A Murder For Cassie

By: Alan Dane

 

 

 

The thing about hospitals and clinics that make them virtually all the same, is that the really good ones have lighting that floods and permeates the entire room, almost bleaching it bright white, and the smell of industrial anti-bacterials and disinfectants that makes the visitor assured that all precautions have been taken to avoid the spread of germs and sickness.

 

At least that’s what Detective Marcus Vernon had always thought.

 

He stood in the hallway of the mental hospital staring at his own overly lighted physique as he bounced lightly on his heels, waiting for his impartial colleague to emerge from the room he was standing just outside of.

 

Even though his favorite blue suit was clean and neatly pressed, his shirt collar was perfectly starched, and not a single wrinkle did abide on his clothing, he still felt less than clean in his sterile environment, and the longer he waited, the more self-conscious he felt about it.

 

He could feel the sweat building in his clenched hand as it grasped the manilla file folder he had been carrying for several hours waiting for this moment. He knew that the moment he set it down, the folder would display the discoloration of his sweat in the shape of his palm.

 

Normally that wouldn’t have bothered him, but the current environment made him consider everything about himself.

 

After quite a while wait longer, the large, solid-core industrial wooden door opened in front of him, startling him from a moment of daydreaming.

 

An older gentleman with gray hair and brown suit with a badge hanging from his waist nodded in Marcus’s direction.

 

“Go ahead, Vernon,” he announced in a monotone. “Everything went well.”

 

With that simple statement, the older detective scurried off down the hall.

 

Vernon peered into the room to see that it was more like a dimly lit parlor. The soft lighting and expensive decor stank of richness that only a man on a Psychiatrist’s or congressman’s salary could afford.

 

He stepped in cautiously and took a moment to survey the entire room, letting the door close behind him.

 

To his right was a large oak desk, stained a rich dark shade and hand carved to perfection. Behind that desk sat another older man. He was obviously the Psychiatrist. His paunch belly had only been partially obscured by his desk, and his thick fingers clasped in front of his mouth revealed the rest of his portly stature by proxy.

 

The doctor sat in self-imposed authority, surrounded by framed diplomas, degrees, and Doctorates. Scattered about the room were framed awards and magazine and medical journal covers, all of them sporting his name, and even a couple with his face proudly plastered in an old man’s grin, his fat cheeks pushing his eyes closed from beneath and a camera flash reflecting off of his balding scalp.

 

Detective Vernon shuddered.

 

Also, in the room was a uniformed officer. He had the appearance of a seasoned veteran. He looked stern, but also looked like a man who was simply on the job, doing what he knew how to do.

 

On his left, sitting at a metal table in an orange prison jumpsuit with his hands cuffed in front of him and his head bowed in shame, was the reason for his visit.

 

The man looked ashamed and confused. His demure was calm and relaxed, but he also looked very aware of the gravity of what was ahead of him.

 

He was in his mid to late thirties, and slightly prematurely gray. His physique was not a man in top shape, but he wasn’t overweight or unhealthy looking either. He seemed to be a typical man of his age.

 

On the other side of his table was another chair, slightly pulled out for the detective’s benefit.

 

The Psychiatrist was the first to speak from his wooden throne, lowering his voice in an attempt to make it boom a little more than it normally would to be the controlling element in the room.

 

Marcus was smarter than that. He knew what the man was up to.

 

“Detective, I have to let you know that the hypnosis was successful. Keeping in mind that I can’t tell with any degree of certainty to what degree his memory of the events are sharper, as the law prohibits me from questioning him at all without the presence of an attorney while under hypnosis. His public defender has already made that clear.”

 

Marcus was surprised, “He has representation? Where is the P.D.?”

 

The uniformed officer in the room chimed in, “The suspect has asked that he be allowed to speak freely and dismissed the counselor at this time.”

 

Marcus sat down at the table across from the prisoner and stared silently in his direction for a moment before changing his gaze to the empty table top.

