by Peter Cry
“It’s all a lie,” the detainee insisted quietly, running out of breath.
“You mean that you could have stopped after the neighbor's boy, or not?”
“No. Your invented story is just nonsense and slander.”
“Oh, come on, Sam,” Alfred drilled the interlocutor with his dark eyes. “We both know it’s true. However, it doesn’t matter. Only the end of the story is important.”
The cop put his elbows on the table and continued. “You see, Sam, I'm here to offer you a helping hand. And that helping hand is hiding at the very end of my story. So, I have to know if you want me to continue?”
The answer “yes” was equal to a confession of guilt for the detainee. But he was so scared that he wanted to avoid punishment at all costs.
“Yes, continue.”
“Your plan was perfect. Everything would have worked out perfectly if it hadn’t been for a policeman who came to the school and turned his attention to the nice boy Bobby. That meticulous cop paid more attention to the child than others did, asking about people close to him who usually helped him out in difficult situations. You see, Sammy, it’s not just you alone who has the talent to win a child’s trust. Bobby told me about you, your kindness, as well as the interesting fact that his beautiful head was spinning after the juice that you had given him. He didn’t even remember that you had photographed him.”
Alfred got up and took the folder from the table with the dossier on the suspect. Twisting it as if he was about to slam an annoying fly, he went around the detainee and stood behind him. The suspect cowered, realizing what the cop was going to do.
“We already did blood test on Bobby and it showed the remains of Sibazon in his blood. His parents thought that their son had a slight illness. We have a photo of a little naked boy in your shower, but most importantly, we have you. You will go through hell, and more. In prison, they will torment you at first, and then they will kill you. You will die a long and painful death. Now, don’t you want to ask me how I know this?”
“How?” the trembling prisoner mumbled.
“I am a simple patrolman, not even a detective, but I have already imprisoned four pedophiles, and three of them have been killed. Soon the turn will come for my dear Earl, and after the trial, it will be yours.”
The handcuffed man had grown desperate.
“You said you wanted to help me?”
Alfred smiled like a demonic seductive serpent.
“No, I didn’t say I wanted to help you, I’ve said that I could. I could give you a pen and a piece of paper, and you will write a sincere confession. After you finish, you will read it out loud before the camera.”
“I won’t do that.”
Hearing those words, the policeman raised his hand and struck the face of the pedophile with his twisted folder. That kind of hit does not cause a lot of pain and, most importantly, it leaves no marks. But it is unexpected and frightening, just like a slap in the face.
“Sammy, they will rape you in prison, they will urinate on you, they will destroy your already sick psyche. Confess! And you could at least shorten your term.”
There were tears in the eyes of the prisoner.
“No, it wasn’t my fault,” he creaked helplessly.
Alfred raised his hand and hit him in the face again.
“Imagine what will happen after your terrible painful death. An Infinity of suffering, the pain from the flames in which your rotten little soul will burn. Confess, I beg you.”
“Where is my lawyer?” tears rolled down Sam's cheeks.
This only earned him a third blow in the face.
“Your cheap lawyer provided by the state will not help. You have only one option. Confess, and I'll make sure your mom doesn't know anything. I’ll ask your neighbors not to tell her. You’ll write a letter that you have left for work. You’ll serve a few years, and then your mom and you will move to another city. Plus, if you confess now and tell everything on camera, the guys and I will make sure that people from the TV won’t know anything. In that way, your life won’t be broken completely.”
With his eyes red from tears, Sam opened his mouth to say something. But seeing how the cop lift his strong hand again, he stopped and covered his head with his hands.
“All right!” Sam shouted, “I confess, I wanted to have sex with Bobby. But I did not want to rape him. I planned to do everything carefully, so that he would not get hurt.”
“Holy shit… Is that really happening?” the detective standing on the other side of the mirror watched with amazement.
“Exactly what I’ve told you,” his colleague smiled.
Alfred lowered the twisted folder.
“You're a disgusting monster, Sam, and I don't feel sorry for you. First you thought you’d rape Bobby and then kill him. Remember how you could not get enough from porn and masturbation first, and then child porn and masturbation weren’t sufficient? Then you all start eating them like beasts,” the policeman sighed heavily. “I will only help you if you make your confession before talking to a lawyer, and then repeat everything in the presence of detectives.”
“I’ll do everything as you say, I’ll tell everything,” Sam agreed, suppressing his tears. “But please, believe me, I didn’t want to hurt him.”
Contented, Alfred left the room. After walking a dozen feet, he opened a door to the office with his observers.
“Ten-fifteen minutes till he comes to his senses. Hurry up.”
“Thank you, Alfred.”
“You are welcome, detective.”
There were several people in the room where the interrogation was monitored. Alfred glanced casually at those present. None of them, except for the colleague from his station – Detective Jackson, were familiar to him, the young black woman in a business suit, a mature strong man with impressive stubble, and, apparently, a friend of Detective Jackson, standing next to him. They all stared at the young patrolman, who had just managed to get a confession from a person suspected of seducing a minor boy. Excessive attention confused Alfred, as well as gratitude or encouragement from his colleagues, therefore, passing his offender to a senior in rank, he always tried to leave as soon as possible.
