AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Justice.”
“Okay, and what’s justice, to you?”
“It’s my name,” he says.
“Oh. I see. Justice. And how would you spell that?”
“J U S T I C E.”
I’m going to guess he doesn’t have any ID with that name on it. I play along. No need to get hostile yet.
“Ah, I see. And where would you say you were last Tuesday night between ten pm and five am?”
“Hm,” he says. “Well. I don’t generally sleep at night, so I was likely out for a walk.”
“In the middle of Brooklyn in the middle of the night.”
“Yes. Probably.”
“I see. And while you were out for a walk did you happen to see, or perhaps do anything out of the ordinary?”
“MONSTER!” A passerby catches a glimpse of Justice, screams, and flees.
“People are dramatic here,” he observes.
“You not from around here, buddy?”
“West Virginia, originally,” he clarifies.
“I see. How long have you been in the city?”
“Around three months or so.”
That coincides with the first murders very neatly. The beast has been stalking Brooklyn for twelve weeks exactly. It is at this point the hairs on the back of my neck start to wake up from their perpetual slumber. I don’t get creeped out anymore. You see enough bits of people in various states, and you stop responding in a normal way. But this is different. This is starting to get weird.
For one, the way he moves is a little too natural. I’ve seen people in costumes before. There’s always something awkward and wrong in the way they move. A physical stutter. He doesn’t have that. When he looks around, moves his hands, takes a step, he does so like every part of him belongs to him.
“Would you mind coming with me? I have some questions I need to ask you that would be better asked in private.”
I’m not going to make the mistake of trying to outright arrest him. I need to contain him, but I have no idea how I am going to get him into a cruiser. We’re going to need a van.
“The night is growing old, and I am growing tired,” he says. “Thank you for your interest in me, but I think I will go now.”
“Stop!”
My authoritative shout rings out.
He turns around and casts a crooked grin at me.
It is at this point I realize I have not identified myself as an officer of the law. I have basically been coming across as a random strident woman.
“I do not have any money,” he says. “I cannot purchase your services.”
Wait. What? “Do you think I am a prostitute?”
“Are you? You’re pretty enough.”
“That is not the compliment you imagine it is.” I produce my badge. “I am Detective Holmes. I’d like you to come in for questioning.”