 

“Doctor,” he asked. “I was told that the recording equipment would be here for this?”

The uniformed officer retrieved a video camera fastened to a tripod from a darkened corner of the room.

“Sorry, detective. We had to put it away during the hypnosis.”

 

As the cop set up the video camera, the Detective opened the file folder in front of him on the table. He had not been expecting video. Normally a simple cassette deck would be enough. Then again, he knew this case was anything but normal.

 

Detective Vernon raised his voice in the prisoner’s direction. “Mr. Ganderson? I am Detective Marcus Vernon. I am here to question you about the events on and leading up to September Sixteenth. Do you understand this?”

 

The prisoner never raised his head. “Call me Michael. Mr. Ganderson is my father.”

 

The cop chimed in, “Video is rolling.”

 

Marcus sat back in his chair and folded his arms in front of him across his chest. “Well, Michael. The floor is yours. Tell me about this ‘Cassie’ person.”

 

Michael snapped his head forward to lock into the eyes of the detective.

 

“You know, everyone keeps trying to tell me that I am mad, that I am losing my mind. Cassie was my girlfriend and that’s that. I am not making the whole thing up.”

 

Marcus’ eyes darted upward from the file folder and locked solidly with Michael’s eyes. Michael looked stern and cold. His eyes were a silver blue color that made his glare look frigid, but the expression around Michael’s eyes told a different story. He looked like a man confused to the point of questioning his own whereabouts.

 

“Okay, Michael. I’m not here to pre-judge. You tell me about her and what she has to do with all of this.”

 

Michael dropped his gaze back down toward the table. “I want a smoke.”

 

From behind the oak desk power-shrine, the Psychiatrist objected harshly. “This is a hospital! There’s no smoking here!”

 

Marcus held an open palm in the air to call for order. “Look, if this guy is going to cooperate without a lawyer during confession, he can smoke a whole pack, and I don’t give a shit where he is.”

 

Detective Vernon waved the uniformed officer over to the table.

 

The cop followed the gesture toward the detective, but lacked enthusiasm in the task.

 

For the first time, the detective was able to read the name tag on the uniform.

“Jones.”

 

Easy to remember.

 

“Got a smoke, Jones?” asked the detective.

 

Jones reached into his pocket and produced a cigarette that he simply flicked in the direction of the suspect Michael. He had obviously felt disgust toward the man.

 

Michael lit his cigarette and eased into his chair as he exhaled the first puff of smoke into the sceptic air.

 

“She was beautiful,” Michael began. “Her eyes were a bright green that you would rarely see outside of an emerald. They glowed in the dark, at times. She had medium length blonde hair that always smelled of strawberries and had a slight wave to it. The slightest breeze would cause it to change shape and she would look completely different all of the time.

 

“She was truly beautiful. She didn’t have a single blemish anywhere.”

 

The detective shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “She was how old, Michael?”

 

“She was twenty-two.”

 

Officer Jones sighed with an anger that charged electric through the room.

 

Detective Vernon ignored the cop, but instead leaned in toward the suspect. “And I believe you are in your thirties, Michael?”

 

Michael nodded as he took another drag from the cigarette, giving the bright red glow over to the darkness and breaking through it like a floodlight. “I’m thirty-seven.”

 

Jones grumbled from across the room. Michael kept his vision locked on either the table or the detective at all times. He knew what the cop thought of him, and he did not want to add to the discomforted friction that flew between them.

 

“I know our age difference seems to bother some people, but we were happy.

 

“I don’t remember how we met. I sincerely don’t. I believe it must have been near the college campus downtown. She told me that she had dropped out a year or two before, but had come back for some unfinished business she had in town. I had never questioned her presence at all. She rented a room at some co-ed boarding house in the city that had security so thick that it would take a magician to get in and out without detection.

 

“I remember her saying that she had rented a room in an all-female boarding house just off-campus while she was attending college there that had a special rate for the students who were attending the University.”