“May I go now?”
Detective Jackson for some reason exchanged glances with the others, and then looked at Alfred again.
“Sure, you are free to go now.”
The door closed and the two police officers were left alone with the FBI agents.
“Now it’s your turn to explain what’s happening here?” Detective Jackson said.
“You will have to excuse me,” the formally dressed, woman replied.
“Why? Is it top secret?”
“No, but still we would prefer not to mention the reason why we’re in need of your patrolman.”
“I think,” a deep male voice sounded, “at the right time, Alfred will explain to you why we’re here.”
The officer tried again.
“Are there any problems with his past?”
Rita and her boss smiled and looked at each other.
“Thank you very much for your cooperation,” said the strong, mature man, holding out his hand. “We will keep you informed.”
“I’m sure, you will,” the detective muttered, shaking hands with the guests.
“Don't be offended,” Rita said, leaving the room without turning around. “You have your job, we have ours.”
After those words, she closed the door behind her.
“Why have you brought them here?” the bewildered detective asked his friend, quietly.
“They asked me about your cop.”
“Why would they?”
“How do I know?” the friend replied. “I wrote a letter to them with everything that you told me about him. And they decided to come and talk to him personally.”
Putting his hands on his hips, Officer Jackson looked at the interlocutor with displeasure.
“Don’t break his life. You know, he’s been through hard times. He
saw things that you and I would never see in our most terrible dreams.”
***
Returning home, the young policeman Alfred Hope dived into the world of silence and darkness. He hated both. Finding himself in his small apartment on the outskirts of the city, between walls that had no memories, he felt sadness and loneliness in his soul. He remembered himself over the last two years or so. Everything seemed to be fine, but despite the large number of people surrounding him, he was still alone. Inside and outside.
His modest one-bedroom apartment was located on the first floor of a four-story building. There were no photos, nor postcards for Christmas from parents. Alfred did not have the kind of memories that other people have usually been accumulating for decades. And those that came to mind did not bring pleasure.
Long months of treatment, refractures of bones that had healed incorrectly, face surgery, pain from healing scars, and shame when local television filmed him dirty and ragged, trying to find his relatives or friends… The first six months, after his savior Jessica appeared in his life were hell. Only her generous warmth inspired the soul of the weird guy who had lost his memory. He sincerely regretted that he had not been able to reciprocate this sweet and kind woman’s feelings. That he had not given a chance to other girls who fancied him and had not made use of these opportunities himself. That the pillows on his bed never smelled of female perfume during those two years.
That was his fate. He was uncomfortable with people, and without them, it was even worse. He was grateful to everyone who helped him during that terrible time to make a new start. He loved each of them, but at a distance. Only when he was at home, alone, in an empty inconspicuous apartment with a minimum of things, he regretted that he could not overcome that distance. Something he could not remember what prevented him from doing so.
Alfred switched on the light and threw his keys on a nightstand in the hallway. Having looked around the apartment in its gray-beige tones, he sighed wearily and wandered into the bedroom. Looking at the hated crumpled bed, he anticipated tonight’s nightmare.
His dreams were intermittent and heavy, never leaving Alfred with a feeling of satisfaction and freshness. Nauseating nightmares overwhelmed the young man every night. Someone overtook him, tormented, and tried to kill. Alfred was worried so much that the sensations in the dream did not differ from those that he experienced in reality. He justified the realism to a severe head injury, because of which he had lost his memory. It was a pity that not a single psychiatrist, shrink, or neurosurgeon could advise anything worthwhile, anything that could help him to bring back his memory or at least some sleep.
When attending psychotherapy sessions recommended by a doctor, paid for by the incarnation of an angel named Jessica, Alfred often complained about his insomnia and disturbing dreams. However, each time he was silent about something that scared him more than the physical pain he experienced in the dream world. He concealed those rare dreams where nobody tried to kill him. Quite on the contrary, it was he who tried to kill someone else. Someone fuzzy, blurry, seeming defenseless and weak. Such visions frightened Alfred most of all because he knew that he was a kind-hearted gentleman, who loved people. He just kept the distance.
“Okay, hold on,” he said quietly, being in the lonely bedroom, shrouded in twilight.
Having thrown off his clothes, Alfred, as if biting a gag before the most terrible torture, mentally prepared himself to receive an electric shock and lay down in his soaked and sweaty bed.
“Everything will be different tonight, and you will have some good sound sleep,” he told himself, dissolving in the upcoming dream.
***
Alfred felt two gentle warm hands slide over his body, trying to hug him from behind. Being in absolute darkness, he turned around to the source of these wonderful sensations.
The wonderful smell of fruit marmalade filled the air. A woman, or was it a girl, appeared before him. For a moment she was a woman, then a girl again. This strange angel-like creature constantly changed from one to the other. The fuzzy images, neither of clay, smoke, or gold, were intriguing and enticing. It was the same person switching ages. A naked, attractive bald girl of thirteen to fifteen, and then a woman ten years older. The woman turned Alfred on. He wanted her. But the teenager with her still not fully formed female body frightened and revolted him. He felt shame and guilt.
