The Departed

by Chase McCown

“I don’t know, Dad. They kicked me out.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it. There are plenty of other parts out there.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just...this felt like my best chance. I don’t know what to do next.”

  “You’re a smart kid. You’ll figure it out. How about I swing by for a few days? We could look for another one together.”

  “That’s okay, Dad. You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. How about this weekend?”

  “Sure. Talk to you later, Dad.”

  “Take care, Jake.”

  He shook his head and hung up the phone. He didn’t want his dad to make the trip, but he knew there was little use in trying to talk him out of it. He just wanted to get home and get some rest.

  A police officer stood by an empty space where his car had been parked writing something out on a notepad.

  “What’s going on, officer?”

  “Are you the owner of the vehicle that was parked here?”

  “Yes, sir. What’s the problem?”

  “You parked it in a tow-away zone.”

  “Oh no! Come on, can you please cut me a break?”

  “Afraid it’s too late for that. It’s already been impounded.”

  “No, no, no. You’ve got to be kidding me! I need my car! Can’t you do anything?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. If you’ll just go down to the DMV, you can get your car back. Just pay this ticket.”

  “The DMV?”

  “Yes, sir. Have a good day.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  The officer turned and walked back to his patrol car, and Jacob was forced to walk to the DMV to retrieve his car.

  He walked for several minutes, finally reaching the DMV that was a few blocks from the studio. Finding a booth with a sign reading “Adjunction Services,” he approached with ticket in hand.

  “Adjunction services, how can I help you?” a voice called from inside the booth.

  “Uhm, yes, I’m here to pay a ticket,” Jacob said.

  “May I see the ticket, sir?”

  “Here you go.” Jacob slid the ticket through the gap, and the employee retrieved it.

  “That’ll be fifty dollars.”

  “Here you go,” Jacob said, sliding his credit card through the gap.

  After listening to the clickety-clack of the keyboard for several moments, Jacob heard the buzz and whirr of a printer, then the tearing of paper.

  “Here you go. Just show this to the guys down at the impound lot, and they’ll get you set up.”

  “Thanks.” Jacob folded up the paper and put it into his pants pocket then headed to the impound lot that sat next to the DMV building.

  “How can I help you?” a man asked from behind the counter.

  “I’m here to pick up my car. It was towed.”

  “Got your receipt?” the man asked.

  “Here it is,” Jacob said, handing the receipt over.

  “One moment, please.” The man walked back to a filing cabinet where he sifted through folders for several minutes.

  This allowed Jacob his first glance around the room. It was a small office with white linoleum floors and plain white walls. There were three chairs, a table with outdated magazines, and a television with a piece of paper over it reading “Out of order.”

  The man returned a short time later with a small note in hand.

  “Follow me.”

  He led Jacob to his car, which lay in the middle of the lot with boots on its tires.

  “Let me get those off for you, and you can be on your way,” he said. He released the boots. “I’ll get the gate for you. Have a good day, sir.”

  “You, too.”

  The gate swung open, and Jacob drove home, arriving at his apartment a few minutes later.

  Jacob opened his door, hung his coat on the overhead hook, tossed his keys on the table by the door, and locked the door.

  He sighed and shook his head. Not getting the part in the movie was a great disappointment, and the problems with his car just added more frustration to an already discouraging situation.

  His apartment was a small one. It had a single bedroom and two bathrooms, with a living room next to the kitchen and no wall to separate the two.

  His bedroom was above the living room and had a large glass window that looked out over the streets of Hollywood below. He’d never changed the paint in the room, which remained an ugly and offensive yellow that reminded him of Dijon mustard.

  Jacob sat down on the sofa and flipped on the television. As he sifted through the stations, he passed a dozen actors and actresses. Every one of them more successful and more talented than he was. Finally, after a few minutes of channel surfing, he turned the television off in disgust.

  He went to bed early that night, eager to forget about the day’s events.

  Early the next morning, the blaring of sirens jolted him awake. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head to recover from the shock. He looked at his clock.

  “Six-thirty?” he said, groaning in disapproval.

  He waited for a few minutes, trying to go back to sleep, but his efforts proved fruitless.

  Finally, he decided he would take a shower and get ready for the day ahead.

  After he had undressed, stepped into the shower, and turned on the water, the phone rang. He quickly turned off the water, threw on a towel, and walked to the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Jake! Are you okay?” a distressed voice asked.

  “Oh, hey Dad, how’s it going?” Jacob asked.

  As they talked, Jacob heard more sirens coming from the same direction as the last. He walked over to his window to see what the commotion was about and saw two police cars and an ambulance speeding down Fifth Street, headed in the general direction of the movie studio.

  “Jacob, you’ve got to turn on your TV! Channel seven! Hurry!” his father begged.

  “Alright, I’m turning it on now.”