Michael tilted his head slightly sideways addressing the Detective. “You know, in the weeks we were together, we never had conversations about our lives. I didn’t know her birthday, nor she mine. I didn’t know her parents’ names, or her home town, or even her favorite color. Our attraction toward each other was so intense and the relationship so whirlwind, that none of the trivial things seemed to matter.

 

“When she told me she loved me, I believed her. I could see it in her eyes every time. It was there forever.”

 

Detective Vernon tapped a rigid finger on the table. The man was blithering and it was beginning to upset him. “Tell me about that day, Michael. What brought you to that house?”

 

Michael snuffed out his smoke on the table top. He had little to care about. It didn’t matter if he were charged for property damage now, considering his current line-up of accusations.

 

He slumped back slightly in his chair and clasped his shackled hands in front of him, as a scholar deep in thought. His eyes trained up toward the ceiling, looking intensely at an object that wasn’t there.

 

“We were in bed. It was the night before, and we had engaged in some pillow-talk, which was unusual, even for us.

 

“The subject came about regarding my source of income. I told her that during the day I was a photographer for a local portrait studio. No glamour job, but it payed the bills. Being a single man without much of a life, I explained that I did some handy-man work on the side on the weekends for some various places around the town. I had even done some work for some of the boarding houses that catered to the college students.

 

“For whatever reason, the look on her face had gone cold as she asked me which ones I did work for. She actually trembled as she listened to me tell her the names of the four or five places that I did work for on a regular basis.

 

“When I mentioned the Finster’s place, she broke down. She had gotten to the point of being near hysterics. It was all I could do to comfort her and let her know that she was safe.”

 

Michael stopped his story and closed his eyes. Marcus could see he was holding back tears, but only someone sitting so close would be able to notice.

 

The detective sat silently, waiting for Michael to regain his composure.

 

After a small eternity, Michael fell forward in his chair, catching himself in his own hands. Soon, he was holding his hands against his face, as if trying to capture the escaped emotion, to hide it from the spectators in the room that to him were more like intruders, now.

Michael sighed, but it wavered.

 

Detective Vernon remained emotionless and expressionless. He did not know what action to take, so his best course of action to leave things as they were, and let Michael work through it. The man had lost most of his memory during the ordeal, and to give him more trauma might wipe his mind clean again.

 

It had taken the Psychiatrist almost a week of hypnosis to bring it back, and he was one of the best. A lesser doctor would have taken a month.

 

Marcus held his peace, but hoped for someone else in the room to lend some comfort, or reassurance, but the room remained silent.

 

Michael’s voice finally returned, even if much weaker than before.

 

“I wish I could tell you how long it took to calm her down, but she cried for what felt like forever and nothing I could do would help. When she was finally able to tell me, she remained balled up on the bed, biting down on a butterfly pendant she always wore on a necklace. I’ll never forget that clicking sound.

 

“Her story started with her arrival at the college and the dorms being full. Her parents were not that rich, and had struggled to pay for her tuition. She had a couple of small scholarships that paid a good portion of her tuition, but her parents still had to struggle to pay the rest. There was no way they would be able to put her up in an apartment, even with room mates.

 

“She had been determined to make it work, so she got a job at a local fast food eatery working late at night, flipping burgers at grabby drunks. She found a small boarding house just off campus, the Finster’s place, that offered her a room at a price she could afford.

 

“As it turned out, they wanted more than money for her rent. According to Cassie, the old lady Finster and her brother Nate, even though in their early sixties, had a streak of perversion that ran deeper than the darkest abyss.

 

“She had been drugged one night after dinner, and awoke to find herself in a dungeon-type place, stripped naked, and being molested by the brother Nate while the old lady Finster video taped the whole thing.

 

“She said that she had cried out, but was told that the more she resisted, the longer it would go on. They had whipped her, and burned her, and forced her to do unspeakable things, asking her to smile at the camera all the while, as if she was taking part willingly. She was told that she would even be rewarded if she were to beg to be treated that way even more in front of the camera.

