The crisp, fresh air of a frigid March morning invigorates you as you step out of your car and make your way across the pavement towards the police station. Your former captain had called you in for the weekend on short notice and said to bring your gun. Those weren’t exactly the kind of words you needed to hear from a superior officer. But, you put your concerns aside before pulling out of the driveway. There was one thing that was always true about your captain: he always called it straight and he always had your back.
You open the heavy glass door and head straight to the reception desk. “I’m here to see the captain. I was supposed to be here at 8.”
The receptionist looks up from her computer. “He’s expecting you. Go ahead and head on back.”
You start to walk down the broad hallway that runs the length of the building. The superintendent’s office is about 10 feet off to your right as you walk down the hallway. The big double doors to his office are closed. You briefly wonder if he’s in there but put the thought out of your mind as you stop in front of the captain’s door and you knock softly.
“Come in.” It is the captain’s voice. It grabs you by surprise. There are other detectives milling around, mostly men in business suits. You stifle a small laugh. What do they think they’re here for? So, what if they’re here to get a little action before heading home? You shrug off the thought and push open the glass door to the captain’s office. You walk into the office and see the captain sitting in his chair, playing a game on a laptop. “All right,” he says, looking up from the computer. “You’re here now. Let’s get started.”
He pulls out a file from the cabinet behind his desk. As he pushes the drawer shut with his foot, you see a pistol lying on his desk. Your gaze lingers on the pistol. It’s the same one you got when they did your PRIDE training at the range. It’s the same one you used to pull off your fair share of exciting arrests. You quickly look away before the captain notices, but it’s too late. “Whoa,” he says. “Did you bring that little thing with you?”
You nod. “I thought three rounds would help me stay safe.”
The captain smirks. “You carrying a little extra padding there, old man? You’re carrying his gun for show or are you packing it for a reason?”
You slip the leather strap off your shoulder. “What’s up with the show? There’s a guy out there who is only too willing to take advantage of the easy target.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. This is a case of domestic violence. Don’t you know how boring that is? There’s no mystery to solve. No one is going to attack you here. Relax.”
The captain’s words are still ringing in your ears as you make your way down the hall after your meeting. You don’t want to admit it to yourself, but you’re worried. How could a simple case of domestic violence result in the murder of another detective? Your former partner had disappeared while investigating this case. You pray that you won’t end up the same way.
The hallway opens into the large, circular room of the squad room. You see detectives leaning over desks, talking to one another or talking on their phones as they type away. There is a bustle of activity, but nothing too out of the ordinary. The homicide desk is off to your left. You set your briefcase down next to your former partner’s desk. No one seems to notice you. You look around the circle of desks and notice your name. Your heart sinks like a sack of bricks. The promotion you always wanted never came.
“Thanks for coming in,” a voice says. You turn around to see Captain Tom standing right behind you. You hadn’t heard him walking down the hall. You are surprised to see him so close to you. You’ve always thought he was as boring as the cases he investigates.
The captain has taken care of you ever since you were hired a few years ago. He was always supportive, but your feelings were hard to define. He was always easy to talk to. He made it difficult to take him seriously. You were like the kid brother that he always stepped in to tease. Maybe he respects the way you look out for the detectives under him. Maybe he understands the requirements of being a detective. Or maybe all the jobs you took in the future, with the hopes of climbing up the ladder, made him feel sympathetic to your plight. You never really thought about it.
“I called you in because the case is to be your last. I don’t know if that’s what you want, but I figured it would be best if you took it.”
You nod your head. “Okay.” You can see some of the men standing around stop and turn to look at him. You hear whispers of “turnover” being whispered from some thirty detectives who are standing around.
“The victim was a detective who used to work with my old partner.”
“Glad that’s over for me,” a voice says behind you.
“You got something else to say, Collins?” the captain asks.
“No sir.”
“Then get to work.”
You start to walk away toward your desk. You begin to wonder whether you’re going to end up like the victim.
“I’m going to want you to head out to the scene right away. There are a few matters we need to clear up.”
You nod your head. “Okay.”
You head out of the building, toward your car. You set your briefcase on the passenger’s seat and step inside. The inside of the car is stuffy, like it always is when the sun is out and the windows are closed. You start the engine and turn on the AC. You nod your head. Some white dude is singing on the radio about doing what you want to do. When is he going to start singing about not being scared? You wonder if you should drop the car off at the station and walk.
You’re a bit startled when the car inside the car starts to move. You weren’t expecting this. You weren’t expecting it to be the victim in the car. Your brain can’t wrap itself around the information. How is this weird hoodlum plastered all over you?
“Keep coming.”
“Hold on,” you tell the car as you turn around and try to back up. Every road you turn down seems to mix in more and more of the victim’s face. You can’t get away from him. You don’t understand how you’re stuck in this vision. What’s going on? You want to wake up. You want to scream. But the car doesn’t stop. You come to a red light. The car doesn’t stop. It keeps racing, the red lights falling away in the background. You grip the steering wheel harder.
The car simply gets faster and faster.
“I have no idea what’s going on,” you say as you press the gas pedal.
“All right. Keep it coming until we get to what we’re looking for.”
“What? And where’s the driver?”
“Driver?”
“Yeah, the driver’s seat next to mine is empty.”
“That’s a fault with the car.”
“We’re going to crash,” you say, knowing that there isn’t a traffic cop care to stop you, because you’re driving so fast.
“No one was hurt,” the voice tells you.
“We’re going to crash.”
“You’re okay. Keep holding on.”
“I’m going to die in this car,” you say, knowing it’s the truth.
“Don’t be dead yet. Keep going.”
You accelerate, trying to get away from the car and the voice. The voice screams something about what you want to happen to someone. You scream back at the voice and feel your hands clenching the steering wheel. You drive as fast as you can. You pray with every turn. The car doesn’t stop.
“Here we go.”
The car stalls. You lose consciousness.
You wake up again in another car.