Alfred realized he was completely naked as well. He sensed his body glowing in the darkness. And it seemed unnaturally beautiful.
After waiting for the mysterious amorphous creature to become a seductive woman again, Alfred pressed her to his body and took her. He felt so good, as if on an ecstatic trip. The sensations intensified with every second as he strove to reach a perfect climax. It was evident that his partner was into it as much as he.
A beautiful couple were striving to reach the heights, and it seemed that in a moment a big bang would create a beautiful new universe.
Kissing her shoulders, neck, chin, lips, Alfred wanted to crack open the philosopher's stone. He looked into the eyes of his wonderful obsession.
Suddenly he froze in horror. He was fucking the young girl and her red eyes were full of tears.
“Come on, don't stop. Just a bit more,” she implored, shuddering in pain.
Breaking out of his sleep with a cry, the would-be lover jumped out of his bed. After a few quick sighs, he groped for a lamp next to his bed and then threw it against the wall.
“Shit!” he cried out. “When will it stop?”
The darkness of the night answered him with silence and sorrow that had settled forever in the small apartment.
Chapter 12
That winter ended all too quickly.
This was noticed by all the residents of Hampton, including Helen Escamilla. The slush did not scare the citizens as much as the cold, so no one complained about the rain, dirty sidewalks, and muddied shoes. Everyone was anxious about a sudden snowstorm, which could still happen in late March or early April.
That evening, the cops left the station after locking their offices. It was cold and raining outside, so each of them strove to get home as quickly as possible to warmth and comfort. Helen stayed in the lobby and had a chat with her colleague, whose night shift was about to start. She occasionally broke away from the fascinating conversation to say the standard “Goodbye”, “See You tomorrow” and “Have a good evening” to the ones who were leaving.
“Bye,” Helen waved her hand, watching the last policeman head for the exit.
She resumed her chat with her colleague sitting at the counter.
“And could you imagine it? The wedding is in full swing and my grandmother takes the floor. She gets up and instead of looking at the bride, my sister, she stares at me. The disaster is watched by all the guests. And the fucking lighting man even puts the spotlight on me. So, all the attention is on me and my grandmother.”
“Far out!” the on-duty officer replied, suppressing his laughter.
“It sure was! I turned as red as a tomato,” Helen added.
Taking her coffee from the counter, she took a sip.
“In short, I’m waiting for what happens next, as are all the guests. Grandma looks at me as at the enemy of the state and then, for some reason turns to Chris, my sister's husband. ‘God bless you, my boy, and Mary, the Blessed Virgin. You are our savior,’ she says. And everyone understands what she’s talking about. I’m such a bad Catholic, and I’ll never have a family of my own and children.”
“You know,” she continued. “I think it’s worth introducing the death penalty for old people who fuck up weddings.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” her colleague laughed. “I can only sympathize with you, Escamilla. However, you should listen to your granny.”
“Well, fuck you,” she joked.
“You are not a queer, and you’re pretty. There’s no real work in this town. There’s plenty of free time, so find yourself a good man and give birth to a small beautiful Escamilla.”
The duty officer laughed and shook his head.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Escamilla, all those attractions are exclusively owned by my Rosie, God damn her!” the colleague sighed sadly. “Never marry, Helen, never... Marriage is a swamp, and you just won’t get out of there.”
“Yep, I’ve heard that,” the officer echoed. “But in the evening, when I’m alone with my dog, I think my grandmother might have been right, and maybe it’s time for me to look for my savior.”
Steve, Helen’s partner, appeared in the open white hall.
“I’m ready to be your savior for today. I ‘ll take you home in my new Camaro,” he shouted, putting on his jacket.
“No way,” Helen joked “I wouldn’t steal you from all the other women in our town. I don’t want your girlfriends to burn me at the stake.”
“Okay, so be it. Good night. Why aren’t you going home, Escamilla?”
“I am waiting for the papers from Minnesota.”
“Papers from Minnesota?” Steve got interested.
“Yes, about the red Silverado, which we pursued.”
The eyes of the policeman rolled over wearily.
“There you go again... Those guys are clean. You and I figured that out a long time ago, didn’t we?”
“I'll go to the restroom,” Al said quietly, seeing the dialogue was about to heat up.
Helen looked at Steve very seriously.
“Have you ever seen that Jason Frost again after we tried to catch him?”
“No. But just because I don’t see someone doesn’t mean there is no such a person.”
Helen disagreed uncertainly.
“That’s your opinion, and I respect it, but I’d rather listen to my intuition.”
“As you wish,” Steve continued indifferently. “What kind of papers are you waiting for?”
“I don't know yet, I put in a request to the Minnesota Traffic Police Department. I’ve asked them to let me know if there was anything of interest concerning that license plate and truck. They called back, said they had found the pickup, and that they have a surprise for me. But they wouldn’t say anything on the phone, and all the necessary data would be sent via FedEx.”