Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Fugitive Running From the Law


This was the most personal case I ever had to deal with. I set up the box to collect evidence in what I figured was the game room, which was messier than I remembered it. She used to be such a neat freak, so this room set me on edge.  The giant television stood parked against the wall opposite the door. It had a Wii and a Play Station console and I could recall all the hours I spent playing video games with her all those years ago. There was a ping pong table off to one side, next to the air hockey table. Hunched over, I searched for something that could be clues as to what caused all this. I saw not-quite-old but very dry blood stains on the corner.
 Faintly, I remembered her vaguely telling me about the incident and I wished she gave me details so that I could find her or at least predict where she’d go next. Above the air hockey table was a corkboard with a cute little picture, obviously something she made when she was very young, of her and her dad who happened to be a police officer.  Inspecting it closer, I notice that there was a slit over the drawing of her father, which was covered in red scribbles. Next to it was another drawing, more recent, and it was a self-portrait. It was of her crying and covered and bruises.

“What happened to you,” I whispered as I took both drawings off the corkboard and put it with the evidence.

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  1. Mikey leaves his empty room in search of entertainment and wanders aimlessly down the hall, away from his apartment. Nobody is looking for him. (He's pretty sure he's not supposed to be unsupervised, but he's not complaining.) One of the doors to his right is swathed in yellow caution tape. Mikey may not have much stability in his life, but one constant has been cop shows, and he knows exactly what a crime scene looks like. Probably. Eager to find out how much the cop shows don't say (or show), he stumbles down the hall in his excitement and knocks on the door.

    He's met with silence, and just when he begins to think that the CAUTION! means that nobody's home, or worse, that someone's home and can't answer the door, he hears shuffling on the other side of the door. This, for a moment, is more terrifying than a dead body lying a few feet away on the other side of the door, because Mikey's seen enough of The Walking Dead to know that if the dead are rising, he doesn't stand a chance unarmed.

    The door opens before he can run away, though, and Mikey finds himself face to face (that's being generous, he's half as tall as this guy) with a man holding latex gloves like they might poison him.

    "Yes?" he rasps, like his voice is raw from crying. Mikey wonders if capable looking adults like this one are allowed to cry. The thought is simultaneously terrifying and immensely comforting. Then, Mikey wonders what he's supposed to say right now. Suddenly desperate and very embarrassed, he looks around, more for something to say than any juicy gossip about a brutal murder (or whatever), but what comes out is "Is that BLOOD?" as he points at a suspicious smear near a door handle on the far wall.

    The man flinches, pulling in on himself in an attempt to get away from Mikey, then again to get away from the bloodstain, and his eyes definitely look red like Mikey's eyes do when he cries. They're a little shinier than he thinks they probably should be.
    Mikey decides that he does not want this capable looking man to cry, if it's not too late already; he's not used to talking to people, but he needs something to say, so he digs through his memories of how people are supposed to make friends. He blurts out, "My name's Mikey, by the way! I live down the hall. Well. For now. It's temporary...It always is. They always say that it doesn't have to be, but-" He cuts himself off, embarrassed by the hard, attentive look this man is giving him.

    He expects the man to say something mean like "Why are you talking to me?" or maybe not say anything at all. Then, he thinks for a brief moment that this man might smile and wipe away his tears and introduce himself and ask how Mikey's doing. Or he'll ask where Mikey's parents are and Mikey will say "I don't know" and then this capable man who's probably a cop will say "Well, let's go find them then!" and he'll find his parents with the help of a friendly, capable adult.

    But instead, the maybe-detective wipes his eyes and pulls his lips into something that's supposed to be a smile but is so clearly not and says, "It's nice to meet you, Mikey. I hope you have a good day, but I have something-someone-I have to take care of." He's looking everywhere except the smear on the wall and the boy in the doorway, and as he raises his door to close the door, Mikey sees that his hands are shaking. How in control can he be, really?

    When the door closes between them, Mikey feels disappointed but not
    particularly surprised, because nobody ever wants to talk to him. He sighs and leans back against the door for a moment. He can almost hear the man crying against the other side, and he wants to say something else, something to tell him it will be okay, but he doesn't have any words for that.

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    2. Bedford has been sent on another "this man doesn't do enough please fire him at his home in front of the ones he loves" assignment. This time, it's an apartment complex on the wrong side of town, one he's never visited before, and as he climbs the steps (the elevator was broken), he reminisces on the days when he and husband had to live in places such as this. Bedford reaches the third floor, turning a sharp corner and proceeds down the hallways to knock on door 307. He stops abruptly at a boy sitting in his path. The kid--small and spikey are the only words Bedford can think of to truly describe him--is curled against the wall, head on his knees. Bedford knows that pose; his kids use it to make him feel guilty.
      "Hey buddy," he says, crouching down next to the boy. "What's going on? I'm Max."
      The kid looks up, eyes wide and resigned-looking. "Name's Mikey," he says. "Some weirdo in there freaking out and I don't know what to do."
      Bedford glances up at the door. 308. Of course. His lucky day. "I'm supposed to talk to a woman who lives there. Think I should knock?" he asks the kid. Mikey.
      "No way. Dude's seriously flipping. I'd wait."
      Bedford slides down, sport coat dragging against the drywall, and sits next to Mikey. He pulls his lunch out of his briefcase, figuring he might as well make the most of his time.
      He unwraps the sandwich his husband had made--ham and mayo--and offers Mikey one half. They sit beside each other, a businessman and an orphan, on the floor of an apartment hallway, chewing silently.

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