 

“When it was all over, they told her that should she ever say anything to anyone, that the tape would be shown to the authorities and her parents to prove that it was really what she wanted to do, and that she was a willing participant.

 

“The next day, several of the other girls had told her that the same had happened to them, and that they had no choice but to remain silent, as their families were prominent businessmen and had a lot to lose in reputation should it ever come out, even if it was really rape.

 

“When she had told me all of this, I couldn’t believe that this old couple would do anything like that, and had even suspected that maybe she was trying to pull a fast-one on me. I had been all over that house and not once did I ever come across a room like that.

 

“Then, I remembered.”

 

Michael’s demure had changed. His fists were clenched and shaking. An anger was rising in him in a rushing tide of resolution. Detective Vernon had supposed that Michael was re-living the entire memory vividly because of the hypnosis.

 

The room was silent. Not even a breath could be heard as the observers watched Michael as closely as the video sentinel that had been capturing the whole confession.

 

The detective asked him, “Michael, what did you remember?”

 

Michael’s eyes lifted slightly to stare into the eyes of the detective. They had become bloodshot as the adrenaline had forced his eyes to bulge in their sockets.

 

“I remembered that a month earlier I had to go into the attic to repair an air-duct. Part of the attic had been illegally finished off years earlier, and they had used the room upstairs to rent out to even more people, but the building inspector had caught them and ordered those rooms closed  off.

 

“The stairway was curved, and as I rounded the curved walls, ascending the stairs, I accidentally broke away part of the wooden slat paneling that they used on the stairwell. I felt bad for damaging it, and not wanting to lose a good paying customer, I hid the damage by repairing it as best as I could.

 

“The thing that I had noticed that was odd was that the portion that I damaged wasn’t like a wall at all, but more like a door. I actually had repaired a hinge. I also remember something inside that looked like oblong tiles with girls’ names on them.

 

“It was while listening to Cassie that I realized that they weren’t oblong tiles at all, but video tapes that had been labeled for each girl they had done it to. I became sick to my stomach.

 

“I told Cassie about my discovery, and she begged me to take her there and retrieve the tape with her name on it. She said that she would then alert the police to what the old couple had been up to, and let the authorities know where the other tapes could be found.

 

“I told her it was the wrong thing to do if the other girls had begged her to keep it secret for the sake of their families. I mean, I wanted to bust them, but I didn’t want to ruin the lives of so many more people.

 

“Cassie finally said that she only wanted her video, and that she would turn it in and only implicate herself.

 

“I told her it was a damned good idea, so we got into my truck and headed over to the Finster’s boarding house.

 

“When we got there, I told her to wait in the truck as I went in and got the tape.

 

“It was the middle of the night, and everyone was home and sleeping, so I had to be very quiet. I used the key that the Finsters had given me in case of an emergency and I let myself in. I used a cigarette lighter to light my way through the hallways until I got to the attic stairs.”

 

Detective Vernon broke his trance and shuffled through the file papers in front of him. “Michael, there was nothing in here about a recovered video tape.”

 

Michael reached his cuffed hands across the table and rested them on the papers the detective was rustling around. It was Michael’s way of telling him that he was wasting his time.

 

“When I got to the part of the stairway that I had repaired, I saw that it had been torn apart. Apparently, one of them had noticed that it had been repaired, and they had moved the video tapes. Possibly destroyed them. There was nothing there anymore, but I know what I saw before. They were there.”

 

Michael sat back in his chair again.

 

“I made my way back downstairs. We were going to have to come up with a better plan.

 

“When I reached the main floor, I saw Cassie standing just outside of the kitchen door, holding a knife. I didn’t see anything else, so I approached her quickly and whispered to her, asking why she didn’t wait in the truck. It was at that point that she told me that she had killed Finster.

 

“She said that she had come in looking for me, as I had been taking too long, and she had been surprised by the sleepwalking woman, so she killed her.

