Forgive Me

Till None of Us Are Left

From the journal of Hampton Gilligan:

Lives have been stolen from me today. And whatever I do-- however long I live to tell this tale-- I will not let it be in vain.

-2/22/1920

Intensity coated the room like a wave of frost, bruising skin taut violet.

Robin's mannequin posture was sunk into himself-- his golden hair like a clawed shower curtain over his face-- and grief gripping his cheeks. Outside the interrogation room's two fragile-white windows, the fury of the sunset raged like a fire burning the sky.

Across from him with his glasses in his closed palm sat a man with Distraught stretched over his skin like rubbery flesh. It was a gray, 8-legged creature with eyes of lightning and three hearts in its throat. He could feel it scuttling down his back with every empty minute that passed and its pinchers squeeze his skin. His police uniform was worn with shame and his face despicably ill.

The cop sucked in a breath of soggy air and expelled it slowly, placing his round glasses atop the bridge of his nose. "We wouldn't have to keep doing this if you would just tell us the truth," he muttered.

"No, Norman," Robin's soft voice gurgled, barely making it out his lips. "We wouldn't have to keep doing this if you testified."

"I don't know if you realize this but these interrogations are not a joke. Someone, your wife, has been murdered. And you are the prime suspect."

"But you don't believe I did it."

"Of course not! You're one my best friends, Robin! I don't believe for one second you did this! But you need to cooperate so the people who hold your life in their hands feel the same way!"

He was silent for a moment-- head bowed and eyes duller than the skin of a rat-- and allowed the sorrow to soak in. Flashes of bloody red anger gathered into storm clouds and her mutilated body, still in a snapshot of torture, thundered. Every time he let her knock down his walls, the images got bloodier and bloodier, like something about it got him excited. There were sniffles but tears would no come. He had done nothing but cry the past few days.

"I would never kill her," he gasped, tearing at his scalp with yellow fingernails. "I would never kill my Becky! I loved her! I loved her! I know I loved her! Even if she abandoned me! Even if she refused to sleep in the same bed! I loved her!" His pleading, red eyes met Norman's and strained against the sickness in the air. "You've gotta believe me! I can't die! Not for something like this! Not like this!"

Norman extended his hands and gripped his wrists, rubbing a reassuring thumb over his bony hands. "Robin, we have two sources claiming the last time they saw you was during an aggressive confrontation with Becky. This is the last time anyone saw you or Becky, unfortunately. This does not shine an innocent light on you and, if I weren't here, might have been enough for the chair. so, you've got to be clear with me here or things are going to get much worse. What happened after you took Becky out of the dinner theater?"

The light flickered and Robin shook his head from shoulder to shoulder, faster and faster.

"I don't remember, I don't remember! We walked outside and she wanted to go back but I kept dragging her, dragging her until she stopped struggling and everything kept going redder and redder like the sun was in my eyes and I couldn't feel her anymore and--" His fingers twitched violently and his eyes dashed back and forth. "Someone's conspiring against us, Norman," he whispered, scratching furiously at his arms until they scabbed and bled. "We're being killed off, one by one, until none of us are left. I'm next, Norman! I'm going to die! Oh god . . . I'M GONNA DIE . . ."

Through the glass of the viewing window, Hampton shook his head. He pitied the poor man like an ax does the family of doves it has left homeless. He didn't believe his friend could have committed such a crime but he also knew something was loose inside him. Something that couldn't be put back.

"this is what I wanted to show you," said the man next to him, expressing browning like a spoiled banana. His long navy jacket was unbuttoned, exposing the tired chest and sagging belly. "Every time we get past a wall he erects another one in its place. We can't get a single thing out that might save him."

"Is this what losing Becky has done to him?" Hampton murmured. "Did he depend so much on her that he's gone crazy?"

"She was his wife, Ham," the man explained, placing his folded hands over his mouth and leaning on bruised shoulders. "We may have lost a friend but he lost a wife . . ."

"A wife who wasn't happy."

"She was once."

"Before--"

They exchanged a glance and their lips fell lower, drooping like their hearts.

"What can we do, Leroy?" Hampton asked, running his hands over his face and breathing like his lungs were punctured. "We have to consider other suspects."

"David Holly discovered her first and he has both a perfect record for obedience to the task force and was a great friend to both Becky and Robin." Saying her name sent needles of copper down his throat but he continued anyways. "The only other person we think could have done this was an alien by the name of Missy Begum. She immigrated here about a month ago with her daughter and has seemingly had no noticeably criminal activities in the past. She, along with Detective Holly, discovered the body and was first to notify us of the incident. She has an alibi and Holly can confirm she was with him the entire time."

"There's got to be someone else! Anyone else! Did the wires look familiar to anyone? could we check the markings on her chest?"

"The new detective assigned is working on it, but I doubt there will be any useful information out of it. Robin's already got a lawyer building a case for him. He's got no hope."

Hampton threw his hands into the air and furrowed his brow in anger. "Can you not do anything about it? Nothing at all?"

"All I can do is offer a last goodbye, Ham. I've lost any power I might have had over this situation."

Norman stretched his lower back and bowed his head in reverence and guilt. "Robin, we have tried this three times now and nothing has changed. This was your last chance to make us believe you could not have murdered Becky Rim and you have chosen to waste it. I cannot save you from death anymore and now neither can you. I'm sorry."

A murky brown despair drenched the confession like mud and fell into Robin's lap. He did not move, only stared into the table with hopeless flesh stitched into his cheeks.

"The Italian woman," he uttered, quieter than the gentle whir of the swinging ceiling light. "Everyone has forgotten about Jesse's death and the lead detective has been removed from both cases until further notice. Now I'm here, ready to pay for a death. While we die, you chase your tails in circles, just like they want. You never go back. You never connect. And the moment you realize Death has been right behind you-- learning your every weakness and assessing your every move-- it will be too late."

Norman, not knowing what else to say, nodded slowly and stood to leave.

Robin also stood, eyes glued to the floor, took the metal chair in hand and smashed it against the table.

A shriek as shattering as a jet's engine erupted from his throat and he threw the chair against the wall.

His eyes popped from their sockets and he pounded his fists again and again into the wall.

Again,

skin ripping

Again,

tears like blood

Again,

pain pain pain pain pain pain PAIN

Shrieks clawed their way out his mouth

Fingernails in her skull-

Polka-dots in her ribs-

Wire eyes-

Pleading gun-

Red . . .

. . . red everywhere.

Becky taking his hand-

Becky hugging him from behind-

Becky asking for adventure-

Becky dancing in her lingerie-

Becky catching dragonflies-

"BECKY!" he howled, hitting his forehead against the wall over and over until his skull throbbed and his vision fogged and three pairs of arms were holding him down and his hear was burning, a black mess, and a gun holster against his leg and someone shouting "Put the gun down!" but he can't feel it in his hand just up his forehead, can't eve feel his finger clench.

He barely felt the bullet enter his temple and the blood in his mouth.

Only sorrow, over and over and over again.

And then . . .

. . . nothing