by Chris Frank
“What do you want to do now?”
Jim looked away; he was a cop, no, a detective. He had a job to do, the law to uphold, justice and all the things that made it possible for good to thrive in an ever-darkening world. Then he saw himself with Lisa, doing a crossword puzzle, shopping for drapes and playing with their children. He turned to Lisa and grabbed her hand.
“I’m a fucking cop, Lisa.”
Lisa’s eyes welled up with tears.
“How could you do this?”
Lisa nodded, fighting back tears. She barely managed to get out the words,
“I couldn’t remember the numbers.”
Detective Jim Jovian got up and paced around the room, thinking back to his first encounter with the aggressive cameraman. He imagined scenarios. Lisa went over to confront Milt, Milt assaulted her, she fought back, an accident, and Lisa panicked? It was plausible. Making the scene look like it was part of the killer’s serial scheme? Not good. Covering him in quicklime? Check, please.
He stopped and stared at the floor for a moment, then looked up when he heard Lisa struggling to breathe. He rushed to the bed and pushed the button repeatedly to call the nurse. Almost immediately, Samantha and a doctor were on the scene, making adjustments. Lisa received a shot of something, and her breathing returned to normal.
Jim took a seat near the wall and watched. What do I do now? he wondered. What do I do now?
THE END
CHRIS FRANK is a pseudonym.
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