 

“I slapped the knife out of her hand, not realizing that it was drenched in blood, and it spattered all over me and the wall behind her. It just, kind of, sprayed crimson everywhere.

 

“She picked the knife back up and ran out of the front door toward the truck. I followed, of course, and drove off as quickly as I could, hoping that my truck hadn’t been seen. I know it was the wrong thing to do, but I was panicked. I was terrified and I didn’t know what to do. It had all happened so fast!”

Detective Vernon scowled, “I think you have the events a little screwed up, my friend. You were apprehended inside the house, not escaping in your truck. Also, it was in the morning, not at night.”

 

Michael shook his head.

 

“We drove for a couple of hours, arguing the whole way. I told her that we had to do something. This was all so wrong, and we had to come clean. There were extenuating circumstances and it would most likely be justifiable, or even temporary insanity. Either way, we had to go back.

 

“She insisted that the whole story would be considered bunk if we didn’t have the video tape. She insisted that I drop her off at the police station, while I go back and find the video. She said she would wait for me there until I arrived with the video tape.

 

“When I got to the Finster place, I wasn’t inside for more than five minutes when the police arrived. They said I killed the woman, and arrested me.”

 

Detective Vernon allowed silence to fall upon the room after Michael Ganderson, suspected murderer, had finished speaking. There were so many questions answered by the confession, and yet raised so many more. He had always let himself absorb the information and consider it before speaking, while it was freshly imprinted in his mind.

 

“Michael,” the detective started. “You claimed after your arrest that you had watched this ‘Cassie’ go into the police station, as you had planned. Is this correct?”

 

“Yes,” Michael answered. He knew what was coming. He had been asked the same question several times since his arrest.

 

“Then, why,” Vernon pondered his own question before finishing it. “Why is it, that the police security cameras both inside and outside of the station recorded no such woman? You claimed she was wearing a white blouse with a red handkerchief tied loosely around her neck and was followed into the police station by a flower delivery man, and an overweight black woman. Both of them are seen on the tape at the time you stated, but no Cassie.”

 

Vernon noticed Michael’s hands had clenched into fists on the table.

 

“I know, detective. This has been brought to my attention, and I have no explanation. I saw her go in. I saw her walk up the stairs and walk through the door.”

 

Marcus Vernon had only one more question for him at the moment.

 

“Michael, what about the old woman’s brother?”

 

Michael looked up, searching for an answer somewhere in the atmosphere that wouldn’t come. “I don’t know, detective. I never saw him.”

Detective Vernon gathered his file folder together and closed it in front of him on the table. This was going nowhere.

 

“Officer Jones,” he called out. “Take Michael back to jail while I go over the confession and make my recommendations to the district attorney.”

 

Michael went back to jail with even more questions than he had before the psychiatrist had helped him sharpen his memory. The details were more vivid than ever, and he had become sure of his answers. He was more sure than he had been before. Yet, what happened to Cassie? Where did she go? How did she disappear?

 

By the time he had returned to the jail house, it was already almost time for lights-out, but Michael couldn’t sleep. He was heartbroken and dismayed, so all he did on most nights was sit up on his bunk, separated from the other prisoners for his own protection, and left alone in his solitary cell.

 

Tonight was no different. He stared at the wall opposite his bunk hour after silent hour trying to forget again.

 

Then Michael rubbed his eyes and smiled.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t desert me, Cassie.”

 

Standing across from him, against the wall of the dingy prison, stood Cassie.

 

“Hello, Michael. You know I would never leave you.”

 

Michael couldn’t stay mad at her. He loved her. He would even take the blame for the murder if she asked him to. He couldn’t be mad at her for any reason.

 

“Where did you go? They caught me before I could find the tape. I failed you.”

 

Cassie shook her head. “You have never failed me, Michael.”

 

He absorbed her essence. She shined through the darkness of the night. Her beauty radiated light. The rest of the prison could be pitch black without a sliver of light, and Michael knew he could use her as a beacon to light his way.

