FOR A LONG TIME I WAS ALONE IN THE DARK. I am alone in the dark. I have always been here, now, all those years ago, alone in the dark. But around me the darkness was shifting, is shifting, subtly altering its disposition. I can feel a Formica surface, slick against my sweating cheek. I open my eyes a sliver and see a pair of gleaming white tennis shoes shuffling over the floor. Men are gathered outside in the corridor, muttering. Someone’s ringtone: a little snatch of a country rock song. The door opens and I squeeze my eyes tight, anticipating pain, but a meaty hand claps me on the back and I open my eyes to find them all around me, the detectives, in attitudes of tiredness and dejection, wiping their faces with handkerchiefs, free hands jammed in their pockets.
—That you, son?
On the table in front of me is a fax. A mug shot on a curling piece of paper. A pair of eyes is just about discernible in the black dot-matrix field of the face. It’s absurd. It would be impossible to recognize any human being from an image which is no more than a shape, a smudge. My mind is forming unwanted associations. My mind was forming associations, long ago. I was thinking, you communicate with other law enforcement agencies by fax? What year is this?
Blank. Say something.
—No sir.
—Looks like you.
Freeze.
Ha ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha!
How they all fell about. Good old boys. I looked down at my hands, turned them over. My skin was white. I touched my ear, my white fingers came away wet. Clear fluid was coming from my ear.
Cop’s finger jabbing at the mug shot.
—Looks like that’s the guy. The perpetrator. Nasty-looking son of a bitch. They found him close to the scene with, shall we say, certain items of hers. Got a record, too. Real ghetto type.
—He killed Leonie.
—That’s right. You’re free to go. I’m sorry that we had to keep you overnight.
Blank. Say something. Still blank.
—But Leonie is dead.
—Unfortunately so. But try to see it in a positive light. At least it weren’t you what done it. We won’t need to detain you any further.
—Detain me?
My hands, my fingertips.
—Look at the boy. Never seen anyone so reluctant.
—Go on, get out of here!
Ha ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha!
—Knock it off, Bob.
Clear fluid, coming from my ear. A long low roaring and a higher tone, an insect whine.
—Look, I’m sorry we had to get rough on you.
—About. About this man.
Not a man. A black shape with two eyes.
—How do you know he killed her?
—He had her things.
—What’s his name?
—Honest answer, it don’t matter. Put it out of your mind.
—Is it Charlie Shaw?
—Like I said, it’s nothing for you to worry about. Just leave all that to us.
—Charlie Shaw. Are you telling me to my face that Charlie Shaw killed Leonie?
—Look at you, all self-righteous and spoiling for a fight. You have every reason to feel sore, I suppose. Best I can tell you, crime like this, passions run high. You got to cut the department some slack. A lot of feelings around this sort of thing. Guy in the picture, he’s a knucklehead. Long list of priors. And now, thanks to you, he’s off the street. So it’s a win. You got to think of it the right way.
—You arrested Charlie Shaw. You have him in custody.
—Looks like you didn’t do it, kid. Just sign the paperwork and we’ll have you on your way.
—Where is he? What facility?
—I don’t have that information, but if you call the number, the switchboard or whatever, they’ll set you right. That’s it, your name on the line there.
It was some kind of waiver. I didn’t read it. I expect it said that I was never there and none of what happened happened and in any case no one would believe me if I told. My hand held a pen. The lead detective slipped the signed paper into a folder.
—I’m sorry for your loss. She was a good-looking girl.
I sat in my chair, unable to move. Though I didn’t dare look up at him, I could feel the change in the detective’s bland blunt face, the weight of his frown.
—Move along, son. It’s time.
O Death spare me over.
Another detective leaned over me. I did not look up. A forearm on the table, skin the color of brick. A hand gripping the handle of a mug that said Number One Dad. I still could not move. I thought it must be a trick. Any moment, when they saw that I had let down my guard, the mood would shift and the pain would start up again. I struggled to keep my composure, always on the verge of moaning or flinching in terrorized anticipation. I stared down at my hands, their raw pink knuckles, the blue veins, terrified that I would see them begin to change, all my security slipping away.
—My advice, the man murmured into my ear. Go to church. Drop some money in the collection plate and leave your questions with it. Go live your life.
Move along. As if it were all settled. Time for me to move along, when nothing was settled at all.
I stood up unsteadily from the table and walked through the crowd of men. Each pace was an effort. I expected to be tripped, taken down. I did not believe for a second that my reprieve would last.
MOVE ALONG.
Excuse me, excuse me.