  “And once again for those of you just joining us, we have had several reports of gunfire at a movie production studio in downtown Hollywood. Reports are vague, but some suggest that an actor who was playing the role of a zombie for an upcoming production got a little carried away with his role and actually bit a fellow actor. When confronted, the man, who is yet to be identified, allegedly produced a revolver and fired at the director and several other actors before fleeing the scene. Police declined to provide any insight into the history of the suspect. Further details will be reported as they become available. In other news, the President today passed a bill into law that will...”

  He switched the television off again, a gasp escaping his lungs.

  “Wow. I can’t believe it.”

  “I just had to call and make sure you were okay. Look, you need to lock your doors. Don’t open them for anyone.”

  “I was just there yesterday. If he had given me that job—” Jacob paused, deep in thought. “I have to go, Dad. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay. Be careful. Oh, and don’t leave the house until they catch that creep. It’s not safe.”

  “I hear you, Dad. Love you.”

  Jacob hung up, shaken by the revelation.

  Chapter 5

  February 25th, 2025. Seattle, Washington.

  On February 25th, 2025, at a police station in Seattle, Washington, a call came in late one night during the final hours of Officer Susan Polke’s patrol. This particular call would change her life forever.

  “Seattle Police Department. How can I help you?” a 911 dispatcher asked.

  “…”

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  The caller only breathed at first, ragged but quiet and shallow breaths.

  “Huuh… Uhhh… Huuuuh… Uhhhh…”

  “Uhm, hello? I need you to talk to me. Can you hear me?”

  After a long period of silence, and right before the operator surrendered and hung up, the voice replied but at a low whisper.

/>   “… I can’t talk too loud… He might hear.”

  “Who might hear?”

  “My friend, Eric, I don’t know, he…”

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Christopher Polke.”

  “And your address?”

  “Fourth and Elm.”

  “Okay, Christopher, where is Eric now?”

  “In my bedroom, I think.”

  “And where are you, sir?”

  “I’m on the other side of the house, in the kitchen.”

  “Okay, Mr. Polke. Police are on their way now. Just stay on the line with me until they get there.”

  *

  Susan Polke and her partner were preparing to head back to the police station after a long and uneventful evening out on patrol when the dispatcher radioed in.

  “Be advised, all units: reports of a 217 in progress from Fourth and Elm.”

  Susan’s heart sunk. She grabbed the radio to respond.

  “Dispatch, could you repeat that address, please?”

  “That’s Fourth and Elm.”

  “10-4 dispatch. We’re on our way.”

  Her partner shot her an inquisitive look. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “That’s my address,” Susan remarked.

  Her partner’s eyes grew wide with the revelation, and he nodded before putting the car in reverse and flipping on the lights and sirens.

  *

  “While we wait for officers to arrive, why don’t you tell me how this all started?” the operator asked.

  “Alright…here goes. My neighbor who lives next door usually comes over every Tuesday afternoon, and we play cards. He came over today, but something was different about him. He was acting…on edge. He was much more…excited, I guess you could call it? Anyway, he comes in, and we play, and out of nowhere, he starts getting mad. I was winning at the time, and he started accusing me of cheating. We don’t play for money—we just play for fun—and Eric is normally about as timid as a mouse…

  “But today was different. He picked up the table and flipped it over and started yelling at me! I told him to get out of my house, but he lunged at me! I managed to get away from him, but he’s been following me ever since. I locked him in the basement and hid here. He must have found a way to force the door open, though. Please, if you don’t send someone soon, I don’t know what he might do next.”

  “Police are already en route, Christopher. I’m going to ask that you stay on the line until they arrive.”

  For the first time in the whole ordeal, Christopher forgot himself and spoke at his normal volume.

  “Thanks.”

  It was a small mistake, but it was enough. The monster that had once been his friend spun around in the direction of Christopher and stood, just listening.

  “He heard me,” Christopher whispered as low as he could.

  “Stay on the line. Police have almost arrived, sir.”

  There was a long pause, and Christopher finally responded, “They won’t make it.”

  Then the line went dead.

  *

  Meanwhile, in a squad car bound for the site of the 911 call.

  “You okay, Susan?” Susan’s partner asked, scanning the patrol car’s AM radio.

  “I’m fine,” Susan replied, knocking her partner’s hand out of the way and flipping off the radio.

  They rode in silence. The whine of the sirens and the intermittent chatter of the radio were the only sounds to keep them company.

  “You know, if you need to talk, I’m here, Susan,” her partner said, glancing over at her.

  Susan was silent. Her mind raced, thinking awful thoughts of what might have happened to her husband. He was at home, she knew, and it must have been him that the call was about.

  “Susan?”

  “Huh?”

  “I asked if you needed to talk.”

  “I told you I was okay, didn’t I?” Susan asked, glaring at him.

  “Are you sure? You don’t look okay.”

  Susan bit deeply into her lip to conceal her emotions. Fear and despair circled over her like vultures, but upon hearing her partner’s words, she buried her feelings once more.

  “Just shut up and drive, Matt.”

  Matt shook his head.

  A few minutes later, the two arrived at Susan’s home.

  Matt snuck over to the right side of the door as quietly as he could, and Susan crept up quietly beside him.