 

“If I had only found that tape,” he lamented.

 

Cassie waved her hand toward the jail cell door, and it flew open. “Then go get it, Michael. You’re safe. No one can touch you, now.”

 

Michael’s eyes bulged open. A tremor of shock forced its way from the top of his scalp, down to the tips of his toes in an instant. It terrified him.

“How?”

 

Cassie reached out her delicate hand to him. “I have ultimate power here. Nothing can happen to you.”

 

Michael rose from his perch, his muscles aching from being idle, but he wasn’t going to let a thing like that deprive him of his freedom.

 

He could run, he thought. He could run away and go into hiding and leave this all behind. But he knew there was no way he could leave Cassie to fend for herself, no matter how ultimate she felt her power was. He knew she needed him, or she would not be there.

 

Michael walked out of the prison, each door swinging open on its own as he neared it, each lock unlatching and showing him the way to the outside world. There were no other prisoners in the cells, no guards, no guns, no visitors, and no staff. The world had abandoned him.

 

Everyone, that is, except for Cassie. She would never leave him. He knew it. It gave him life.

 

Soon, the day broke, and as the sun rose on the eastern horizon and warmed the dew on the ground, Michael found himself back at the Finster place. It was still surrounded by the yellow police line tape that stood sentry over each crime scene, as flimsy as paper, but as bold as a brick wall in its own self-assurance that it can keep unwanted intruders out.

 

Michael went inside and immediately figured he would try the basement. He had found the tapes before in the stairway to the attic, so he figured that if they were anywhere on the property, it would most likely be in the basement, possibly in an old boarded up fruit cellar or coal bin long out of use.

 

He snatched a candle and a book of matches from an end table in the living room. The older people in the area always kept them on hand and nearby during the stormy season in preparation of blackouts and downed power lines.

 

From there, he had to find his way downstairs.

 

The stairway down to the basement yielded a dim hanging bulb that only cast a shadow across the stairs, but Michael had no fear. He felt this time he knew he would find the tapes. He would find Cassie’s tape, and prove her existence, and help bring the truth out about the Finsters.

 

The clammy air in the cellar was thick with the stench of mold. Most of the old houses in the area had that problem, so it would only take a moment to get used to it and move on.

 

Finally, in a back corner of the room, he found an old wooden door into a fruit cellar. Somehow he had a feeling that this one wouldn’t contain endless dusty jars of preserves and pickled beets stacked haphazardly on old wooden shelves in store against the day of apocalypse.

 

The wood of the door had been so softened from the heavy humidity and dampness of the basement, he was able to rip the boards that sealed it shut, right off of the nails that had impaled them there.

 

Once he had broken the door open, Michael lit his candle and stepped inside.

 

Just as he had suspected, there were no jars of any sort in there, just an old box and a tarp balled up in the back corner.

 

Michael swallowed a brick as he pulled the tarp away.

 

Slumped in the corner of the fruit cellar was the decayed body of a young woman. She had blonde hair, slightly wavy, and at one time was very beautiful.

 

Hanging from around her neck was a small butterfly necklace.

 

Michael felt his knees give way, and he folded over onto the cold, wet, dusty floor.

 

“My God, Cassie,” he wept.

 

The light in the room increased, and he felt Cassie’s warmth envelope the room. She was with him again, shining brighter than before.

 

“Michael,” her voice trembled from the opening of the fruit cellar. “You need to show the cops the video. You have to do this for me.”

 

He could only produce tears for her. His eyes had held fast to the rotten remains of the girl he had loved all this time. He knew her essence stood in the doorway, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

 

“I don’t know where the tape is,” he sobbed.

 

“Yes you do,” she replied, comforting him. “Michael, it’s in your hand.”

 

Michael composed himself and stood up, facing her. He had choked back his tears for now. He had something he had to take care of.

 

Cassie stood before him, and reached out a serene hand and touched his shoulder. When she did, everything around him had gone bleached white. There was only Cassie and him right now. The rest of the world seemed to disappear.

