No, nothing happened, just a story i wrote
Its kinda cheesy, but hey, i havent written anything in a while.
The Incident
“I can’t wait until we find out who this killer really is,” Detective Clement shot across the room.
“Yeah, me too,” Crime Scene Investigator Anderson replies back, half-heartedly.
I’m sure that Clement does not notice this, but I sure did. Clement, however, does not know that Anderson would be having a horrid day (if everything was resolved). But, my day had already been pretty rotten. But hey, you can probably tell because I would not be sitting here, chained to this desk if I wasn’t.
You see, it all started around the beginning of today, Friday. The date is the 13th of March, around the time when the snow turns to slush. Here in England, Mother Nature goes into overdrive with rain. It was early in the morning, around 3:00 I think, and I was supposed to be at my cousin’s house in York a few hours ago. I had just got off a red-eye flight coming in from Cambridge, and the rain was coming down in sheets. Because of all the rain and melting snow, the roads were icy, which is why it took me an extra hour to get from the airport to my cousin James’s apartment. Not only was it pitch black in the complex when I got into my cousins’ apartment was near the top of the penthouse. It is definitely a hassle getting up to his apartment, especially since—just my luck—the elevator malfunctioned the day before. When I finally came to his door I was huffing, but I still called to him from in the hallway.
“Come in,” I heard James say weakly. I let myself in, and I saw James on the couch, head in his hands, weeping. There were some broken lamps and china, which suggested that there had been a struggle before I had gotten here.
“What happened?” I asked, shocked.
James looked up at me, his face tear streaked. “Caroline is dead,” he replied quietly. “Someone came in here near 2:00 and shot her.”
Caroline was James’ wife, but we were all close friends. This would be a tragic loss for both of us. I did not know what to say. For one thing I was shocked and too depressed to utter a word, and I was still out of breath from my climb. So I stayed there, sitting next to him, fighting back my own tears, but I know my anguish was still showing. I do not know how long I was sitting there, but eventually the clock struck four, and I finally spoke.
“Did you see who did it? How many people were there?” I questioned. He was mute for a few more minutes, but he finally answered.
“One,” he answered, precipitation on his face. I do not know if it was sweat or tears. “He came in through the window, and shot her while we were still waiting for you to come. Before he could escape, I hit him in the head with a vase. It stunned him, but he still climbed out back through the window.” I am no detective on my own, but I think it would be pretty hard for someone to jump out of a window from the penthouse and live. Unless he had help from someone else…
“I will miss her greatly,” he finished. He didn’t even sound remorseful.
We sat on the couch for the rest of the morning. Finally, at 7 O’clock, the door opened. Two people came in. One had a large bushy moustache, with hard features like they were chiseled from stone. The other person did not have any hair at all, and he smirked the whole time like it was permanently stuck on his face. This man was also carrying a case. I presumed that they were both detectives, because both wore those detective hats you see in movies.
“Hello, James,” the mustached detective said. “I’m Detective Clement, and this here is your crime scene investigator, Anderson,” Clement said, gesturing towards the smirking officer. “If you have any problems, please let me know.” Clement handed a card to James. After that, he gave us a salute, and left us with Anderson.
Obviously from his expression, he did not look happy to be here. I guess that he was an unhappy person in general, but it looked like he had beads of sweat on his forehead. He got out some gloves from the case he was carrying, and started walking around the room. He examined a lot of the objects in the room and labeled them with numbers, which I guess these types of people did whenever something like this happened. I still don’t think that a leftover piece of bread on the counter or a grouping of photos had anything to do with the murder, but hey, he was a professional at this.
All this time, James was telling him the story about what happened, but this just seemed to make Anderson frown even more. When my cousin finished telling his perspective, the detective went to the door. He stooped down, and put some powder on the doorknob. Even though I don’t know much about how detectives do what they do, I knew enough to know that he was getting fingerprints. Okay, so maybe Anderson wasn’t a professional, because I’m pretty sure that James said that the killer came in through the window.
At this time, the detective finally got to wipe his brow. When Anderson did this, he lifted the cap he was still wearing. Underneath the brow was a bandage on his forehead. I said nothing, but inside I was paralyzed. I finally got the will to move, but just then Anderson finished with the doorknob.
“Are you okay?” he asked nonchalantly. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” I managed to say. He gave me a curious look, but then turned around and labeled the door with a “13”. After that, I walked over to where James was. I pulled him over to the nearby room, the bedroom. There was a small blood stain on the carpet, but there wasn’t any number labeled on it.
“James, you need to listen to me,” I said urgently.
“What?” he said as if he were in a daze.
“This detective, Anderson, isn’t who you think he—” I was cut off by the sound of a gun going off. Right after, James fell to the floor, dead. Behind him was Anderson, a revolver in his hand.
That is the end of my story, but I’m sure no one will care once I’m firmly settled in prison. You see, after he shot my cousin, Anderson cuffed me and brought me here to the crime lab. He warned me that if the truth ever got out, I would and up like James. He will probably never get caught anyways, because he has clear evidence that I came in through the door at around the time of the crime. What isn’t working in my favor is that James died right on the spot where his wife shed her blood.
However, I think that Anderson has underestimated me, because while he was getting his fake evidence, I got my own. I used the same method he did, applying the powder and getting the prints, only for me, I did it off the only thing he touched without his gloves; his suitcase. And, of course, I left my print next to his, and they can get so easily mixed up.
So, at the moment, Clement and Anderson are analyzing the prints, which will most likely lead to my life in prison. However, if all works out, Anderson will be in my place. But it is hard to defy fate when you are stuck in a chair, watching your own downfall.
Unfortunately for me, around the time that Clement would have found a match to Anderson’s fingerprint, there was another revolver shot. This time, it hit Clement in the back of the head. Right before he dropped to the ground, he shot a look of shock at Anderson.
However, Anderson did not shoot him. Instead, my cousin came up. He dropped his gun and kicked it across the room. It stopped next to the foot of my desk. Then Anderson and James left, leaving me with a dead body and a horrible stench.
I think the next time my cousin wanted to fake his own death, it would be great if he actually told me before. I mean, it really did seem like he died until I saw the blanks on the floor. Also, it would be nice to explain why he murdered Caroline.
Sorry about being off-topic. I'll delete this.
