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Dream, Part II

February 4, 2009 Leave a comment Go to comments

When the cops got there, they looked at the scene for a little and then took me in for questioning. Within a few questions, they believed me that it was a suicide. Still, they held me for a long time. What was going on?

A few minutes later, the chief came in to see me. “So,” he began. “It looks like you’re wanted for arrest anyway. Wasn’t this convenient?” I didn’t think they’d have that information out here. I was screwed. “Before we take you in, we’re taking you to a hospital just to make sure you’re okay from everything that just happened.” As he left the room, I followed, eventually getting into a squad car.

Once at the hospital, I was in a room with a doctor, a guard standing outside the closed door. The doctor did a quick checkup, and then left for a moment to use the bathroom. This was my chance! Since there was a guard outside, I couldn’t leave through the door, but I noticed a sizeable ledge outside. (We were on the 20-somethingth floor, so jumping wasn’t an option.)

I opened the window and slowly crawled out, hugging the wall. That would make for a long fall. I walked a few windows over, rounded a bend, and then found an empty room to climb into. Hopefully the guard wouldn’t be able to see me from his post. I cautiously opened the door, checking for the guard, but didn’t see him. I walked purposefully out of the room, over to the stairs and started heading down.

Around the tenth floor, I heard some alarms start to go off; so they knew I was missing. I didn’t want to go outside yet. By the time I got down, they’d have cops sitting outside checking every person who left. I’d have to wait it out in the hospital for a bit.

I left the stairs on the ninth floor, found an empty room near the stairwell and went in. I locked the door and just waited, listening to all the noise outside. I looked out the window. Down on the street, there was a huge blockade of cop cars waiting at the door. Right across the street, I saw snipers patrolling the rooftop of another building, making sure I didn’t climb out again.

I wasn’t careful enough looking out because there was a quick shot to the window. I ducked and ran over to take cover. The intercom in the hospital was soon ablaze: “Attention all units, please head to level 9 for interception.” I was trapped.

There wasn’t much in the room – a bed, a couch, and a tv in the corner. If the cops got in, they’d have me in a second. I couldn’t leave through the window because they’d shoot me in a second, and they were slowly surrounding the hallway door. How about through the floor?

I remember a small bomb that I had been carrying with me. I lifted up the couch and set it there. I ran to the corner to take cover while it blew. It was a tiny blast, and the roar of the helicopters and the blare of the intercom covered up most of the noise. There was a hole in the floor just big enough to fit my body through. I looked down and saw that the room below me was empty, too. I climbed down, being sure to place the sofa back on top of the hole to cover it.

They’d recognize me quickly in my normal clothes. I found some clothes to wear in the closet – a hippy outfit. There was a tie-dye shirt, bell bottomed jeans, and even rose colored glasses. I found a bandana to put over my head. My long hair and scruffy appearance from the past week helped to pull the look together.

I walked out into the hall. There weren’t any cops around; they were all up on the floor above looking for me. Just as I left the room, I heard a shout from above. “He’s not here! He’s not here!” Time to move.

I ran to the stairs and sprinted down. Instead of exiting on the first floor, I made my way down to the basement and found a back exit. Walking down the sidewalk, I saw a group of cops looking at me. “Hey!” one of them yelled. I just ignored him and kept walking, until he started running up to me.

I turned around. “Hi!” The cop was satisfied by this and turned around back to his pack.

I went back to the woman’s house for a little while. I was going to spend some time here, but then realized that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea; they’d think to look here. Instead, I walked inside and left her a note that said I would be leaving. Just as I was leaving, I ran into yet another group of cops. “Hello detective,” they started. “Have you found any clues in the home?”

This surprised me, but I adapted quickly. “Only a short note,” I said as I led them inside. I picked up the note. “It seems he’s leaving, heading somewhere else. We could try questioning the woman about it, but I don’t think she’ll know much.”

“Thank you, sir. We’ll call you if we find anything else.”

I walked off. Apparently my disguise worked better than I thought. I headed towards a road and stuck out my thumb. I doubt anyone would pick me up in this outfit, but I’d rather that than be caught again.

After about an hour, a military vehicle stopped. “Need a lift?” one of the soldiers asked. I climbed in and sat between a few soldiers. They were headed to Alabama for training. They asked about me, and I told them I was a detective investigating this strangely connected case of a con-artist and a murder-suicide.

So here I sit, in the back of an army truck, heading to Alabama. Maybe I’ll try and make a new life there, and maybe it’d be better to continue on to Mexico. I guess we’ll never know.

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