 

He focused on her green eyes as she spoke to him.

 

“Michael, listen to me. The time we have known each other has all been a dream, an illusion.”

 

“No,” he refused to listen.

 

“Michael. This is the day we met. We never saw each other until you found me, just like this, in this basement while doing work for the Finsters. You found the tapes and watched them. You even found mine. When you saw them, you woke up the Finsters and confronted them. They ran to the kitchen to call the police because you threatened them, so you killed them.

 

“When you watched my tape, you resurrected me.

 

“No time has passed. In this world, I have ultimate power because I control this world. This world resides solely in your mind.”

 

Michael felt his stomach lurching inside of him. Part of him felt that what she was saying was true. He felt it was all true.

 

“Why is all of this happening?”

 

Cassie smiled, “I wanted to thank you for bringing me justice, and to tell you how much I loved you for doing it. Look around you, Michael. What do you see?”

 

His surroundings came into focus. The world had frozen into a still life portrait of a snapshot in time. He was standing outside of the kitchen. In front of him were the two cops who had stumbled onto the scene, including Officer Jones from the psychiatrist’s office.

 

She looked at him with her deep green eyes, filled with all honesty. “Michael, everything that you remember happening from this point in time, and up until now has never happened. It has all taken place in a fraction of a second in your mind. You are still here, at this moment.”

 

Cassie was behind Michael now, as he stared directly into the immovable eyes of Officer Jones.

 

“Michael, you only have a few moments. The tape is still in the VCR, and if you don’t get it for him, they will never know. You will simply be known as a cold-blooded killer that took the lives of an elderly couple. No matter what happens, I want you to remember two things.

 

“I want you to remember that I love you for what you have done. For your whole life and beyond  I will love you. I also want you to remember that there is nothing more important right now than getting that tape into the hands of those cops.”

 

Suddenly, Cassie was gone, and the world resumed motion.

 

Officer Jones reached for his gun and his eyes filled with fire. “Hey, stay right where you are, you sick bastard!”

 

Michael looked down at his blood-splattered clothes.

 

“The tape,” he whispered.

 

Michael spun around and darted toward the living room, where the VCR nestled the tape within its electronic cradle.

 

Each moment passed in slow motion, and each sense he had was heightened with adrenaline. He could hear Jones pulling the gun from its holster.

 

Michael raced. He had convinced himself that he could maybe outrun the bullet, or at the very least, out-maneuver it.

 

A shot rang out, but by the time the sound wave had reached Michael’s ears, he had already been thrown by the force of the bullet, and the searing pain from his shattered shoulder blade had impacted his brain.

 

 

 

 

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Michael fell to the floor, but without hesitating, he crawled toward his destination, determined to reach the tape.

 

Pieces of bone from his shattered shoulder blade had been embedded into his shoulder muscles, increasing the pain, and grinding the bone shrapnel deeper into the wound each time he lunged his shoulder forward on his trek.

 

Behind him, he could hear Jones walking toward him, “I said, stop!”

 

The other officer called out in vain to Jones, but the anger in Jones had taken over. He wanted to avenge the people he saw as a sweet, old couple. He didn’t know them as the brother and sister perverts who raped and blackmailed college coeds, and if Michael were to fail, then no one would ever know.

 

Michael rounded the corner into the living room, and the television and VCR were a mere five feet away when another shot rang out.

 

The bullet burned through Michael’s thigh, causing him to recoil.

 

Still, he pushed on.

 

The other cop with Jones had grabbed Jones’s gun and tried to take it away, but Jones fought him, and the gun went off into the air.

 

Michael braced for the impact, but nothing struck him. There was only a couple of feet, now. One more squirm and he would be able to reach out and hit the ‘eject’ button. His mind had focused on only that. He needed to block out the pain as he dragged himself across the floor, leaving his life blood trailing behind him, a snail track of crimson smeared into the threadbare carpet.