  Susan turned the doorknob slowly, which she knew to be unlocked. She pushed it open gently, and it swung into her living room.

  The two took one cautious step into Susan’s home and stood, just listening and watching. Inside the house, nothing stirred. A grim silence hung thick in the air.

  The hardwood floors were covered in scuff marks, and trash was littered around the living room. The television was smashed, and a large oak table was turned over in the middle of the room. Poker chips and cards lay scattered about all around it. There was a large hole about the size of a fist in one of Susan’s walls.

  The scuff marks led into the next room, and the signs of struggle followed them. This room was in worse shape than the last, and Susan noticed drops of blood as well as a shattered window. A baseball bat was embedded deep into the drywall on the right side of the room.

  The struggle appeared to stop at the basement for some time, but the shattered basement door indicated that the pause may have been short-lived.

  Matt flipped on his flashlight and slid his pistol out of its holster. He pointed the flashlight down into the pitch black of the basement, but aside from the broken door, nothing was out of the ordinary.

  Both descended cautiously deeper into the basement, and Matt scanned carefully in all directions. The back door within the basement was firmly locked, and since there was no evidence of the attacker in the basement, Matt and Susan crept carefully back upstairs.

  They turned to the kitchen. Blood pooled on the floor in the back corner of the room where Susan’s husband lay. Scratches and claw marks and even bite wounds covered his body, and a steak knife jutted out from the man’s chest. His mouth was agape, and his eyes were wide with fear.

  Pots and pans had been knocked over, plates smashed, and a leftover shepherd's pie had been knocked onto the floor. It was smeared throughout the kitchen, and shoe prints were visible in the mashed potatoes of the meat pie.

  A broken window with curtains cast outside the house indicated that whoever had done this had already escaped.

  Susan dropped to her knees and wept aloud, pulling her hair over her face and wailing in sorrow.

  *

  Later that day, Susan sat in the police chief’s office. He entered the room and handed Susan a cup of water.

  “Thanks,” she said, staring at the cup and swirling the water around in it.

  “I know this has been a trying day for you, Susan. Well, more to the point, I think you should take some time off. Please understand, everyone appreciates all the work you do around here. You’re one of the best officers I have on staff. I mean it. It’s just that, well, after what happened today, it may be best if you take some time off.”

  Susan looked up at the chief. “I was going to tell you earlier,” she said, “but, well, I suppose now is as good a time as any. I’m leaving the force. I just can’t do this anymore. Not after today.”

  “For good? Susan, I wish you’d reconsider.”

  “I know you do, and I’ll stay on until I train someone to take my place, but after that, I’m leaving.”

  “I understand. I imagine I’d do the same in your position. I wish you all the best. We’re going to miss you.”

  “Thanks.”

  As she looked down at the swirling water in her cup again, she couldn’t stop thinking about all that had happened, and about how many great friends she was putting behind her by leaving the force. Still, she needed some time to grieve.

  *

  A week and a half later, Susan came in for the last time to col
lect her things. It was mid afternoon, around one o’clock, and the station was dark and silent. Odd, Susan thought, because it should still be pretty busy.

  She opened the front door slowly and turned the lights on to investigate.

  “Surprise!”

  “We couldn’t let you leave without throwing a little party first,” Matt said, placing a party hat on Susan's head.

  The precinct was brimming with her coworkers, the police chief, and everyone she’d come to know over the years. She spent the next hour and a half talking and laughing with her closest friends. It was nice, she thought, to get a chance to say goodbye to everyone. It hurt, but it was something she had to do.

  “So what’s the plan?” Matt asked.

  Susan shook her head.

  “I don’t know. I guess I don’t really have one. I need to find the person who did this to my husband before I can move on.”

  “Just don’t do anything you may regret, Susan. I trust your judgment, but be careful.”

  “I actually wanted to ask you something, sir,” she said, turning to the police chief.

  “What is it?”

  “Can I have a copy of the 911 call?”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Susan.”

  “It might be the only way I can hear his voice.”

  “Alright, I’ll get you a copy.”

  “Thanks.”

  Susan said goodbye to everyone in the precinct and then left shortly after that. She headed to a nearby hotel and listened to the copy of the 911 call her former boss had given her. When it ended, she replayed it.

  She did this again and again, thinking, If only I had gotten there in time, if only I could have saved him, if only it had been me instead of him.

  At around three o’clock, she fell asleep.

  She woke the next morning to the sound of her phone ringing.

  “We’ve got a lead on Eric. Someone saw a gray pickup that matched the description of his truck. I’m emailing the info now as well as the license plate in case you could confirm it for us. I thought you might be able to help us keep an eye out for it.”

  “Thanks, Matt!”

  “No problem, Suze. Just be careful out there.”

  “You too, Matt.”

  She closed her eyes as a flood of emotions came over her. The events of the day caught up to her, and as she sobbed quietly, she felt emotions other than sadness as well. There was anger at Eric—and even at Christopher—for leaving her alone, a widow. There was apprehension about the future and fear that Eric might never see justice. There was a gnawing emptiness that seemed to devour everything else.