t the impact that killed her but her head colliding with the road as she landed.’

A lump had formed in my throat, My mind replayed the events as he recalled them, A wave of grief washed over me but I needed to stay tough ‘Big deal’ I croaked weakly into the rusted trumpet ‘any cop can check those records, if you think you can impress me with your file searching abilities then you’ve got another thing coming rookie, no wait scratch that I am surprised that there’s a fucking cop that knows how to do his homework’ ‘Oh I am not a police officer Detective Mulray.’ My throat tightened and I found it hard to swallow the lump ‘What? Then where the hell am I?’ ‘Revenge consumed you it became all you could think about, the cops said it was a drunk driver but you knew better you knew it was to do with your current case and you knew your wife was dead and you knew it was all your fault.’ The bastard was baiting me, pushing my buttons to see if I would say too much. ‘Who are you? What the FUCK is going on here?’ I spat ‘ANSWER ME DAMN YOU.’ I thrashed in my chair trying to break the bonds that held my hands secure behind me but all I got for my trouble was a mild case of rope burn. Images of my wife lying in the gutter, blood pouring from the wound on her head fuelled my frustration.

‘Tracking down that driver became your passion, you traced down your employer who had up until then tried to remain anonymous, you began to interrogate him with your fists and eventually he dropped a name...Just one name. ‘Pedro Alejandro Santos’ we said in unison. My rage subsided at the very instant I spoke aloud that name.

I was overcome by a sense of euphoria and began to feel my feet leave the ground and the room spin I saw myself starring at an empty bottle of whisky, I saw myself load a gun. I felt the cold steel of the silencer as I attached it to the barrel of the gun. Tears began to pool at the sides of my eyes. I saw myself standing outside that pawnshop in the rain waiting...just...waiting. I saw myself pointing the gun at that fat bloated murdering bastard’s head, I felt my finger quivering over the trigger and I saw mixture the splatter of blood brain and skull hit the wall. The sound of clapping over the loud speaker eased me back into reality, had I been speaking out loud? ‘It feels good to relive these moments doesn’t it Detective? I imagine it all goes grey after you pulled the trigger?’ I found myself nodding. ‘Well allow me to fill in the blanks for you’ how did this guy know so much? Was he watching? Impossible? Only one person could know...

’GOD?’ I spoke aloud. ‘I didn’t think a man like you believed in a God Detective. ‘Who says I do? But right now it’s the only thing that seems to be logical.’ ‘Belief in a being that was invented by mans own imagination is illogical, but please detective don’t interrupt the best part of the story. You had just killed Mr. Santos, shocked at the ease of taking his life you tried to flee but your foot struck a small stool causing a loud crash as your body hit the floor, when you opened your eyes all you saw was the barrel of a gun, there was a flash of light and then darkness.’ What was he saying? I was murdered? Then how can I be here now in this room? I could feel my heart beating and the ropes around my wrists. The familiar feeling of euphoria washed over me as I found myself watching a familiar scene unfold. I was in the pawnshop, I saw myself stumble on a chair. I could hear footsteps from above and I saw a large heavyset Samoan appear in the stairway, his face looked like he had tried to put out a forest fire with a screwdriver, the skin on his arms and legs showed signs burns that had healed poorly over time, scabs graced his elbows and knees. I saw him stand over what was supposed to be me. I saw him fire a round into my face and at the very instance the muzzle flashed, my eyes where filled with a brilliant light. I found myself lying on the cold hard, concreted earth staring up at the light globe above. The chair had gone and my hands where free. I sat up and began to rub my wrists, I realised the pain had gone and there was no visible evidence of being tied up at all. Had I dreamed this whole thing? Had the last year of alcohol abuse finally killed my brain?

I heard the sounds of a door being unlocked and then a blinding light spilled into the room, I could make out a familiar feminine silhouette in the light ‘Mr. Mulray’ crackled the familiar loudspeaker ‘welcome to Death...I imagine you’ll want that drink now?’

The End

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