 

The other cop tackled Jones as Jones took aim for another shot, with both of them landing on Michael’s back, stopping him from going any further.

 

But Michael felt he was close enough, now, to reach the button.

 

Jones struggled against his partner, and with one strong arm, he turned Michael over onto his back.

 

The two of them now were eye to eye on the floor.

 

It would come down to these few seconds.

 

Michael reached his arm toward the VCR and muttered, “Jones, the tape.”

 

As Michael reached, Jones screamed to his partner, “He’s reaching for a weapon, dammit! Let me go!”

 

Jones pulled his gun free from his partner and trained the gun on Michael.

 

As Michael’s finger was a fraction of an inch from the ‘eject’ button, Jones fired a single round into Michael’s head. The bullet traveled from under his chin and through the top of his skull.

 

The jolt forced Michael’s body to tense up, forcing his finger that last tiny bit to hit the button.

 

As Jones and his partner relaxed from their struggle, Jones heard the soft whirring sound of the VCR, and then the tape popped out. The tape sat perched in the mouth of the VCR with a white label proudly pronouncing the title: “Cassie.”

 

 

 

Nearly a month later, Officer Jones sat at a folding table in an interrogation room at the prison, with his wrists shackled and his hands folded in front of him, resting on the table. The orange prison jumpsuit was not as flattering on him as the police uniform.

 

The door opened and a man in a dark blue suit approached him and sat down in a folding chair on the opposite side of the table.

 

“Officer Jones,” the man began, opening a manila folder in front of him and shuffling through the contents. “I am Detective Marcus Vernon. I was assigned to you case in matter of your incident with the suspect named Michael Ganderson. Are you aware that this investigation has been completed?”

 

Officer Jones meekly kept his gaze lowered to the table. “Yes, sir”

 

Vernon sighed, “Well, after your report and your partner’s report about the crime scene, it states that you had first found the bodies of the Finsters, and when leaving the kitchen, had encountered the suspect Mr. Ganderson.”

 

Jones repeated, “Yes, sir.”

 

The detective calmly looked through a series of papers and photographs before continuing.

 

“When you had questioned the suspect about the murders, he only mentioned the murder of the old woman, but did not mention the murder of the man. Did it seem odd to you that he knew nothing of the second body?”

 

Jones felt as though he was being intimidated into speculating. “I can’t say.”

 

“Your partner claims the man mentioned that a woman named Cassie had been there with him and had committed the murder, that would be in the singular case, Officer Jones.

 

“After review of the video tape that Ganderson had ejected from the VCR, it is presumed that the woman he blamed for the murder was the star of the video tape, who’s body was later found in the basement of the house having been decaying for a couple of years. Her name had also been ‘Cassie’.

 

“Officer Jones, whereas I can understand your suspicion of the man, having found him in the house with blood splattered across him, we have yet to find a murder weapon, and judging by the nature of the suspect’s wounds and the order they were inflicted shows you had shot a man in the back twice, and had shot to kill when the man wasn’t armed.

 

“Officer Jones, you will be charged with first degree intentional homicide. Michael Ganderson’s case will be closed, as he is now deceased. I tell you this, Jones, that if I had been handed his case, he would have walked after seeing what he saw and finding what he found. I would see it as justifiable and would have testified on his behalf in court.”

 

Jones contemplated his next statement. “You’re going to think I am crazy, but...”

 

“But, what?” Vernon humored him.

 

“I had a dream the night before that I saw this man walking out of prison in the middle of the night, and no one bothered to stop him. I didn’t think it was a dream, though. It felt so... real.”

 

Marcus Vernon closed his file folder. “Jones, there are so many unanswered things about this case that we may never understand. At the police station that morning, it appeared on the security video, a woman who looked exactly like Cassie walking into the station, wearing a red handkerchief, and carrying a knife...”

 

 

copyright Alan Dane (2008)

 

You can read more of Alan's work at  http://www.myspace.com/alandane