Sunday, October 31, 2021

The Dead Need no Words

“He’s dead.”

The grizzled detective nudged the body on the sidewalk with his boot, the reflection of blue lights flashing in the gutter to his right. Hairs stood on the back of his neck as the drizzle soaked his collar. Rain at night was always cold this time of year.

“Uh, Detective. He’s got a pulse.”

“Rookies. Always trying to save the world.” Detective Bannon thought. “Look,” Bannon spoke over his shoulder as his back was to the officer, “twenty-five years on the job… I think I know a stiff when I see one. You might want to keep the crowd back so they don’t contaminate my crime scene.”

The growing crowd was pushing towards the body. The rookie approached them, commanding the rain-soaked wall of humanity to stand back.

The coroner soon arrived, declared the body dead, then asked his assistant to take photos.

“Just like the last one, Harms?” Bannon asked the coroner. Bannon never took the time to learn anyone’s name, he just gave them one. The rookie would have one before the morning.

“I hope not.”

The “last one” was found without a heart. No trauma to the body but no heart inside. Like someone, or something, reached down their throat and neatly removed it. Neither saw trauma to this body.

Bannon reached for a satchel a few feet away and rifled the contents. Papers and notebooks nearly filled with scribblings, along with discs and memory cards in the side pockets.

“That would be for me.” The voice came from behind Bannon.

He turned to look but couldn’t move. He was frozen. The crowd, the rookie, everyone stopped in time. At least Bannon could hear and see but the voice wouldn’t come into view.

“These words don’t belong to him, Detective.” A hand retrieved the satchel. “He was murdered though. You killed him. She killed him.” The hand pointed towards the crowd. “I killed him," the voice paused, "then he killed himself.”

The voice stepped back into the shadows as the world became unfrozen.

Bannon pulled his pistol and followed where he thought the voice went but no trace remained.

Those neck hairs were beginning to bother him...


Link to Poets and Storytellers United - Writers' Pantry #94: Ends and New Beginnings

Residue

I see the dust lining the edge of this monitor and remember the cause (mostly) of the dead skin cells that are shed every day. Ah, that scie...